Page 146 of Better When Shared
“Never?”
Enzo grinned. “Brian’s rules. One: Always wear sun protection. Two: Always carry condoms and lube. Three: Never fake orgasms.”
“There are so many more rules than that,” I muttered, and both he and Gemma burst out laughing, hugging me tight. For once, it felt like my brand of crazy was accepted. It fit with theirs.
Chapter 12
Enzo
Genoa, Italy
The Italian sun beat down on the narrow piazza, turning the ancient stones to gold as we settled at our outdoor table. My body ached pleasantly from hours of walking Genoa's winding streets, and I couldn't stop stealing glances at Brian and Gemma. She looked fucking edible in jeans that hugged her hips and flared out around her ankles, while he remained infuriatingly put-together despite the heat, not a hair out of place. We were almost two weeks into this cruise, and we’d been fucking for over a week, and I still couldn't believe I was sitting here with them, that I'd tasted them both, that they'd shown me pleasures I'd never even dared to imagine.
"God, I'm starving," I groaned, collapsing into my chair. The metal scraped against ancient cobblestones as I sprawled my legs wide, earning a disapproving glance from an elderly Italian woman at the next table. I grinned at her unrepentantly.
Brian folded himself into his seat with that precise economy of movement that made my mouth water, adjusting his glasses with one finger. "You're always starving."
"Fast metabolism," I shot back, already scanning the menu. "Plus, you two keep wearing me out."
Gemma's lips curved into that secretive smile that had become more frequent since Mallorca. Since we'd broken through her careful control and shown her what her body was capable of. Now she was becoming addicted to the things we’d shown her, and Brian and I were perfectly happy to fuel that addiction.
"Well, we have the whole afternoon free. We could explore more of the city, do some shopping..." Her foot brushed against my calf under the table, deliberate and teasing. "Or find other ways to pass the time."
My cock twitched in my shorts, and I had to shift in my seat to accommodate the sudden tightness.
"Shopping sounds good." I was trying to sound casual despite the way my pulse had kicked up. "I promised my dad a bottle of that fancy Genoa pesto. And I saw some leather stores that looked interesting."
Brian's eyebrow quirked up, his expression neutral but his eyes dancing with amusement. He knew what kind of leather had caught my attention—and it wasn't the wallets.
The waiter appeared, a young guy with a quick smile who took our orders in rapid-fire Italian that I couldn’t follow, despite having an Italian grandmother. Gemma responded fluently, because of course she did. Of course, CEO Bancroft spoke perfect Italian on top of everything else.
"So," she said once the waiter had disappeared, resting her chin on her hand. "What have we learned?"
Brian looked up from his water glass, his face perfectly straight. "I've learned that Gemma likes to be fucked rough, and Enzo likes to be bossed around."
I choked on my water, sputtering and coughing while heat rushed up my neck. Gemma's startled laugh rang out across the piazza, drawing glances from nearby diners.
"Brian!" she gasped, swatting at him. "I meant about the city. On the tour!"
The corner of his mouth twitched up in that subtle smirk that drove me fucking crazy. "Oh, my mistake."
"Like you'd know anything about the tour," I shot back. "You spent the whole time staring at Gemma's ass in those jeans."
Gemma elbowed me, but she was giggling, her green eyes bright with mischief. "And your ass. He loves your curves, Enzo.”
The words sent a jolt of heat straight to my cock. My mind filled with an image so vivid it made my breath catch: Brian behind me, those precise, methodical hands working me open, stretching me with the same patient attention he'd shown with Gemma. His cock—thick and perfect and intimidating—pressing against my entrance, claiming me in ways I'd never let anyone before.
"You alright there, Enzo?" Brian's voice cut through my fantasy, low and knowing. The bastard could read me like a fucking book. "You've gone quiet. That's usually a dangerous sign."
I swallowed hard, trying to focus on the table, the menu, anything but the heat flooding my face. "Just... thinking."
The waiter returned with our drinks, saving me from having to elaborate. I seized my glass of local wine and took a long swallow, letting the dry, bitter liquid cool my suddenly parched throat. When I finally looked up, both of them were watching me—Gemma with amused curiosity, Brian with that intense focus that stripped me bare.
"I brought you a present," Brian said. "For later."
My stomach flipped, anticipation and nerves tangling into a knot that settled low in my gut. I knew better than to ask what it was. Brian liked his surprises, liked the way our eyes widened when he revealed some new toy or technique.
"Focus on your lunch, sweetheart.” His hand settled on my thigh under the table. "You'll need the energy."
