Page 122 of Ruined By Blood
"Fucking hell, Sienna." His voice drops lower, that Italian accent becoming more pronounced. "You don't need to try. I've been thinking about you all day."
Feeling bold, I lean closer to him. "I want to lick you again," I whisper.
Enzo's grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "Christ," he mutters, then shoots me a heated look. "You can't say shit like that when I'm driving."
"Why not?" I ask innocently, enjoying the effect I have on him.
"Because I'll crash this fucking car trying to get us there faster."
CHAPTER 40
The car tires crunch over gravel as we pull up to the cabin. Before I can even reach for my door handle, Enzo’s already out, rounding the hood with that predatory grace of his. He wrenches my door open, his eyes dark as midnight, pupils blown wide.
The air crackles between us, thick with unspoken want. Strong arms slide around me, lifting me clear off the seat like I weigh nothing. My breath catches, hands automatically gripping his shoulders. The solid muscle beneath his shirt flexes.
He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to. His silence speaks volumes as he carries me through the front door, his footsteps echoing in the quiet entryway.
My heart hammers against my ribs, a franticdrumbeat against the stillness. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, the click of the lock loud in the sudden hush. The familiar scent of him—leather, whiskey, and something uniquelyEnzo—wraps around me.
“Strip.” The command rumbles from his chest, vibrating against mine. Low. Absolute. His gaze pins me, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt. It’s not a request. It’s an order.
My fingers tremble slightly as they find the hem of my top. The soft cotton glides over my skin as I pull it off, dropping it carelessly to the floor. His eyes follow every move, burning a path like embers across my exposed skin.
Breathing becomes harder as I reach for the button of my jeans. It pops open, the zipper hissing as I shimmy them down my legs, kicking them aside. Cool air touches my skin, raising goosebumps everywhere. I stand before him in just my simple underwear, feeling utterly exposed under that intense, molten gaze.
His nostrils flare, a low growl escaping him as his eyes rake over me. The pure, raw hunger there steals my breath. My hands fumble behind my back, releasing the clasp of my bra. It slips from my shoulders, joining the pile of clothes. Then my panties slide down, pooling at my ankles. I step out of them.
“On the bed. Now.” His voice is rougher now, edged with that dangerous possession that both terrifies and thrills me. The thick mattress yields beneath me as I sink onto it, the cool sheets a shock against my heated skin. I lie back, propped on my elbows, watching him.
He undresses with brutal efficiency. His shirt comes off first, revealing the intricate tattoos snaking across his chest, shoulders, and arms. The ink seems to writhe in the dim light—swords piercing roses, intricate patterns, symbols of power and death etched right into his skin.
His muscles bunch and flex beneath the artwork as he tosses the shirt aside. Then his hands go to his belt buckle. The metallicclinkis loud in the quiet room. He pushes his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, stepping out of them.
My gaze drops, drawn downward. My breath hitches. He’s fully hard, thick and long. Veins snake along the impressive length, pulsing slightly. He’s magnificent, sculpted strength and primal power standing before me. My core clenches with a fresh wave of liquid heat. The sheer size of him… intimidating, but it sends sparks skittering through my veins.
“Spread for me, baby girl.” The low command washes over me, laced with possession and desire. It’s quiet, firm, leaving no doubt about what he wants.
Instinct takes over. My knees bend, legs falling open slowly.
He reaches into the nightstand beside the bed, movements fluid and economical. The foil packet tears open with a sharp sound. He rolls the condom down, never breaking eye contact with me. That predatory focus sends another wave of heat pooling low in my belly, my inner muscles clenching reflexively, already slick and wanting.
Then he’s on me. Not gently. Not hesitantly. His body settles between my open thighs, the hard heat of him pressing against my stomach. One large hand grips my hip, fingers biting into my skin with a possessive pressure that sends a delicious shiver through me.
The other hand guides himself. The head of him presses against my entrance, nudging against slick heat. I gasp, arching up instinctively. He holds my hip firm, pinning me to the mattress. His eyes blaze into mine, holding me captive more effectively than any restraint.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a low, rough rasp. “You look at me when I take you, Sienna.”
He pushes forward. A slow, deliberate invasion that steals my breath. The stretch is intense, exquisite. I gasp, my eyes widening, locked on his as he fills me inch by relentless inch. It’s a claiming, a possession. My inner walls grip him tightly, adjusting, stretching to accommodate his substantial girth.
He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, his hips pressed flush against mine. I feel impossibly full, stretched wide open around him. A low groan rumbles from his chest, vibrating through both of us.
He holds himself completely still inside me, buried deep, his body shuddering with the effort of control. His gaze, molten and dark, sears into my soul. I can feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse of his cock deep inside me. It’s overwhelming, consuming.
“Fuck,” he whispers, the word thick with ragged pleasure. His forehead presses against mine for a moment. His breath is hot and uneven against my lips. Then he pulls back, dragging himself almost completely out.
The friction is exquisite, leaving me aching and empty. Before I can protest, he slams back into me with a powerful thrust of his hips. My cry echoes in the room, a sound of pure shock and pleasure. Fire ignites along my nerves, centered right where we’re joined.
He sets a ruthless pace. Deep, powerful thrusts that drive him into me with relentless force. Each stroke pushes me deeper into the mattress, each withdrawal leaves me gasping for more. His fingers tighten on my hip, holding me exactly where he wants me.
