Page 60 of Enzo

Because we’d made damn sure of it.

TWENTY-ONE

Robbie

After monthsof nothing I’d woken up hard for the seventh day in a row, and it was getting tougher to deny why. Yesterday afternoon, I’d seen Enzo welding, and I’d found myself staring at the bright sparks illuminating the lean lines of his muscles, the way sweat trickled down his neck, dampening his dark hair and clinging to his skin. Then this morning, he was standing chatting with Jamie and Logan, and it had beenhimI’d stared at.

I was battling fear and exhaustion, but above all that I wanted Enzo.

I’d gone and developed a crush. A small one at first. Then something bigger. Something that consumed me.

And yet, Enzo was always the one asking if I was okay. If I needed anything, but what I wanted was for Enzo to stop smothering me in kindness, push me up against a wall—gently, of course, in case it was another one of my fucking triggers—and kiss me blind.

Was that wrong?

Should I let him? I mean, he deserved something for everything he did for me. But no… I didn’t owe him sex because he was kind.

Chapter seven of the self-help book told me so. It discussed how people who’d been hurt could mistake kindness for interest or affection or feel compelled to repay goodness with something they weren’t comfortable giving. It warned that survivors sometimes tied their self-worth to pleasing others because that was how we’d tried to stay safe.

Kindness isn’t a currency.

Don’t fuck everything up. They’ll make me leave. Sex is a weapon.

And repeat…

I was attracted to Enzo—and not only because he was kind. Right? It was more than that. I wanted to taste his skin, feel his heat, trace his muscles with my fingers, hear the sounds he’d make if I kissed his throat. I wanted to drop to my knees for him, not out of gratitude, but because it felt like freedom—like choosing something for myself.

When he’d held me in his arms that night and let me cry myself out, something had changed, and I wanted him.

But did I know my own mind?

I glanced at Jamie—handsome, blond, blue-eyed—and wondered if I’d feel the same about him although I’d have to ignore the chaos in his gaze. Half a heartbeat later, I dismissed it. Rio and Logan were good-looking too, solid and safe, but only Enzo set me alight. Just thinking about his touch made my pulse race. I’d fantasized for so long about desire without fear, being touched until I trembled with pleasure—not panic.

Had John at the window forced me out of my apathy and on to a dangerous path where I imaged a different life for me?

What would it feel like if Enzo touched me that way?

In my fantasies, he took me hard, until I was breathless and lost. The pain was different—better—than the kind I knew. But he’d never hurt me. In real life, he’d probably be too careful, afraid of breaking me. I’d end up frustrated, exposed. A mess of fear and want, of past and future, of something I couldn’t have.

What if I couldn’t have sex without pain and reward? What if my body locked up? What if wanting him wasn’t enough to drown out the fear? He’d probably do it if I asked—but not because he wanted me that way. He’d do it to keep me safe. But asking him for that? Letting him touch me? That might destroy me.

Maybe I needed someone else. Someone I didn’t care about.

I had this fantasy where I was fixed and normal and Enzo didn’t pull away. But that meant I wouldn’t flinch if he touched me. And if I did… would he still look at me the same? Or would he step back, let the distance grow, and prove I was too much? Too broken?

God. Broken.

The word clung to me, suffocating. I was trying so hard to believe I was more than what John had done to me. But how do you erase a word carved into your soul?

I wasn’t sleeping. I thought about pills—but then I’d sleep too deeply. What if something happened and I didn’t wake up?

I leaned back against the bathroom door and shut my eyes, my thoughts spiraling.

Chapter ten, paragraph fifteen. I am enough. I am worthy of love, not because of what I can give, but because of who I am.

I repeated it until my breathing slowed, and the panic eased, leaving behind a fragile calm.

I was still hard.

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