Page 84 of Enzo

Robbie

I woke to darkness,feeling a rush of panic at the weight pressing down on my waist. But then a familiar scent—Enzo, with hints of oil and citrus—washed over me, and I felt myself relax. That scent grounded me instantly. It was the opposite of fear, the opposite of cold metal and bleach and darkness. It reminded me where I was—who I was with. Enzo. Safety. Warmth. My heart stopped racing because that scent wasn’t just his—it was mine now, too, a new kind of memory replacing the old ones that used to haunt me.

“Hey,” Enzo murmured. I felt a flush of embarrassment, aware of the lingering high from my orgasm. But a question nagged at me—had Enzo also found his release, or had I taken everything he offered without giving anything back? I whimpered, curling into myself. “Hey, you’re okay,” he added.

“I’m fine,” I managed, though my voice betrayed me. “It’s just… I didn’t—did you…?” The words tangled in my throat, too awkward to voice.

Enzo’s arm tightened around my waist; his breath warm on my neck. “Did I what?” he asked.

I buried my face in the pillow. “Did you, when you… like… did you… finish?”

He pressed a kiss to my neck. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He shifted, propping himself on one elbow to stare down at me as I wriggled to face him, ignoring the aches in my bones. His dark hair was rumpled from sleep, eyes still heavy-lidded. Seeing him like that—unguarded and soft in the morning light—hit me hard. Awe bloomed in my chest, followed closely by a warm, aching desire. He was nothing like the fierce, protective man who stood between me and my nightmares. He looked real. Touchable. Mine. And I wanted to hold on to him for the first time, not because I was afraid, but because I wasn’t. “I got everything I wanted and more, trust me.”

“But—”

“Watching you fall apart was enough,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “More than enough.”

“I want to make you feel good, too,” I admitted, eyes fixed on a point near his collarbone. “Doc said?—”

“Let’s not bring Doc into this,” Enzo cut in, and I winced. “Sorry,” he added, “I might owe him for saving your life, but that asshole doesn’t deserve a space with us.”

“Okay.”

We embraced tightly, and I nestled into his chest, feeling his heart’s warm, steady rhythm beneath my cheek. My lips brushed his throat, savoring his skin’s subtle, salty taste. My fingers traced the intricate patterns of the tattoos on his arms, exploring the stories inked beneath my touch. One near his elbow caught my attention—a black raven in flight, wings stretched wide, feathers inked with delicate precision, and a gate wide open behind.

“A raven?” I asked.

“Freedom,” he whispered.

He groaned softly as my fingertips grazed a sensitive spot just beneath his collarbone. Then he shifted away, grabbing two bottles of water and handing one to me. As he moved, the tattoo across his shoulder caught the light—bold black ink stretching with muscle and motion. A rough and ready scraped and drawn wolf tangled in thorns. Heavy. Deliberate. A cover-up.

“And the wolf with the thorns?” I asked.

Enzo paused. His body went still, jaw tightening for a second. Then he took a drink and looked at me—not evasive, not ashamed. Just… honest.

“Inside,” he said, voice low, “Mateo wanted me to come back. Be Stone Cross again. I told him no. He said I would be a lone wolf then. Exposed. Vulnerable. He meant it as a threat, but the image stuck with me. There was this guy, built like a linebacker, soft as anything he tattooed over what was there.

He tapped his shoulder lightly, fingers brushing the ink. “The thorns, though… those are mine. For the people I hurt. The lines I crossed. The shit I did just to survive, to stay loyal to the wrong kind of family. This isn’t art. It’s regret, marked permanent.”

He turned to face me, his gaze locked on mine, voice raw

“But I’m not that person anymore. And I swear to you, Robbie—I would never, ever hurt you.”

It wasn’t a promise made lightly. He wasn’t trying to impress me. He was giving me a truth carved out of blood and mistakes.

“I know,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Something dangerous glinting behind the softness in his eyes. “But if anyone touches you, even breathes wrong around you—I won’t hold back. I don’t care who they are. I don’t care what it costs. I will burn the world down before I let someone hurt you again.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a vow.

And somehow, hearing it didn’t scare me. Not from him. It settled in my chest like armor, like safety.

He’d fight anyone. Everyone.

For me.

“I want to touch you and make you feel good.”

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