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“What more do you want?” Fiore asked, though he knew well the answer.
And still it thrilled him to hear Enzo beg. “Fuck me harder.”
Fiore withdrew his cock ‘til just the head remained within Enzo’s cunt. Then he abandoned all denial—his own and Enzo’s alike—and plunged in to the hilt.
Enzo threw his head back with a groan of relief. His hips thrust to meet Fiore’s every blow. Fiore no longer prevented him. He’d restrained himself long enough; let him enjoy his just reward at last. And let Fiore take everything Enzo had offered. There was a certain thrill in giving a gentleman exactly what he wanted whilst remaining completely in control. And a certain further thrill when that particular gentleman was Enzo. He rode him hard as any steed. Together they raced towards ecstasy. Fiore held back just long enough, ‘til Enzo’s cunt clenched him tight and his cock spilled over his knuckles. Then he bit down hard into the meat of Enzo’s shoulder to mute his own cry as he shuddered to a halt and poured his essence deep within Enzo’s welcoming vessel. He clasped Enzo tight in his arms even as Enzo clasped him tighter still within his flesh. Only the bonds around Enzo’s wrists held them both upright. Tremulous gasps escaped between desperate kisses. Fiore thought he might sleep forever content if he could but remain cleaved this close to his Enzo.
But his work was not yet complete. One couldn’t leave hands bound overhead over-long. Not if one wished to retain said hands, at any rate.
Fiore roused Enzo from his splendid stupor with a long and languid kiss. He waited until Enzo’s eyes focused on his own.
“I’m going to untie you now,” he told him
Only after Enzo nodded his assent did he raise his hands to the hook. A little lift, then down, and he had Enzo’s bound hands between them. The knots untied with a few deft tugs. The rope fell away. Fiore kept Enzo’s hands in his own. Beneath Enzo’s watchful gaze, he gently kneaded the raw scarlet marks the rope had left behind. Then the knuckles, ‘til the grasp became soft as rose-petals, and on down the sinewed forearms to tend each joint up to the shoulder. By then Enzo had regained some power over his constrained limbs and used it to return Fiore’s embrace. Fiore rewarded him with a kiss.
“As good as your fantasies?” Fiore teased him when they parted.
Rather than a mere nod, Enzo replied with his voice—hoarse from disuse but no less deep and sonorous. “Better.”
~
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The tailor’s preliminary sketches had not done the final suit justice.
With just a week to go before the ball, the whole ensemble was assembled at last. A vision in seafoam green head to foot, a match which Fiore well knew was no small feat. Hard enough to mix the same color twice, much less make it bind the same to two textiles of divers materials. Yet one would be hard-pressed to find the hair’s-breadth of difference between the cool-handed wool coat and the gleaming satin breeches and waistcoat. More remarkable still was how the leather of both the hat and shoes came to hold the same soft lagoon-green shade. The skillfully-applied gilding of the hat’s trim and the shoes’ heels likewise matched the gold filigree edging the hems of the wool coat. The leather itself was so smooth as to appear molded of porcelain, sleek to the touch on the outside and suede smooth as butter within.
All together, they looked, in a word…
“Perfect,” Fiore declared.
A soft sigh cut through the stark silence of the tailor’s parlor. Fiore tore his gaze away from the masterpiece to regard the cluster of men who’d held their collective breath whilst awaiting his opinion. Several assistants and twice as many apprentices had gathered behind the master tailor himself, who stood beside Enzo with his hands clasped behind his back. What Enzo thought of Fiore’s new ensemble remained hidden beneath his bauta mask—for the moment, at least.
The master tailor retained more poise than his assistants or apprentices. He smiled and gestured to the folding screen in the back corner of the parlor. “If you’d care to try it on, signore…?”
Fiore very much desired to do so, indeed. He’d had regular fittings as the tailor’s work had progressed. But never before had he held the whole ensemble complete in his grasp. The work of a moment saw it all folded up in his arms and secreted away with him behind the folding screen. Then he turned his focus to divesting himself of his everyday garments.
No sooner had he untied his scarlet sash, however, than he heard the master tailor’s voice again from the other side of the screen.
“If you require assistance, signore, my apprentices would be happy to guide you.”
Fiore paused with his sash suspended between his hands. The master tailor’s tone had retained its well-practiced deference throughout the offer. And yet it rang in Fiore’s ears with a timbre that seemed determined to strike his pride. While he had some hesitance about handling finery, he thought he’d hidden it from his audience; the conservatorio had trained him well for that, if nothing else. Furthermore, even if he hadn’t already undergone several fittings in this very shop prior to this moment, the plain shape of the garments—shirt, waistcoat, breeches, stockings—were precisely like his own everyday garb. He obviously knew how to dress himself.
Which gave the tailor’s offer a distinct undercurrent of something Fiore didn’t like.
Regardless if the tailor proved sincere or false, Fiore’s answer remained the same. He didn’t bother to disguise his self-satisfied smile as he poked his head out from behind the screen. The master tailor and all his assistants and apprentices watched him with bated breath. But Fiore had eyes for Enzo alone.
“Would you mind helping me?” Fiore asked when his gaze locked with Enzo’s beneath the mask.
The collective surprise of the tailor’s apprentices sang in Fiore’s blood like wine. The assistants kept their poise a little better. The master tailor, if he realized his misstep at all, showed not a hint of it in his face.
And as for Enzo himself, he simply perked up and strode to join Fiore behind the screen.
The duke’s consent to act as valet to a mere courtesan did not go unnoticed in the shop. Fiore drank in as much of his audience’s astonishment as he could—guzzled it, really—before he withdrew with Enzo.
The spark of desire his request had ignited in Enzo’s masked eyes proved even more intoxicating. Fiore bit back a grin as he handed over his scarlet sash and watched Enzo wrap it tight ‘round his fists. Really he required nothing from Enzo in the way of actual help, but he still delighted in those dark eyes fixed upon him as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and slipped off his breeches.
Parts of the formal suit remained new to him. He didn’t oft wear drawers; hadn’t at all, actually, until it came time for his first fitting at the tailor and Enzo had arrived to pick him up from theKingfisherwith a pair of fresh linen sewn to the specifications of his own most intimate flesh. His shirttails sufficed to keep his everyday woolen breeches clean. But the sea-green satin required a touch more to shield it from his sweat. And the shirt the tailor provided him with was far more than a mere undergarment.
