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“I’ve a gondola waiting,” Enzo said, trying and failing to sound casual. “If you’d care to join me?”
Fiore’s handsome features lit up with an eager grin.
~
Fiore hadn’t ridden in a gondola since Carlotta had whisked him away to Wolf’s Head. While Carlotta had proved an adept traveling companion, he found he much preferred to have Enzo join him in the secluded confines of the felze.
The feel of silk against his intimate flesh had invigorated him. Even now with the silks and satins folded up on the seat beside him and his own body garbed in everyday wools, his desire for Enzo still raged. The brief sojourn from shop door to gondola had failed to quenched the flame.
And the single brush of their hands together as Enzo followed him into the felze sufficed to reignite the flame into a raging bonfire.
Enzo settled onto the seat and shut the door behind them whilst Fiore simmered with feverish anticipation. No sooner had he whipped off hat, hood, and mask than Fiore was upon him.
“Steady,” Enzo whispered even as he returned his frantic embrace.
Indeed, with the gondola rocking beneath them, Fiore supposed he’d better not endanger the gondolier standing on it. His mind whirled with the question of how to satisfy them both under such constraints. He supposed they might make do with mouths and hands. However, even whilst he thought, Enzo extracted himself from their embrace and divested himself of his breeches and drawers with remarkable ease—particularly considering their confined setting.
Which led Fiore to one singular conclusion. “You’ve done this before.”
Enzo grinned. “Maybe.”
Fiore made a note to demand full details later. At present he hastened to release his own cock from his breeches. It had been at half-mast when he first entered the felze. Now it stood proud as Enzo’s.
And the moment it came free, Enzo straddled him and sank down.
Fiore’s breath caught as he slipped once more into that hot, tight, wet sheath. As matters stood now, however—with him sitting on the cushioned bench in the felze, Enzo’s weight atop him, and hardly daring to move lest he pitch the whole gondola over—he had precious little leverage to draw them both to completion.
Which left him entirely at Enzo’s mercy.
Still, Enzo sought his permission with a glance. Fiore granted it with a nod. And only then did Enzo begin to move.
Enzo’s hips rolled in rhythm with the lapping waves; steady, unceasing, relentless, grinding over and again that particular part within him that made his cock pulse in Fiore’s fist with every pass. Barely half an inch of Fiore’s prick slid in and out of him. Yet even that exquisite torment sufficed to send Fiore perilously near to the brink after all he’d withheld behind the tailor’s screen.
Fiore gave Enzo swift strokes in turn, feeling his sheath clench ‘round him in time with the pulsing of his cock in his fist, gasping into each other’s mouths between frantic kisses, devouring Enzo above whilst Enzo consumed him below, a hair’s-breadth of willpower keeping his own crisis at bay, until—
A kiss muted Enzo’s broken moan. He shuddered in Fiore’s arms. The rhythmic clenching of his cunt reverberated through Fiore’s own core. Seed spilled over Fiore’s knuckles and cock alike.
Then and only then did Fiore allow his hand to descend, seize Enzo’s ample ass, and in a few daring thrusts find his own release. Ecstasy overwhelmed him as he poured himself into Enzo. His pearls mingled with Enzo’s salty tide within his cunt. A few glistening drops leaked through its tight embrace.
Fiore fell back senseless against the leather interior. Only Enzo’s embrace tethered him to the shores of reality. And it was Enzo’s kiss that revived him.
“Will you serve me so well after the ball?” Fiore asked when they parted.
Enzo grinned and gasped out his promise. “Better.”
~
“Oh,” said Artemisia. “You’re alive.”
Fiore, who’d just crossed the threshold of her workshop, grinned. “Wonderful to see you again, as well.”
Artemisia wiped her dusty hands on her smock and stepped away from her work-in-progress—a fountainhead well on its way to becoming a dolphin’s beak. For years now Fiore had modelled for her every luni and zobia afternoon, barring festivals and, more recently, the unexpected circumstances of his and Enzo’s concurrent convalescences. Even if she didn’t need him for a specific commission she insisted on having him for gestural practice. She appreciated his ability to hold a pose; he in turn appreciated her appreciation, and particularly how it took the form of cold hard coin with no attempts at bartering.
Today she dismissed her apprentices and assistants with a wave of her hand. They all vanished deeper into the workshop or out of it altogether. Her sessions with Fiore were always private. This had inspired countless rumors. Artemisia never gave any such tattle a second thought. Fiore himself just laughed at them. Let the gossip-mongers think her one of his precious few female patrons. All the better for his reputation if his seductive prowess surpassed all genders. Particularly when the list of Artemisia’s romantic conquests rivalled his own.
Over the course of their last few sessions Fiore had divulged to her almost all the details of his hunting lodge adventure and the upcoming ball masque. The truth of Enzo’s draconic ancestry and how it bore out on his body remained the sole and solemn secret. Fiore had sworn to himself, if not to Enzo, to take it to his grave.
Even so, all Fiore had told her almost sufficed to mollify her disturbance at his second sudden disappearance within the space of a single year. From an outside perspective, as she explained to him, theKingfisher’s male courtesan had been whisked away by strangers garbed in Scaevola livery to no-one-knew-where and remained vanished for the better part of another month. His homecoming was almost as unexpected as a return from the grave. Hence Artemisia’s now-customary greeting to him as he entered her workshop twice every week.
