Hexed (Never After #6)

14. Venesa

FOURTEEN

VENESA

His hands are rougher than I thought they’d be. Larger too, and when they skim up my sides, heat flares deep in my stomach and spreads until it’s pooled between my legs.

I’m nothing more than a marionette, dangling from strings he’s controlling.

I moan when he reaches beneath my shirt, those calloused fingers skating up the length of my stomach until he’s cupping one of my heavy breasts in his palm, creating a friction that has me seeing stars as he manipulates my flesh.

There’s no guesswork, no hesitation. Only strong, sure caresses.

It’s been so long since a man has touched me this well.

His mouth follows the trajectory of his hands, brushing kisses up my abdomen and then along my collarbone, and as he moves, a piece of his black hair falls forward, tickling my skin. I laugh, and when he nips my flesh, that laugh turns into a moan, my own hands reaching out now, grappling to find purchase somewhere on him .

I’m not sure how we got to this point, but I don’t really care.

The roots of his hair are just as soft as I always imagined, my fingertips running through the silky strands and tugging harshly when his teeth sink into a sensitive spot on me. He groans, and the sound resonates—vibrates—like my body was made to be a conductor for the noise.

“Enzo,” I moan, trying to physically force his head down.

The scruff of his jaw grazes the side of my neck, and his hands slip farther until his fingers tangle with mine. He maneuvers my arms above my head, pressing them firmly into the bed. “I love the way you say my name.”

His breath is hot against my neck, and then his tongue swipes out like he’s desperate to drink me up. His mouth follows with a sensual kiss. And then another. And another, until he’s all the way down my body and his lips are skimming against the waistband of my sleep shorts.

I shift, and one of his hands leaves mine, his broad arm locking across my stomach until I’m pinned and unable to move.

A shot of arousal hits me, and I’m so wet, I wonder if it’s dripping onto the sheets and whether my thighs would get stuck together if he let them get close enough to touch.

They’re not, of course. Enzo’s frame is nestled between them, forcing them to spread so wide, the stretch causes an ache.

His tongue swipes out against the crease of my leg, and my toes curl. I try to stay still because even though he hasn’t told me to, it feels like there’s a silent command in the air, and he’s so good at manipulating my body, I just want to relax and let him do whatever he wants.

I’m wound so tight, I’m trembling, and when his nose brushes against the damp fabric of my shorts, right on top of my clit, my thighs slam shut around his head. He chuckles, and his hands shoot out, his fingers pressing into the muscle as he forces my legs back apart.

His nose brushes against my pussy again, and then he sits back and looks at me with a devilish grin before blowing on the fabric.

“Enzo, please ,” I beg.

He hums and continues his torture, pressing featherlight kisses—so soft that I question if they’re real—right next to where I really need him.

He’s driving me crazy.

Those hands of his move from my inner thighs and slip beneath the hem of my shorts, fingertips gliding through the wetness he ’s causing, like he knows it’s there just for him. My insides contract, and my spine stiffens as a shot of pleasure curls through me.

He makes a fist around my shorts with his other hand, right on top of my cunt, and then he leans in?—

Bzzzzz.

I shoot up in bed, strands of hair sticking to my clammy face from the perspiration beading along my scalp, my chest heaving from the breaths caused by my dream.

My clit is literally pulsing, I’m so close to coming.

Glancing around, I get my bearings. Small purple-and-black vanity in the corner, refurbished dresser by the door, bathroom to my right.

I’m at home, in my apartment, and the throbbing between my legs is from a damn dream .

Groaning, I fall until my back bounces off the mattress, sinking into the Tencel sheets, and I run my hands over my face.

A sex dream about your cousin’s fiancé. Great, Venesa.

The worst part is, this isn’t the first time it’s happened. It’s been three days since Enzo was actually here, invading my space and wiping blood from my skin like I was something to be cherished, and dreams like this have happened every. Single. Night. Since.

I wish I could get him the hell out of my system, because this is dangerous. There are so many things he doesn’t know, so many things I’ll never tell him, and even if that weren’t the case, I don’t do things like this.

Attachments. Liking someone. I’ve seen what happens when you latch on to someone else, when you make them your entire personality and let them slowly chip away at who you are until you’d do anything for them…even if it’s at the expense of yourself.

Or the kid you’re supposed to love more than anything.

Men like Enzo—dangerous, charismatic, intoxicating men—only drag you down, whip you around, and tear you apart until you’re nothing but crumpled pieces of paper being blown by the wind.

Getting emotionally attached is a death sentence, and while no one can outrun death, I plan to evade it for as long as possible. Besides, despite my dislike for Aria, I don’t actually want to steal her man.

It’s beneath me.

But alas, here we are.

Flashes of the dream parade through my memory, making the tension in my body wind tighter and tighter until I’m about to snap.

I’m not going to get anything done until I take care of this problem, so I give in to the images, closing my eyes and gliding my hand down my stomach slowly, trying to recreate the feel of my fantasy. But my fingers are too soft, too practiced, too comfortable.

Still, my clit’s pulsing in time with my heartbeats, already on edge from the eroticism of my imagination, so it feels good as hell when I slip the tips of my fingers through my folds, picking up some of the wetness that’s pooled between my legs and spreading it around as I start a circular motion against my clit.

My free hand moves to my breast, grabbing it roughly over my shirt, imagining Enzo’s fingers pulling at my nipples, manipulating my own flesh as though I were under his hands. It doesn’t feel the same—of course it doesn’t—but I let my imagination run wild, and if I try hard enough, I can still pretend.

His hands on my sides, gripping, grabbing, pulling.

His mouth on my skin, wet, hot, soft.

His voice in my ear, moaning because he can’t control how badly he wants me.

And there’s something about that , about him losing control, that has me at my peak within seconds.

My touch leaves my breast, and I move it down, pushing one finger inside myself and curling until I feel that spongy spot that sends bright lights flashing behind my eyes.

“Oh God,” I moan, my back arching off the bed. My other hand speeds up its circular motion against my clit.

“ Piccola sirena .”

His imaginary voice in my ear is all it takes, and my body smashes into a thousand bits as I explode, coming so hard that my vision goes black and my ears go numb.

Immediately, guilt tears me up from the inside out.

Fuck .

I have got to get it together.

Two hours later and I’m thinking the same thing but for different reasons.

Seven Seas Construction sits at the corner of Eighty-Third and Arista Avenue in downtown Atlantic Cove. It’s a smaller building than one would expect, but its architecture is solid and stunning. It’s made almost entirely of reflective glass, and the sun shines off the surface like a mirror and sparkles along the water, making the building look like a thousand tiny diamonds glimmering in the middle of the city.

It’s where Uncle T spends most of his days when he isn’t at his home or on his yacht in the middle of the ocean.

I, however, can count the number of times I’ve been here on one hand.

Today is five, and I wonder why he asked me to meet him here when he’s spent so many years making sure I stay away.

The sun is hot, the warmth of the rays soaking into my skin while I stand indecisively on the sidewalk just outside the front, getting lost in thought as I stare at the SS Construction decal plastered across the glass door.

Part of me is grappling with the thought of him finally allowing me into this part of his life, his business. But the other side of me feels suspicion, which is something I’m not used to feeling when it comes to Uncle T.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here, but it must have been some time, because the door opens and Bastien walks out, a look of concern etched on his umber-brown features as he walks up to me and stands at my side. He slips his hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels as he stares at the building.

“Nice day,” he muses.

I purse my lips. “Little hot.”

“Sun is shining at least,” he continues.

“I hate the sun.”

He glances at me, reaching out and pressing a thumb into my pale skin, watching as it turns white, then darkens back to a slight pink. “I think it hates you, too.”

I smirk at him.

“You planning to stand out here all day?” He turns to face me.

“He sent you out here to get me, didn’t he?” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair, wincing when one catches on a tangle.

Bastien nods. “You know how it is.”

“How’d he even know I was here?”

He turns to look at me now, his face void of humor. “Your uncle sees everything , V. Never forget that.”

“I won’t.” I give him a funny look because why is he saying it like that?

Truthfully, I don’t even know why I’m debating walking in there. It’s just…things have felt different these past few days, is all.

I’ve felt more like an afterthought that gets brought out from time to time when it suits his fancy instead of an essential part of his team.

It’s probably just because Aria’s back and she’s sucking up all his time and attention. As soon as she and Enzo are gone, things will go back to normal.

They have to.

“Come on, V,” Bastien says. “Just get it over with.”

I follow Bastien into the building, and as soon as we make it through the doors, the smell of vanilla and freshly brewed coffee hits me in the face. There aren’t many people here, but there’s a receptionist behind a large U-shaped desk, Seven Seas Construction written in metallic lettering on the wall behind her that has water cascading from the bottom and rushing down into a small basin.

The woman smiles at me as we walk by…or maybe she’s smiling at Bastien. I glance at him and see him studiously ignoring her, the way he does with everyone.

He’s really quite the enigma, and even though we’ve been around each other for years, I still find him quite mysterious. I look up to him in a way because I wish I could shield myself from everyone, even the ones I’m closest to, as well as he does.

Neither of us talk as we enter the elevator and head to the top floor, and it’s something I’ve always appreciated about Bastien: his quiet demeanor. So many people feel the need to fill the air with noise because they’re uncomfortable in the silence, but not Bastien. If you ask him why he is the way he is, he’ll either grunt and ignore the question or weave an elaborate tale, but you’ll never know if what he tells you is fiction or fact.

But somehow, despite all that, he’s the one I’d trust with my life. He’s been around since the day my uncle took me in, and when I was trying with everything inside me to figure out where I belonged and how to navigate my momma’s death, he was there. Sitting next to me. Picking me up from the seedy areas I’d sneak off to just to get away. Reminding me that things didn’t have to be as shitty as I was making them. I owe Bastien a lot for that time in my life.

I glance at him again, my chest filling with warmth.

“What?” he asks, looking at me with a brow raised.

“Can’t I just look at you?”

He blinks at me. “No.”

I scoff. “You can’t control where someone looks.”

“I can control whatever I want to.”

My mouth pops open. “You’re so arrogant. What are you gonna do, dig out my eyes?”

He smirks. “Maybe if I did, you’d stop being such a judgmental bitch.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

The elevator dings, and Bastien heads straight to Uncle T’s office. I follow him.

Just like at home, there’s an oversize desk, and Uncle T is perched behind it, his hands resting on his stomach while he leans back in his throne-like chair. Bastien and I step in front of him and sit down in the two seats facing his direction.

Uncle T raises a brow as he looks at me.

“You didn’t have to send Bas out to get me.” I break the silence. “I was about to come up.”

“You were standing out there for ten minutes, staring at the door like it was about to bite you,” he replies.

“So? Maybe I was lost in thought.”

“About?”

“Life.”

It’s as honest an answer as he’s going to get, because I don’t know why I was just standing out there other than I didn’t want to see him. Didn’t feel like walking inside. Not when he’s doing a 180 on inviting me places he never has and is sending me on babysitting missions instead of having me do important things. If I think about it for too long, I’ll start to spiral, worry that things are changing and I’m being shut out or that maybe it’s me who’s changing.

I’ve never not wanted to see Uncle T before.

He gives me a look. “I don’t pay you to think about life.”

You don’t really pay me much at all .

“I disagree.” I pick at the invisible lint on the arm of the chair. “You frequently pay me to think about life.”

“Actually, he pays you to think about death,” Bastien retorts. “If we’re being technical.”

“We’re not,” I say blandly.

“I was.” Bas grins cheekily.

“You both do whatever I tell you,” Uncle T interrupts.

I lean back in the chair, rubbing my thumb against my ring finger. “Can’t argue with that. So what’s up? Got a big bad man not wanting to play by your rules and you need me to go burn their whole house down?” I grin, excitement filling me at the thought. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to do something like that.”

Bastien laughs and shakes his head.

I glare over at him. “What is with you today?”

“Me?” His brows rise. “What’s with you ?”

Uncle T cuts in: “Actually, we’ve got a gun drop with the Atlantis MC in a couple of days, and I need you to handle it.”

I sit up straighter and try to school my expression because while I don’t mind doing whatever it is he needs me to do, I cannot stand working with the local MC chapter. Especially after having recently taken the president’s brother-in-law out of commission.

“So the warning worked, I take it?” I ask.

Uncle T nods, brushing his hand over his beard. “Of course it did. That’s why I had you do it.”

I’m nervous about it because I’m not naive enough to think the president of the MC, Johnston Miller, doesn’t at least suspect I was the one behind his brother-in-law’s recent loss of faculties, but if Uncle T thinks it will be okay, then I trust him.

He’s always looked out for me.

Uncle T takes a sip of coffee from a mug on his desk that says #1 Boss , which was a gag gift Bas and I bought him for his forty-fifth birthday, and then he leans back, interlocking his thick fingers and crossing them over his slightly bulging belly. “So how’d it go with my future son-in-law?”

Images of “how it went” with Enzo flash behind my eyes and send shots of arousal through my system, followed quickly by guilt and a rare lack of something to say.

But what can I say?

I shrug. “Fine.”

Uncle T’s brow quirks, and he leans forward, his elbows coming to rest on the edge of his desk, and a deep, hearty chuckle pours out of him. “That’s it?”

Bastien laughs and reaches over, pressing the back of his big hand against my forehead. “You feeling all right, V? Modesty isn’t your strong suit.”

I smack his hand away.

Uncle T laughs. “Well, whatever you did, I’m proud of you.”

Warmth infuses my chest, and I sit up straighter. He’s proud? I don’t think he’s ever said those words to me before. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure anyone has ever said those words to me before, and the way they make me feel is a brand-new sensation.

Like I’m floating above the earth and nothing can bring me down.

He’s proud of me.

“Thanks.” I clear my throat because the word comes out choppy. “Thank you.”

“E’s agreed to think about opening a Marino hotel down here in Atlantic Cove.” Uncle T’s smile is bright and wide, his eyes glimmering as he looks at me.

I slump back in my chair, relieved because maybe that means I won’t have to interact with Enzo anymore, at least beyond the superficial hellos we’ll share in passing leading up to the engagement party. “He told you that?”

“Aria mentioned it.”

“Oh.”

Images of Enzo and Aria cuddling in bed—his arm around her with a postcoital glow, him telling her about his business plans and asking her opinion—flow through my head.

My chest burns, and the feeling scorches up my throat.

“I didn’t really do much,” I say, shaking off my vivid—and very unwelcome—imagination. “I just showed him around—which I still don’t know why I was put on babysitting the big bad mafioso. I’m sure Aria’s pissed you let it happen.”

Uncle T grumbles, his beard twitching. “She doesn’t know.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t know? She’s not curious about where her man is while they’re in town?”

Uncle T sniffs. “I don’t want her anywhere near this business.”

I laugh, because surely he’s joking. “She’s marrying him. She’s in it whether or not you want her to be.”

“The women don’t touch that life. They stay happy at home,” Uncle T says.

I look at Bas, widening my eyes. He shrugs in return.

Men are fucking delusional.

Uncle T waves me off. “If she insists on staying gone from South Carolina, I need to know she’ll be protected, and that’s the last I’m gonna say about it. And don’t either of you get any ideas and bring things up to her. She’ll know what I want her to know, and that’s final.”

“Shouldn’t that be something she gets to decide?”

I don’t know why I’m defending her or pushing Uncle T’s buttons, other than for some reason, it feels different today, almost like having the freedom to speak with Enzo opened up a new world, one I’m having trouble closing even though I know biting my tongue is the best way to stay in Uncle T’s favor.

Besides, I may not like Aria, but I don’t wish the chains of a man on anyone, not even her.

Uncle T leans forward. “Aria’s never known what’s best for her. And you’re asking a hell of a lot of questions for a girl who can’t afford the answers.”

Ouch. That brings me back down to earth real quick.

That feeling from when he was proud a moment ago pops like a balloon stuck with a needle.

“Hey, what happened to that Sean guy?” I look at Bastien, trying to change the subject.

Uncle T frowns. “Bas handled it.”

“And?” I sit up straighter.

“And nothing. He handled it. It’s done.”

My back falls against the chair with an audible smack.

“Does Enzo know?” Uncle T asks.

My forehead creases, something uneasy winding its way through me like vines. “Know what?”

“About what happened that night. I know you were with him, so I’m just trying to figure out how with him you were when everything with that little rat Sean went down.”

My spine tingles with awareness because why would that matter? Uncle T is the one who made me spend the day with Enzo anyway, so this line of questioning is weird, especially since both my uncle and Bastien are being cagey as hell. It puts me on edge, something else I’m not used to feeling when it comes to Uncle T.

The truth of that night—of Enzo being in the room with me when I tortured Sean, and Sean admitting he was there because of him—vibrates at the base of my throat, but I swallow it and shake my head. “Why would he?”

It’s an odd sensation, omitting the truth to the man I’ve spent my entire life looking up to, but my intuition has always been my guide, and in this situation, it’s whispering to hold my cards close to my chest.

Uncle T casts a glance to Bastien, then back to me. “New Jersey isn’t far from where he lives. Maybe he sent him.”

“That seems like a question for your daughter, not for me. I barely know the guy.”

Uncle T’s eyes narrow. “Well, get to know the guy.”

Bastien clears his throat. “So how’d you get Enzo to agree to the hotel?” He quirks a brow, and I mask the way my insides churn violently, like I’m a ship in the North Sea.

My fingernails pick at the wooden arm of the chair. “My sparkling personality, probably.”

Uncle T smiles, his white teeth glinting at me the same way I imagine a shark’s would right before it’d dive in to tear me apart. “Exactly, and we can use that to our advantage.”

My stomach drops like a lead weight. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want you to keep him close while he’s here. Get to know him, like I just said.”

Hesitating, I reply, “You know I’ll do anything you want, but…his fiancée is here, first of all. And I want nothing to do with it or him. Honestly, after everything we’ve done, you shouldn’t want me near him either.”

“It’s not up for discussion.”

I lick my lips, casting a quick glance to Bastien before focusing on my uncle again. “So you want me to, what…spy on him?”

“Call it whatever you want.” He waves his hand through the air.

“Boss,” Bastien cuts in, his voice cautious. “You sure you want to send Venesa into the fire like this?”

“What fire ?” I snap. “This is a glorified babysitting job for the freaking underboss of the Mafia.” I point at Uncle T. “My talents are being wasted, and you know it.”

He grunts. “Watch your mouth, little one. What’s gotten into you?”

I shrink back from his sharp tone, chastised like he’s physically cast a whip out and smacked me with it. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.

“Can we make a deal?” I grin, trying to dispel this weird teeter-totter of emotions.

Uncle T chuckles. “There’s the Venesa I know, always wheeling and dealing. What’re your terms?”

“The family painting.” I hold my breath.

Uncle T lets out a boisterous laugh. “You know I can’t do that, little one. It belongs to me, the same way it was always supposed to. What kind of man—what kind of Kingston—would I be if I just gave it to someone else?”

I drop back in my seat and exhale my disappointment. It belonged to my mother, actually.

Shaking off the gloomy feeling, I agree to keep tabs on Enzo.

The same way I always give in and do whatever my uncle asks.