Page 52 of Falling for the Enemy

A lone touch.

That’s all it’s taken for my calculating thoughts to completely scatter, totally erasing the cunning strategy I planned to deploy against him, utilizing the only weapon I currently possess as a golden ticket.

My body.

Now, however, it’s he who threatens to conquer me.

“With each stroke of my finger,” he whispers, parting my lips and tapping my clit in a maddening tease, “you continue to grow wetter.” His eyes rise to lock with mine. “Tell me, baby, what do you want first? My mouth? Or my cock?”

Baby. The term of endearment is new.

And a fiery arrow launched straight to my frozen heart.

I drop my head back, eyelids closing before fluttering back open. “What I want first is for you to release me.” Freedom of movement. I must regain it. “That way I can touch you as well, something I know you crave as badly as I, da?”

The durak smiles.

“You think I don’t know what game you’re playing?” His fingers lift from my sensitive flesh, leaving me aching. Wanting. Needing. “I told you not to fuck with me.” My knees bend, thighs clenching when he slaps my clit, the strike slightly painful. Addicting as well. “I meant it.”

To my surprise, he retrieves a blade from the nightstand. The sight of such a weapon in his hand should set me on edge. It doesn’t. Cupping my nape, he lifts my back from the cool sheets, severing the ties binding me.

Adrenaline floods my veins.

Only, before I can gouge his eyes out with my thumbs, an instinctual move that will give me the chance to escape, an act I’m now second-guessing, he tosses the knife across the room and drops down, his body flattening mine against the mattress.

Taking my lips in a kiss that is just as blistering as the one we shared back on shore with the corpses of our mutual enemies lying close by, their blood spilling onto the filthy warehouse floor, he erases my remaining resistance, the fog he shrouds me in mind-bending.

Blinding. Consuming.

Exploiting my weakness for him, he threads his fingers with mine, both his hands and body pinning me, leaving no room for escape. I can neither breathe nor think as his tongue battles with mine, each warring for dominance, the slew of filthy curses I wish to hurl at him remaining frozen on my ravaged lips.

All I can do is feel.

My legs wrap around his waist, forcing his pant-covered cock to press against my soaked center, his hardness one I wish for him to wedge deep inside me, relieving the ache that pulsates between my thighs, taking on a life of its own.

I almost smack his handsome face when he tears his mouth from mine, leaving my starved lips throbbing from his assault.

How dare he stop kissing me.

“Your little pussy’s swollen, its wetness begging to be touched further.” He flexes his hips, grinding his length into me, driving me closer to the brink of insanity. “Answer my question from earlier. Do you want me to taste it first?” He nips the side of my throat then drags his teeth along my jaw. “Or fuck it?”

I love his guttural, toe-curling voice.

But I’m sick of hearing him speak.

Hands flying to his belt in a wordless reply, I quickly undo the expensive leather as he leans back and rips his shirt off, buttons flying in all directions. It’s now that I get my first glimpse of his bare flesh.

Scars, from both bullets and blades, along with the cartel’s brand, cover the slabs of granite-like muscle that make up the planes of his torso, their peaks and valleys a real-life map of the journey my tongue will soon take. There’s no denying it—Alejandro Santiago is mouthwatering.

And he makes me weak.

So weak.

My strategic time with him may be dipped in deception, but regardless, I’m going to enjoy every fleeting moment we share, our bodies joined, and limbs entangled. Because after tonight, I’ll never spend another in the arms of the enemy.

The realization is depressing.

I choose not to focus on it.

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