Handjob on His Cock

Bria’s pov

Pushing open the guest bathroom door to finally deal with all the orange juice and red wine fighting for space in my bladder, I froze and immediately wished I’d asked that cute server from earlier to point me toward another restroom.

Backing out now and bolting down the hall, however, would be admitting defeat, because standing right at the basin rinsing blood off his skin was Enzo Castiglione himself.

Stormy gray eyes cut toward me with sharp irritation as I forced myself to cross the threshold and click the door shut behind my back, essentially locking myself in an enclosed space with a live beast.

A low, annoyed sound rumbled out of his chest before he ignored me altogether and went back to scrubbing his palms. His rings and watch sat off to the side, and his shirtsleeves were shoved up past his elbows, baring hard cords of muscle shifting beneath warm bronze skin.

It pissed me off how fast heat coiled low and fierce in my belly just looking at him, and I had to actively remind myself that repeating last night was off the table. My bladder was practically screaming for relief while Enzo took all the time in the world at the faucet, thick crimson water spiraling down the metal drain.

My throat went tight. Was that from Ramon, or someone else entirely?

Locking myself in a tiled room with a ruthless career criminal who killed without blinking was objectively idiotic, yet my stubborn pride easily beat out every ounce of survival instinct I possessed.

Setting my glass of deliciously sweet wine onto the granite counter, I marched straight into the farthest stall and took my time handling my business, only to step back out and find him still lingering there, wiping his hands dry and fastening his watch around his wrist.

I let my mouth twist into a sour frown, refusing to acknowledge him as I stepped up to the basin to wash my hands.

His stare pressed against the side of my face, turning the air between us dense, stifling, and way too charged.

“Did you really have to shoot him dead?” The question slipped out when the quiet grew too heavy to stand.

That heavy, hooded gaze pinned me through the mirror. “Do you have any idea what came out of his mouth about you?”

I went still. Wait, what?

Forcing my features into an icy mask of indifference, I lifted one shoulder. “Couldn’t care less.”

“Well, I do,” he replied, that rough baritone sending an unruly jolt straight through my stomach. “Said the two of you went to the same college, that you were an easy lay, and that you had the sweetest pussy on campus.”

My fingers shook slightly as I laced them together over the basin. I dug through my memory trying to place the terrified guy from the lawn, coming up completely blank. Had we actually been at the same school? Did he genuinely know who I was? Shit.

“You understand why that doesn’t fly, right?”

I gave another careless shrug, faking every bit of my composure. “I don’t see an issue at all, Enzo. Why does it even matter to you? Just back off and leave me alon—”

The rest of the word died on my tongue because Enzo had moved directly behind me, a wave of cold hostility rolling off his frame and sinking deep enough into my bones to make my teeth want to clatter. “Not happening, *micetta*, considering you belong to this family now and there’s a reputation to maintain. I won’t have our friends or our rivals believing Castiglione men can’t keep a leash on their women.”

Hot anger hollowed out my stomach in a second. “Excuse me, a leash? I don’t belong to your crew, got it? Let’s make that crystal clear right now. My mother is the only reason I showed up today, and once this party wraps up, I’m not playing happy household with any of you.”

“That decision isn’t yours to make.”

Dread dropped heavy in my chest. “W-what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means your days of whoring around are over, and you’re going to start acting like a respectable woman. Otherwise, you’ll be busy fighting off marriage prospects.”

“And what if I have zero interest in marriage prospects?” My voice came out thin and strained as he crowded further into my personal space. He stood so close that straightening my spine brushed my back against the solid wall of his chest, his cologne thick enough in the air that I could practically taste it on my tongue.

“Then that’s your bad luck, *mia cara*.”

I swallowed hard. Why did he have to drop his voice like that? What was with that tone?

“I mean it. I’m not—”

“You’re done walking around in outfits like this that advertise you as an easy fuck. Even if that happens to match exactly what you are.”

“And what am I, exactly?”

A sharp pull yanked at my ponytail as he wound the blonde strands around his fist, flipping something hot and reckless over inside my belly.

Giving a slight shift to loosen the tension on my scalp, I kept my face completely blank and pivoted around to meet him head-on.

God, up close his face was almost unfair, knocking my pulse completely off rhythm the second those dark gray eyes locked onto mine.

Swallowing again, I lifted my hands to his suit jacket and slowly worked the button through its slit. “Is that really how you see me?”

“No.”

“No?” My palms stilled against the front of his shirt as I tilted my chin up.

“You’re a whole lot worse.” The Italian roll in his voice came out thicker now, rougher and pitched low.

A dry scoff left my lips. I dragged my palms slowly down the hard planes of his chest until they settled flat against his stomach, right above the leather of his belt.

“Yeah? Does that get you off?”

“You’ve got a pretty high opinion of yourself, *micetta*.”

“Right, then how about you explain this?” I slid one hand down between our bodies where the thick ridge of his cock was already pressing hard into my belly, laying my palm flat over the heavy bulge.

A clipped curse tore out of him and his footing nearly faltered, his breathing breaking into harsh, shallow pants. “Bria.”

His hips jerked forward, driving his cock harder against my palm while I stroked him up and down through the fabric, tipping my head back with a slow smirk as I watched the strained, desperate heat take over his gorgeous face.

He made zero effort to push my wrist away, which was the only reason my common sense hadn’t kicked back in yet.

Heat bloomed wild beneath my ribs at the realization that jerking him off right here was a one-way ticket to hell for the pair of us, yet consequences meant nothing compared to the rush of bringing a dangerous man like this to the edge with nothing more than my palm on his shaft.

“Fuck, Bria,” he rasped out, slamming one hand down onto the edge of the sink to bracket me in until his broad frame filled my entire vision and his scent wrapped around every breath I took. “Don’t you dare stop. I’m gonna come.”

The sheer authority in that growl, delivered like a command he expected me to follow without question, sent a wicked pull straight through me that almost made me give in. Everything about Enzo screamed that he got whatever he demanded the second he used that tone.

Which naturally meant I had to do the exact opposite.

Giving his cock one last gentle squeeze as a rough, gravelly groan tore from his throat and set my own body on fire with need, I rose onto my tiptoes to press a hungry kiss against his cheek just as eagerly as I would have claimed his mouth. Then I drifted my lips right up against his ear. “Here’s the thing, Enzo—I love sex way more than I’m scared of you, and no man breathing is ever going to dictate how I live my life or what I do with my body. So it looks like I’m staying a slut for the foreseeable future.”

I caught his earlobe lightly between my teeth with a soft tug before giving his chest a parting pat.

His teeth ground together hard as I slipped out from under his arm and scooped my wineglass off the granite counter, pausing at the door to flash him a bright smile that stretched into a wide, wicked grin once I took in the red lipstick smeared across his cheek and collarbone, his rumpled dress shirt and crooked jacket, the even thicker bulge straining against his slacks, and the murderous frustration blazing in his eyes.

Raising my glass in a silent toast, I spun on my heel and strolled out of the bathroom.