Chapter 6 - The Taste of Jasmine
The kiss was not gentle.
It was an explosion of two years of suppressed desire, fear, relief, and raw emotion.
Enzo let out a low, rough growl against her mouth, his arms sweeping around her waist, lifting her off the couch and pulling her body flush against his chest. Elena wrapped her legs around his hips, her fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue claiming her mouth with an intense, possessive hunger.
She tasted like sweet wine and warm jasmine.
He carried her across the room toward the small bedroom in the back of the boathouse, his heavy steps steady despite the burden. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, laid her gently down on the king-sized bed, and followed her down, covering her body with his weight.
The dark green silk dress was unbuttoned with dark, urgent focus. Enzo’s warm hands slid over her waist, up her ribs, his thumbs tracing the smooth curve of her collarbone where Marco’s sunscreen had been hours before. He kissed her neck, her throat, every inch of her soft, warm skin, making her arch into his touch with soft, breathless gasps.
“Enzo...” she whimpered, her hands pulling his silk tie loose, tossing it onto the floor before working on the buttons of his crisp white shirt. “Tell me this is real.”
He pulled back just enough to look down into her dark hazel eyes, his face flushed, his chest heaving.
“This is the only real thing in my entire life,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
He stripped away his shirt, exposing his broad chest, covered in fine dark hair and marked by old, faded battle scars. Elena ran her fingers over the smooth white line of a scar near his ribs, feeling the intense heat of his muscles beneath his skin.
When he finally came into her, sliding smoothly into her tightness, Elena let out a sharp, beautiful cry, her fingers digging deep into the muscles of his back.
Enzo held himself still above her for a long moment, his jaw tight with exquisite control, letting her body adjust to his size. He looked down at her face, watching her hazel eyes soften as she looked back up at him with unreserved love and surrender.
Then he began to move.
It was a slow, deep, devastating rhythm that built with every stroke. The boathouse fell silent around them, leaving only the sound of the waves crashing softly against the pilings beneath the floor and the steady, rhythmic gasps of their breathing.
Enzo loved her with a fierce, absolute devotion, worshiping every inch of her body, taking her higher and higher until the world outside—the blood, the guns, Carmine, and the syndicate—evaporated into nothingness.
When the climax finally tore through her, Elena clung to him as if he were her only anchor in a storm. Enzo followed her moments later with a low, deep groan, burying his face in the crook of her neck as his body shuddered against hers.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the white linen sheets, the dim light from the hallway casting long shadows across the room.
Elena rested her head on Enzo’s chest, listening to the heavy, steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. His hand moved slowly up and down her bare back, his fingers tracing gentle patterns against her skin.
“What happens tomorrow?” she asked softly, her voice heavy with contentment.
May you like
Enzo’s eyes were fixed on the dark ceiling, his expression turning cold and focused once more, though his grip around her waist remained warm and protective.
“Tomorrow,” Enzo murmured, pressing his lips against her crown, “Carmine dies.”
