Page 14 of Lethal Bliss

Relief floods me, and a grin spreads across my face before I can even consider it. Now this is how addictions begin. The possibility that I might want him more than this once troubles me only for the briefest moment before I yield to his hands.

He turns me over to my knees and hands and goes behind me. I welcome him eagerly when he enters me from the back. This time, he isn't as gentle or slow. He plunges right in and begins to fuck me hard.

Shock wrings a cry of protest from my lips. I’m terrified and yet exhilarated. He shouldn’t go that fast because of his size. Yet each stroke sends a powerful current coursing through me, blanking every concern out of my mind and swamping it with overpowering sexual gratification.

“You’re… so… fucking… tight, Flora,” Enzo purrs. Each word is punctuated with a hard thrust that throws me forward. It’s only his hold on my hips that keep me in place. “So wet...” he groans.

I open my mouth to reply to him, but an incoherent babble tumbles out. It’s like I’ve lost the ability to put my thoughts into words. That part of my brain has been fried by sizzling currents of pleasure. I can't even recognize the voice as mine.

Enzo pounds me like an electric mortar, powerful and yet fast and steady. It’s the surest recipe for an earth-shattering orgasm. And soon, one begins to build up within me again.

It’s even more powerful this time. I tremble so hard my legs and hands give way. My joints have become too jellified to hold me up, so I sink to the floor, shaking.

Now only Enzo's hands holding my waist in place keeps my ass up. He continues to pound me, fucking me through my orgasm, elongating it.

There's no telling how loudly I cry out or how many tears spill from my eyes. I'm basically a blubbering mess in the grip of a powerful vortex of pleasure. It rips through me with a terrifying intensity that brings me perilously close to oblivion.

My consciousness threatens to slip completely out of my grasp. I can only maintain a tenuous hold on it, like the pegs holding together the crumbling hull of a storm battered ship.

I want Enzo to stop because I'm scared of losing my mind. Yet I want him to continue because I want to see what it's like, to lose it totally.

He continues—but not for long.

Soon, his grip on my waist tightens suddenly, and his thrusting becomes harder, faster, wilder.

He's coming!

“Aaaaargh. Fuck!” He sounds like a wild beast mating, and it excites me.

I want to look back at him, to watch him lose control, to see him in his most vulnerable state, lost in the clutches of pleasure, but the orgasm I thought was finally ebbing starts to build again faster than a rocket hurtling into the sky.

This time it erupts with a geyser, drawing water from my spring and splashing it all over the floor with Enzo's withdrawal.

Now he lets go of me, and I lie on the wet floor, a dripping, shivering mess, incapable of thought or words.

From above, the shower head continues to pour its water on us.

CHAPTER 8

Enzo

Showeringafterward is a one-sided affair, with me doing the scrubbing for both myself and for Flora. She’s too weak to walk unsupported, so I carry her into the room and lay her on the bed.

Unsurprisingly, she falls asleep immediately afterward.

Although I’m also exhausted and my eyes are heavy, I need to execute a few tasks. First on the list is a call to Alessandro Galliani, my right hand. He’s the made man in charge of my soldiers.

“I’m sending you a video recording right now,” I tell him, “It’s Jacob Slattery and the rest of Carter’s squad. They killed Carter in his house and put his body in their car. Get the boys, and hit the streets. I want you to piece together their movement from the house. I think they moved his body to that warehouse where he was found. Check every building with a CCTV in the neighborhood. One of them must have something within the two-hour timeframe after they left Carter’s house.”

“Yes, boss,” he says at the end. No questions asked.

After I put my phone down, I turn to the computer and send off the video to him.

When I’m done, I turn off the light and go to the bed to join Flora. She’s lying on her side, facing the wall. In thesemi darkness of the room, the curvy outline of her body is decipherable. The gentle arc of her hips and the swell of her ass invite me to cuddle her. I resist the temptation and lie facing the other way.

Ordinarily, it should be a hard task to keep my hands off her, but the memories of Franklin Benetti are back on my mind. They weigh too heavily to allow my other senses the freedom to respond to anything else.

The man had taken me off the street as a teenager and raised me among his children. The warmth of his home was a much better change from the coldness of the alleyways and hard pavements of the tunnels where I used to sleep.