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“No foreplay, either?” Enzo closed one eye as if that question made him uncomfortable since I was like family.
“Unfortunately, no. We can’t risk getting his heart rate too high.” I’d even turned down his request for naughty photos, worried he’d be tempted to stroke his cock if he had them. Ryan and I were starting to feel like we were in first-date territory again since we were spending our time only holding hands while hanging out.
“Well, at least Ryan’s mobile and driving again,” Enzo pointed out. “That’s progress.”
“Yeah, and since he can operate ‘heavy machinery’—his words—he thinks that means he’s capable of a lot more,” I added, my cheeks heating a little at a memory from the morning.
“Fingering me will send the blood south to your dick and kick up your heart rate, so no, you can’t do that, either,” I’d reminded him after he’d breached my house before my parents were awake and snuck into my room.
After I’d turned him down, he’d slipped under the covers and cradled me in his arms before falling back asleep. My mom had found us in bed together, and we’d felt like teens trying to convince her we hadn’t had sex.
“Clearly, I chose the wrong Rossi for you,” she’d told me before I went to work today, then shook her head as if angry at herself for being so wrong about Anthony.
“It also gives Ryan a good excuse to steer clear of Anthony as much as possible. Strangely enough, Calista, of all people, offered to let Anthony sleep in her spare bedroom so he didn’t have to live back home while Ryan was there. She says they’re only friends, not that I care.”
Enzo circled my desk, his hands slipping into his pockets. “I can’t believe Calista was planning to use Ryan to try and make me jealous. That’s absurd.”
I’d nearly forgotten about that. That bit of news had been lost in the shuffle with everything that’d happened since Italy. “She’s not your type.”
“Not even close.” Enzo’s eyes moved to a frame on my desk, a photo he’d taken of Maria and me the night the restaurant opened its doors for the first time. “Anyways.” He pointed to the check on the desk. “Just take the money, okay? Another problem solved.”
“If you want to be a partial owner, I’d love that. But you don’t need to—”
“I do. And I will pay a percent for ownership. I’ll happily offer more than what’s on that check for that privilege,” he went on as someone knocked.
“It’s me,” Ryan called out before opening the door. “Am I interrupting?”
“Just tell her to take the money,” Enzo said, striding his way. He patted Ryan on the shoulder and I could’ve sworn a look passed between them that made me think Ryan knew about Enzo’s plan.
They had become closer since Monaco, and I was grateful Ryan was finally able to set his concerns about Enzo’s past aside and accepted him as part of my life. And he was making an effort to get to know him as well.
“I suppose Batman and Superman can be friends,” Ryan had teased a few nights back.
I stood as my man moved closer to my desk, and Enzo left us alone, closing the door behind him.
Ryan slowly strode across the room in his faded denim jeans and a long-sleeve black cotton shirt. His backward black ball cap was working hard to contain his unruly hair that he’d yet to have cut because of his condition. And I wasn’t sure I wanted it trimmed.
I’d helped him shave his face last week, though, which had been entirely too intimate. Especially because he kept gripping my ass, urging me to sit on his lap. I’d nearly nicked his skin when I’d felt his cock twitch against my body.
“You look good,” I said as he hugged me, then I inhaled a whiff of his new cologne. “Mmm. And smell good, too.” Woodsy. Spicy. Hints of vanilla, too. “What’s it called again?”
“It’s Tom Ford. Wood something, I think?” He shrugged. “Since I’ve been sporting a lot of wood lately without relief, it felt appropriate.”
Touche´. “Mmhm. I also know how you are about scents,” I said as he shifted my hair to my back. Leaning in, he teasingly skated his lips along the column of my throat, probably breathing in the perfume he’d surprised me with a few nights ago after work. “You like how it smells on me, hmm?” I asked as he continued to trail his lips over where I’d placed the Baccarat Rouge 540. A fancy name for not-such-a-fancy-girl, but I loved it.
“Yeah, a little too much. I should have waited to give it to you,” he murmured before drawing his mouth to mine, lightly kissing me.
How in the hell would I even wait one more week? And based on what I felt in his pants right now, he really was “sporting wood” quite a lot.
“I wasn’t expecting you here this early,” I said against his mouth, practically a puddle in his arms now.
“Anthony’s at my mom’s right now.”
“Oh, enough said. Any idea how his therapy is going?” Anthony had promised to change, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. Ryan eased back to look at me and frowned. “That bad, huh?”
“Let’s just say I need to find him a new therapist. One who’s older. Less blonde. And not a woman.”
“Oh, he didn’t . . .” Ugh. Anthony. Really? Why was I surprised?
