Chapter 5

ENZO

HIS VOICE SHOULDN’T have cut that deep.

“You jealous your brother got the first taste?”

I stared at him. Glasses slightly askew. Shirt wrinkled, lips shiny, and that smug little curve on his mouth like he hadn’t just walked into a fucking wolf’s den. Like he hadn’t been kissed—touched by someone I gave very specific orders to stay away from.

He looked cocky. But he wasn’t cocky. No, he was trying to survive.

And that pissed me off even more.

I walked forward slowly. Not like I was in a rush to beat him. Not like I was angry. No. That would’ve given him power.

Instead, I stepped close enough to watch his throat move when he swallowed. He didn’t back up. Not this one. He held his ground even with his glasses crooked and sweat glistening on his temple.

“You think I care about a kiss?” I said, voice flat.

He opened his mouth but I didn’t let him speak.

I reached up and fixed his glasses with a single finger. Deliberate. Controlled. I watched his pupils twitch. I wanted him to know I noticed the flinch he tried to hide.

And I wanted him to know I’d use it later.

He blinked at me, sharp like a cat about to claw the hand that fed it.

“Your brother didn’t force me,” he muttered and I almost laughed. Almost.

But instead, I leaned close, voice low. “I know.”

That caught him off guard. I saw it. His lashes fluttered and his mouth parted, but no sound came.

I stepped back, jaw tight.

He thought that would protect Eli or him. That admitting it — owning it — would dull the blade. Cute.

It only sharpened it.

Because now I wasn’t just thinking about Eli disobeying me. I was thinking about Tate offering it. Letting someone taste him. Wanting someone to. I was thinking about how long that kiss lasted. How much of it Tate gave willingly. Maybe all of it.

And how he’d weaponized it just now.

“You want to play with fire, sweetheart?” I said quietly, turning to lock the door.

He tensed.

I didn’t blame him.

Good. Let him squirm.

I wasn’t like Eli. I didn’t flirt, didn’t fuck for fun, didn’t bend rules for a good time.

But that wasn’t what this was. This was about control, and he just offered his throat like he thought I wouldn’t bite.

I turned slowly to face him. “Take your shirt off.”

He stared. “What?”

I didn’t repeat myself.

One second. Two. Three.

He peeled it off like he was doing me a favor. Like he wasn’t shaking inside. Smart mouth, trembling fingers. I watched every inch of skin as it came into view. Pale. Soft. Slight marks on his wrists where rope had once been. A faded tattoo curled along his left arm. And his chest — smooth, lean muscle, scattered with freckles that hadn’t seen sun in weeks.

“Pants next.”

His jaw clenched.

I said nothing.

He did it slower this time, like stripping was some kind of performance. His boxers stayed on — black, cotton, tight enough to show he’d been affected by that kiss too. Or maybe it was me. Maybe it was the way I looked at him like I already knew what I’d do.

“You said it wasn’t about the kiss,” he said, voice low and shaky. “So what the fuck is this?”

I stepped in close. “This is punishment.”

I shoved him lightly, just enough for his back to hit the wall. My hand gripped his jaw, fingers rough against skin that still smelled like Eli’s cologne.

One week ago. One fucking rule.

“Don’t go near the boy.”

That was it. I didn’t care if he fucked his way through every club on the East Coast, but not this.

Not this one.

And Eli… smiled like he already planned to break it.

I should’ve known. Should’ve fucking known the second Tate looked up at me with blood on his lip and that challenge in his voice. Should’ve known Eli wouldn’t resist.

But neither would I.

Not with the way Tate looked at me now. Like he knew I wouldn’t walk away. Like he saw something in me and was poking at it to see how deep it went.

I squeezed his jaw tighter. “Say it again.”

He stared up at me.

I pressed harder. “Say it.”

“You’re re jealous,” he muttered.

I grabbed his wrist and shoved it above his head, pinning it to the wall. His glasses slid down slightly. He licked his lips like he was bracing.

I leaned in, my mouth close to his ear. “Next time you want to provoke me, try not to look like you actually want it.”

His breath hitched.

There.

There it was.

Fear.

Not enough to make him beg. But enough to make him hesitate. Enough to remind him this wasn’t about sex or attraction. This was about power. About consequences.

“You like games, Tate?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

I pushed his other wrist up, holding both with one hand. My other hand moved down — slow, steady — tracing the waistband of his boxers. Not touching. Just close enough to make him squirm.

“Still think I’m jealous?” I whispered.

He looked me dead in the eyes. “I think you’re proving me right.”

I smiled.

Wrong answer.

I let go of his wrists, stepped back, and grabbed his shirt from the floor. Threw it in his face.

“Get dressed.”

He blinked.

“You think I want that?” I said, voice tight. “Like I’m the kind of guy who fucks men like Eli?”

Tate flinched.

Good.

“Put your fucking clothes on. Next time Eli shows up, keep your mouth shut. Or I’ll shut it for you.”

He didn’t move.

I leaned in close. “You’re not here to play or fuck around. You’re here because your father couldn’t keep his hands off ten billion dollars’ worth of my shit.”

Then I opened the door and walked out. Left it wide open. Let him sit with that.

My steps echoed down the hall, the men glanced up as I passed, like they could smell it—the burn in my chest, the tension bleeding through my skin.

I didn’t stop to light a cigarette. Didn’t go for a bottle like usual.

I went straight to my office, closed the door and dropped into the chair behind my desk, the leather groaning under the weight.

I poured a drink and set the glass down without touching it.

That’s when I noticed it.

The pressure beneath my belt. Tight. Too fucking tight.

Fuck.

A low growl rumbled in my throat before I could swallow it down. It wasn’t human. It came from within—the wolf clawing under my skin, hungry, restless, pissed.

I clenched my jaw, hand flexing hard around the glass.

Tate.

That mouth. That look. That fucking challenge.

He was still in my head. Still under my skin. Still had me hard. And I was one second from snapping his fucking neck for it.