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“That might be the most confident thing any man has ever admitted to me.”
“I like being prepared.”
“You’re either incredibly optimistic or were running a brothel before I arrived.”
His expression changes so briefly I almost miss it. Then he tears open the wrapper.
“Neither.”
I should probably wonder about that. I don’t.
Because he rolls the condom on, steps between my thighs, and suddenly my investigative instincts are otherwise occupied. His hands settle beneath my knees. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“What you want.”
I smile. “This again?”
“Always.”
I look into his eyes. “Fuck me.”
His jaw tightens. “Say my name.”
I slide my hands around his neck. “Fuck me, Enzo.”
He pushes inside. One slow thrust. I gasp. Enzo stops once he’s fully seated. His forehead touches mine.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
“Bridget.”
“Yes.”
That is apparently enough.
His next thrust is harder. The table shifts beneath me.
“Oh, shit.”
Enzo smiles. “Sturdy.”
“Don’t you dare be smug right now.”
He thrusts again. Whatever I planned to say disappears.
He braces one hand beside me while the other grips my thigh, opening me farther. Every stroke feels deeper from this angle. Harder. Less polite. I love it.
“Jesus, Enzo.”
“That what you wanted?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
