Page 79 of Fiorenzo

Fiore quite agreed. There was something intoxicating in the idea of a dozen-odd strapping university students tying each other up in a secret orgy.

Enzo’s tongue emerged to trace the scar that split his lower lip. “And… I carried the sight back with me to my solitary quarters. I spent many nights imagining myself bound in their stead.”

Fiore found the idea of Enzo bound rather inspiring himself. The rosy glow of those sharp cheeks, the eager sheen in his dark gaze, and the ragged rhythm of his breath in just the mere anticipation of submission would tempt anyone to indulge him. “Did you never have the opportunity to turn the fantasy into reality?”

“Well…” Enzo bit his lip again. An entirely unwitting gesture, and therefore all the more captivating. “Orazio did indulge me, now and then, once we’d found each other.”

Fiore hadn’t meant to dredge up anything that might remind Enzo of his loss. He attempted to banish any lingering melancholy with a gentle smile. “How very generous of him.”

Just as Fiore had hoped, Enzo echoed his good humor. “Very generous indeed.”

And a very good thing, too, that Enzo could now reminisce fondly rather than dwelling on regrets. Fiore didn’t flatter himself far enough to believe he bore sole responsibility for this change. But it pleased him to see it regardless. He felt not a drop of jealousy for remembrances past—only eagerness to make Enzo feel so again.

Fiore let the crop descend. It trailed from beneath Enzo’s chin, tracing the jewel in his throat that pulsed at its touch, flicking each individual button of his waistcoat, down to where even the fall-front of his breeches couldn’t entirely disguise his growing interest in their conversation.

Enzo’s breath caught.

The echoes of a hundred voices begging Fiore to tame them rose up in his ears. Now he would turn all he’d learnt towards Enzo’s pleasure.

“How shall I have you?” Fiore asked.

Enzo’s breath grew shallow. “However you like.”

An intoxicating notion. But not the answer Fiore required to give Enzo what he wanted. He tried again. “How did you imagine yourself on all those lonesome nights? Bound behind your back or over your head?”

The reply came in a fevered gasp. “Over my head.”

Fiore grinned. “Then strip.”

As much as Fiore liked to put on a show for his gentlemen, there was certainly some satisfaction in leaning back with his hands braced against the gunwales of his bed to watch as Enzo’s trembling fingertips fumbled with his waistcoat buttons. Enzo hesitated when it came to his breeches. His eyes flew to Fiore’s, seeking permission, and only at Fiore’s nod did he stand to divest himself below the waist. The loss of his drawers revealed his cock at full mast, lightly pulsing with the force of his heartbeat, and his inner thighs gleaming wet in anticipation.

But when his hands descended to the garters of his silk stockings, Fiore flicked his wrist, and the crop halted just short of striking Enzo’s knuckles. Enzo ceased even without actually receiving the blow. His eyes flicked up to Fiore’s face, pupils flown wide, lip caught between teeth, the whole of him shivering in eagerness.

“Those remain,” Fiore told him.For my own pleasurewent unsaid.

Enzo agreed with a fervent nod.

Fiore trailed the crop up from Enzo’s calf over the inside of his thigh. It halted just before it reached his cunt. Enzo ceased to breathe.

Then Fiore flicked it back to his own side. “On the bed. Back to the wall. Kneel.”

Enzo obeyed with as much grace as haste. Impressive in a man of his immense stature. Fiore intended to reward him well for it. He paused just long enough to select a suitable length of hemp from the sea-chest. Then he set both rope and crop aside on the nightstand—not failing to notice how Enzo’s eye fixed on those instruments—to disrobe himself before joining Enzo in the bed.

“Give me your hands,” Fiore said, taking up the rope again.

Enzo surrendered them at once.

Fiore drew the rope over his wrists—lightly, teasingly, with particular attention to the blue veins—before binding them in deft knots, ensuring there remained room enough for him to pass two fingers between the hemp and Enzo’s arm. Then he took them by the knot and raised them overhead. Enzo offered no resistance, only an eager gleam in his dark eyes as he watched and waited with perfect trust for whatever Fiore chose to do with him.

An iron hook as big as a man’s fist protruded from the wall above Fiore’s bed. Like almost everything else in the room it’d originally served a purpose aboard ship; now it secured the same hempen lines for entirely different ends. Few noticed it unless they looked for it. Those who found it tended to be those who desired its use.

And now, Fiore hung from it the knot that bound Enzo’s wrists.

It left a little slack, with Enzo on his knees, just enough to account for a slight bend of his arms.

Fiore sat back to admire his work. “Like this?”

Enzo nodded. It seemed the sheer force of his desire robbed him of speech. Or perhaps he considered his own silence another aspect of his obedience. Either way, Fiore appreciated both his restraint and his continued communication. To say nothing of how he looked now; face flushed, prick no less so, a single pearl of seed rolling from its tip and still more between his thighs from his cunt.

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