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“You’re a stranger, Enzo.”
He hums low in his chest at the sound of his own name. His cello, singing for me. He runs his tongue along his lips and I am entranced yet again.
“I’d like to dance with you again.” Enzo bows his head and I am frozen. Absolutely frozen in place. This man takes all semblance of rebellion away from me. Under the gentle light of his gaze, I yearn to obey. To please him. To entertain until a smile graces his lips once more. I’m beside myself with resentment and anger for these feelings, but have them I do. His mouth agape, stare fixed upon my lips, I am unable to stir a single inch. The mingling scent of his breath, infused with subtle notes of citrus from the cologne he chose this morning, permeates the air.
Our hands remain still, and I fight the urge to close my eyes, my body threatening to melt into his. The tip of his nose brushes mine, and I no longer care who I am or who he is. I no longer care where we are, consequences be damned. All I care about is this requited, magnetic pull. His scent, his nearness, the plaguing image of my hands pressed against his bare chest as he grips my undulating hips. All I can think of is what he tastes like, what he sounds like. The wonder of his face as I make him feel better and better with every passing moment.
“Mia.” My name is a whisper on his so-close lips. A question, asking for permission for something we both crave.
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