Brianna’s POV
Enzo doesn’t kiss me. He devours me. His mouth claims mine with a hunger that startles, a hunger that answers the one I didn’t want to name. Every breath is stolen, every gasp swallowed, until I am not sure if I am breathing at all or if he’s doing it for me.
His hands roam like he’s memorising me, one palm cupping my breast through the thin fabric, the other pressing into my thigh, urging me to open. Heat blooms where his mouth travels, down my neck, over my collarbone, lower still until he takes me between his lips and sucks like I am the only sustenance he’s craved for years.
“Enzo,” I whisper, the sound broken, pleading. He answers with a low growl against my skin, a sound that makes me quake, makes me arch into him. His tongue traces me, flicking, circling, until I am
