I peeled my eyes open as Enzo pulled his hand away and examined the sticky mess I’d made on his palm. There were splotches of my cum on his pristine coat as well. His brows furrowed, an irritated expression coming over his face as he released my mouth and looked at his clothes disdainfully.

“All over me,” he muttered.

I groaned. “It’s not like it’s my fault,” I countered. “You were the one jerking me off, remember?”

“Yes,” he said shortly, an exasperated sigh following. “I suppose I got carried away.” He looked at my still semi-hard cock. “Really? How old are you? Nineteen?”

“Twenty-five,” I mumbled, shoving my cock back into my jeans as the back of my neck and cheeks erupted into flames. “It’s been a while,” I snapped when he continued to stare. “Oh fuck off,” I added when he raised a brow at me as if I was lying.

Enzo’s grin returned, and it was as if he was back in a good mood. He shoved his hand out toward me. “Clean this up.”

I blinked at him. “No way. I’m not tasting my own cum.”

Enzo’s right hand twisted into my hair, and he shoved his other hand over my lips. I stared at him, my mouth falling open in disbelief. He took that chance to smear cum into my mouth. I recoiled at the salty taste, the fact that he was so damn hot made it go down a hell of a lot smoother.

If he wasn’t in the mob, I would be back fucking him every night.

The danger alone was enough. But the way he took control and made me question every single thing I knew to be true was fun as hell. It felt wrong and intoxicating all at once.

He pulled his hand away as the elevator dinged, and we were let out into a small hallway with a door. Enzo collected his dry cleaning and let himself inside as I trailed him.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. I had no intention of drinking more than a sip, but I could use it after the whole elevator thing.

I followed behind him and glanced around. There wasn’t a thing out of place. Every picture was generic hotel art. All of the furniture was high-end, but neutral tones of sandy brown and white, all of it accented with chrome appliances and gray pops of color. It said nothing about him.

Shit. Is this a waste of time?

Enzo shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair as he walked to the bar. He took out two glasses and filled them with clear liquid from an expensive-looking crystal decanter. Enzo passed one over to me after dropping an ice cube into mine, the same way I’d had it at his club.

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded, silent again as he stared at me over the top of his drink. Like he hadn’t just jerked me off in the elevator and was now casually staring at me. I sipped, enjoying the burn of gin as it coursed down my throat. Honestly, I hated the shit, but I liked the way it burned, and my father never could handle it. But I could. Just like I was going to handle Enzo Vitale.