Page 20 of My Enemy, My Obsession

I’ll even let him win.

Tonight.

Chapter Seventeen

Ethan lifts me offthe ground, holding my weight with ease, even as he drags me down on his cock. I cling to him, and we grind together in this dirty, sexy, wild way I’ve never experienced with another man. I don’t even think about falling. For a brief instant, I’m against the wall, him driving into me, but when I hit my head, he scoops me close, and murmurs, “Sorry, baby,” and carries me to the couch.

He sits down and takes me with him, and then I’m straddling him, on top of him, his hot gaze raking over my body, and unbidden, nerves attack. I’m on show and self-conscious. This is a man suited for models and actresses, and I’m just…me. And who am I? Certainly not as pretty as they would be, not as perfect.

He must notice the trepidation in my eyes as his hand slides under my hair, his long fingers folding under my neck, before he drags me closer, my mouth a breath from his mouth. “You’re fucking beautiful, and now I’m at your mercy,” he declares.

His understanding of what I need in this moment undoes me in a way even his words cannot, as does the intimacy of the way his hardbody cradles mine and drags me back to him beyond the physical. “I don’t think you are ever at the mercy of anyone.”

“And then came the lightning. And her name is—”

My heart lurches, and I press my lips to his, not willing to hear that name again. Never again. I think I might explode if I do. His fingers twine in my hair, and he deepens the kiss, and it’s like no other kiss we have shared. It’s wicked and sultry and emotional in some way I do not understand. I shove aside such silly thoughts, and blame my imagination on the whiskey. Desperate to get out of my own head, I rock against him, and he reacts just as I’d hoped. He thrusts into me again, pulls me down against him. And then it’s not me rocking, but both of us rocking in unison, in a sultry dance that consumes and ignites into something addictive and wild. We can’t get enough of each other, and it becomes a desperate burn between us.

Every part of me is burning alive for this man, and I can feel the same in him.

I want this to last forever, and yet, I need all the pleasure it promises, and holds just out of reach. That release that feels eternally withheld is somehow sudden when it arrives. I gasp and bury my head in Ethan’s shoulder. He holds me, kissing my neck and whispering, “You are so fucking perfect,” even as I quake around his cock, and drag him with me.

I feel the jolt of his body, the pull of our mutual pleasure draining us both in the best of ways. The world fades and returns to what feels much later. Our breathing is ragged, and when Ethan rolls me to my back on the couch, he orders, “Don’t move,” and pulls out of me.

I’m still breathing hard when he returns, still mindless, assuming, of course, he got rid of the condom. He lays back down with me and curls me closer, and when my leg slides over his pants, reality hits. “You never even got undressed.”

“And that really bothers you, obviously.”

“No, I—”

He laughs and kisses me. “Don’t lie.” He shifts us again, stands up, and then undresses. His body is all sinewy muscle, and he is just ridiculously perfect. “If you keep looking at me like that,” he warns, “there will be no rest for you.” He joins me on the couch again, and when he lays down next to me, him on his back, he curls me to his side, my head on his shoulder, my hand on his chest, fingers nestled in the dark, springy hair there.

It's an intimate moment that is unexpected and somehow comfortable. His heart thunders under my palm, and I wonder if he thinks the same thing, or if I’m living a fantastical moment I’ve created in my mind. “I should probably go. I leave tomorrow.”

A few beats pass, and he says simply, “Stay.”

Now my heart is racing, but logic is in place. What else is he going to say? “Really, I think—I should go.”

He rotates me to my back and leans over me. “Stay,” he says softly, and this time his eyes are warm and his voice warmer. “I don’t want you to go.”

“But you have—”

“I don’t have to do anything but convince you to stay.Stay,” he repeats.

My breath hitches, and I realize then that I’m on dangerous territory with this man if conversation replaces sex. I’ve lied to him, and I dislike how that makes me feel and how it most certainly would make him feel if he knew. And yet, I find myself saying, “Yes.”

His really perfect, full lips curve, his eyes lighting with approval. “That’s what I like to hear, baby.”

Baby.

Not Zoey.

I like it, a little too much.

He kisses me, a gentle brush of his lips over mine, before he lies back down and pulls me back to his shoulder. He doesn’t say a word, but I can hear him thinking. “Penny for your thoughts,” I whisper.

“Ask me that another time,” he says, “and I might answer. But not now.”

The reply is confusing in too many ways to count. He wants me to stay, but he doesn’t want to tell me what he’s thinking. He’s also suggesting there might be another time we are together, which is probably just wording, not reality. It’snot reality. It can’t be reality. Because I’m not Zoey.

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