8. Chapter Eight

His shirt is soft as a flower's petals on my skin. His scent envelopes me more than the material of the shirt. Never in a million years did I ever think I'd be standing in front of my father's best friend in nothing but his shirt. It feels amazing. Something I can't begin to explain. I swear it's all in the way he looks at me. Like he's holding on by a thread. Like the smallest thing will snap that thread, making him lose control. Yet, when he speaks, he's calm. Giving nothing away. But I can tell what's going on behind those words. It's something in his eyes.

"Take this off," he says next, tugging on his undershirt.

I pull it out of his slacks. I've never seen Enzo without his shirt on, and I'll shamelessly admit I am looking forward to it. He's always dressed nicely, always in all black or dark grey. I think I saw him in maroon once, actually.

Sliding my hands beneath his shirt, I run them up his abs, effectively pulling the shirt up. When I reach his chest, I move my hands to the sides, feeling his ribs beneath my palms. He raises his arms, and I have to stand on my toes to get it over his head.

His clothes fit so well you can tell he's firm and fit, but I was not prepared for the feast my eyes get when his shirt is discarded on the floor. Tattoos. All over his chest, his stomach, his shoulders, his arms. But hidden among the artwork are scars.

The long lines look like slices, and the small circular holes could be burns or puncture holes. They blend with the Italian words, the angel wings, skulls, roses, and many other pieces that cover his body. I had no idea this man had so many tattoos. Now that I recall, I don't think I've ever seen him without a long-sleeved shirt.

But the scars… There are so many.

"What—" I yelp when there's a sharp pain in my nipple.

"If you do not follow the rules, you will be punished," he reminds me, letting go of my nipple.

My bottom lip wobbles, tears stinging my eyes. But I nod in response.

I'm doing this so he doesn't rat me out, I remind myself while hating how much I didn't hate his punishment.

Even if I'm pretending I don't know him for the sake of this situation, deep down, I know I can trust him because of who he is. He'd never hurt me. But this? There is something going on here. Something more than me trusting a family friend.

I pull my gaze from the scars and tattoos and take in the rest of his body. A delicious set of abs runs up to a sculpted chest, wide shoulders, strong biceps. Thick forearms and large hands.

He moves around me. "Come here."

I carefully turn and find him sitting in the chair I was just in. He crooks his finger at me again, and I move to him. He undoes the buckle of his belt. My eyes stay on his. His stay on mine. He carefully and meticulously gets his pants undone, pushes his underwear down, and frees his dick.

Even without me directly looking at it, I see how big it is. Much bigger than what I'm used to, and without having had sex in a while, I know it's going to hurt.

But I crave it. I crave the stretch and the burn his cock will give me.

It's why I came here.

For an experience like no other.

Enzo brushes his fingers up my thigh. My eyes fall closed. His touch burns a trail up my side, under my breast, down my stomach and around my belly button. His hand is on my wrist and he's guiding me toward him, taking my hand and wrapping it around his erection. It's so warm, thick, and hard. Like steel draped in velvet.

"What's your favorite position?" he asks.

I shake out of whatever trance I'm in, and his face comes back into focus.

"I-I don't know."

He guides my hand up and down his shaft at nothing more than a teasing pace. I'm growing wet over just touching him. As if I wasn't wet enough already.

"Which have you tried?"

"M-missionary," I stutter out.

"And?"

"Th-that's it."

Zach was boring. I was the one who always pushed him to have sex, and when we did, it wasn't great. I assumed it was because I was inexperienced and didn't know better. The first time was awful, which I knew would happen. I hadn't expected it to hurt for so long though. It wasn't until the fifth or sixth time that I didn't feel like crying. But even after, it never felt good. Not the way people made it seem it should be.

"I'm sorry Zachary wasn't man enough to satisfy you," is Enzo's response, which has my pussy clenching. But also a bit of emotion clogging my throat. "You know what my favorite position is?"

I shake my head, swallowing thickly.

He grips my waist and spins me around. I meet Rafael's eyes. I forgot he was here. Again. How does Enzo do that to me?

Enzo grips my hips and tugs me onto his lap, his dick sliding between my ass cheeks.

"This," he hisses, sliding me back and forth over his erection. My hands find his thighs for balance and help guide myself along his shaft. With each pull, he moves me a little higher, a little closer to my entrance, and I'm aching for him to slip inside of me. I want to feel all of him. In me.

His breathing grows heavy, his hips thrusting against me from beneath. His strong thighs hold me up, the muscles beneath my fingertips tensing.

"I so desperately want to be inside you," he says, causing my stomach to do a flip. "Are you ready for my cock, Jordan?"

"Yes," I whimper, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

Rafael watches intently, the tent in his slacks telling me he's enjoying the show. I've already formed an idea about him and Enzo, and I'm not sure how right I am, but the fact Rafael doesn't move without Enzo's say-so makes me think I'm pretty accurate.

"It's going to hurt," Enzo warns.

"I kn-know," I answer.

His fingers dig into my hips. "I'll let that one slide," he says.

Shit. I'm trying to follow his rules. Part of me is worried if I don't, he'll tell my father, but the other part wants to please him. And I have no idea why.

He pulls me back, shifting so the tip of his cock slides forward, slipping over my hole and brushing my clit. I whimper at the sensation, the heat of his cock feeling so damn good against my sensitive area. I had an orgasm a short time ago, but the crazy thing is, I feel like I could have another, and that's never happened before.

Enzo lifts me as if I weigh nothing and moves me so the tip of his cock is prodding at my entrance. He lowers me onto him. So. Fucking. Slowly.

At first, it isn't bad. The feeling is fine. But the deeper he goes, the tighter it is, the more it hurts. It isn't horrible, nothing like the first time, but it isn't comfortable either.

Enzo lets out a deep, satisfied groan once I'm fully seated on him. My hands are shaking.

"Let me show you how I like it," he whispers in my ear. Goosebumps erupt across my skin. My heart skips a beat. With his hands still on my hips, he guides me up and down. I use my hands on his thighs and my feet on the ground to get into a rhythm he helps me find. He lifts me up, and when I'm fully on him again, he grinds into me, reaching spots I didn't know could feel so good. So I do that too. I lift up and grind onto him once I'm seated. He has me go slow, enjoying the feel of him, savoring every inch going in and out of me—and there are a lot of inches.

"You learn so quickly, my sweet angel," he praises, loosening his grip on my hips and giving me more control to do it myself. I listen for his cues to tell me he's enjoying it. The fact his breathing keeps increasing and the smallest grunts sound every now and then is what has me confident enough to keep going. I love that I can make him feel good. It fills me with a sense of pride I've never felt before. This powerful and handsome man is enjoying me. My body. I'm making him feel good.

There's a spot inside me, something he keeps hitting that feels especially good. I've never felt anything like it. Zach certainly never reached that spot before.

I lose myself in the feeling of him inside me, his warm body behind me, his shirt around me, his fingers digging into my skin. He lifts me again, and I whimper when he pulls himself all the way out. He pushes me to my feet. My legs are weak, but he holds onto me so I get my balance. I'm panting when I turn to face him. I bet my cheeks are as red as a tomato.

He points to the ground. "On your knees." I drop to them, and he scoots forward.

"Have you sucked cock before?"

"Not one so big," I say.

He huffs out a sound that almost sounds like a laugh, and it has my chest warming.

I made him laugh.

"Clean your pussy juice from my cock, Jordan," he demands. Any sense of humor is gone from his tone.

I bring my gaze to his glistening cock.

I've never tasted myself. I'd sucked Zach off a couple times when he told me he was too tired for sex, but that's it.

I lean forward, hesitating when I smell myself on him. It's not that I'm afraid or worried or even disgusted, I'm—I don't know. It's just new.

"I gave you an order," Enzo says. "Do I need to—"

I take him into my mouth, sucking on the tip. He groans, his hand finding the back of my head. I don't hate the way I taste on him. It's sharp, tangy, but almost sweet in a way.

"Good fucking girl," he groans. "So fucking good."

He guides my head up and down at the same slow speed he had me riding him. He likes it slow. I wonder why. Zach always made me go fast. He fucked me fast too. Maybe that's why he always came so quickly. And why Enzo hasn't yet.

He pushes my head down so far his dick hits the back of my throat, causing me to gag. He groans deeper and pushes his dick deeper. When my throat contracts around him, he pulses in my mouth. The tightening from the gag must feel good, but I'm worried about throwing up on him.

Enzo pulls my head back and I suck in a breath, but he's pushing me down before I'm able to get a good amount of air. He does this over and over, the lack of oxygen making me dizzy.

After holding my head down for so long I think I may pass out, he lifts my head and I greedily suck in air but go right back down for more. He tsks, grasping my hair and stopping me from moving.

"That's enough for now. Tuck it away."

I frown. He wants me to put his dick away? Why is this the thing that has me wanting to tell him no?

"You can't expect to only get pleasure from it, can you? You have to take care of it. Treat it with respect. The same way I'll treat your pussy with respect. Put it back where it belongs."

I want to tell him it belongs in me. That I don't want him to stop, and he should let me keep going, but I already know it'll get me nowhere. So I sit back, and though I'm unsure of how to handle his dick in a normal way, I do my best. Once I have it in my hand, I realize I don't need to touch it, so I let it go and tug his underwear up and over it.

"Move it to the side."

I shift it to the side—hoping it's what he meant—button his pants, and zip them up. When I'm done, I look up at him with a smile. I did it. It's away. Hopefully it's comfortable.

He leans forward, grasps my chin, and stares deeply into my eyes. I expect him to thank me—manners and all. But what he says is so much better. "Now be a good girl and fuck Rafael until his cum is dripping from your tight little cunt."