Page 44 of Enzo

“It’s okay?” For real?

He didn’t answer with words. Just nodded, slow and sure, and the warmth in his eyes made everything else fall away—the garage, the noise, the fear. It was him and me.

I was on his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, my palms flat on his chest. I could feel every breath he took. My heart was pounding so hard I thought he must feel it too. This was my first kiss. My first everything. And it was him.

I leaned in before I lost my nerve, pressing my lips to his. Soft. Careful. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and tasted of coffee. A shiver ran through me at the contact, nerves buzzing under my skin. My chest tightened in that sweet, aching way I’d only read about, and I swore I could feel every beat of his heart reverberating into mine. His hand slid to the back of my neck, grounding me. His touch was warm, his fingers calloused from years of work, but gentle as they curved around me. The roughness of his skin on my nape sent a shiver down my spine. He held me like I was something breakable and precious all at once, as though I were the most important thing in the world and he couldn’t risk letting go.

I pulled back an inch. “I wanted that,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said, forehead resting to mine. “So did I.”

“Can I have more?”

“Always.”

When our lips met again this time, there was no hesitation. His mouth moved against mine with a hunger matching the ache building in my chest. I felt his fingers tighten in my hair, tugging enough to tilt my head back. The slight sting sent heat cascading down my spine.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, his breath warm and ragged.

“More than okay,” I whispered back, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath thin cotton.

He made a sound, half groan and half sigh before claiming my mouth again. This kiss was deeper, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips before slipping inside to taste me properly. I opened to him, meeting each stroke with my own, learning the shape and the taste of him that made my knees weak.

Am I doing this right?The question flared in my chest, loud and panicked, even as my body moved on instinct. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel or how to respond, only that I didn’t want to stop. But what if I was messing it up?

Enzo must’ve seen it—felt the tension in how I hesitated and stiffened for a heartbeat. He pulled back and framed my face with his big hands, thumbs brushing my cheeks.

“Is this okay? Is this the right way to do it?”

Something flared in his expression. Surprise, maybe that I’d made it to twenty-three and was asking that kind of question. I was suddenly ashamed, but he wouldn’t let me fail. “Fuck yes,” he said, voice low and steady. “You’re perfect.”

He made me believe.

His hands slid down my sides, resting at my waist, fingers digging in enough to draw me closer until our bodies pressed together. I could feel his heat through our clothes, the solid wall of his chest pressed to mine, his heartbeat racing to match my own, and he was hard against my ass. I wriggled, uncertain, worry creeping in again.

He traced my bottom lip with his tongue, and I copied, delighting in his sharp intake of breath. The sensation sent a warm jolt through me, low and urgent, like a lit fuse curling deeper into my body. My lips tingled from the contact, and when I dared to push forward with more confidence, it emboldened me. I could feel myself shifting—less unsure, more present, morewanting. Every reaction from him fed something new in me, a connection building in the heat of our kiss, deeper and stronger than anything I’d ever imagined. When I caught that lip between my teeth, the sound he made was raw, primal. His kiss turned demanding, consuming.

One of his hands moved to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek with surprising tenderness although his kiss remained fierce. The contrast made me shiver—how he could be so gentle and hungry at the same time.

“God help me, but I’ve thought about this,” he confessed, voice rough. “Dreamed about how you’d taste.”

“And?” I asked, my fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair, needing something to anchor me as the world spun around us.

“Reality’s better,” he whispered.

I could feel his smile before he kissed me again, slower this time, deeper. His tongue slid in a rhythm that made heat pool low in my belly, made me imagine other ways we might move together.

I pressed closer, emboldened by the hardness I felt against my hip. His hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, palm hot at the small of my back, fingers spreading wide, pressing into my skin as if he couldn’t get close enough. My breath hitched at the contact, my spine arching, every nerve ending on high alert. The contrast of cool air and the heat of his hand sent a ripple through me, and I clung to him, needing more. fingers splaying wide as if trying to touch as much of me as possible. The contact of skin on skin sent electricity sparking through me.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, trailing kisses along my jaw, down to the sensitive spot below my ear that made me gasp.

“Don’t,” I gasped, pressing my forehead to his. “Don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as he searched my face. “You sure?”

I nodded, unable to form words past the lump in my throat. I’d never been more certain of anything.

“We should slow down,” he said as his fingers traced patterns on my skin that made me shiver. “I don’t want you to regret?—”

---