Enzo's Pov
I trail my fingers in a slow, absent-minded circle on her stomach, feeling the soft cotton of her t-shirt under my touch. She shivers lightly against me, a delicate tremor that makes me smile, and she leans back more firmly into my chest, her eyes still fixed on the large television screen. The black-and-white scenes of Casablanca play out, the classic dialogue washing over us in a comfortable hum.
I lean down and press a soft, lingering kiss to the curve of her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her raspberry shampoo. It is getting harder and harder to keep my hands off her. There is something so profoundly soothing and yet intensely appealing about touching her, about holding her, like I could willingly get lost under her spell and never find my way out.
