Page 16 of My Enemy, My Obsession

He sets the tray down and settles his hand on my leg. “I like that you have never done this before.”

“But you have?”

“I work a lot.” He studies me a moment and then says, “I’m not the guy you get serious with, Zoey.”

The “Zoey” part of his warning meant to check me somehow hits the right—or wrong—place, depending on how you look at it, and I laugh a choked laugh. I mean, at this point, it’s both comical and kind of perfect. He just wants to fuck me, and I certainly don’t want more with him. He’s an asshole. You fuck assholes. You don’t let them get in your head or your life. Enough of my nerves and him have dictated what we do when.

I stand up. He catches my hand as if he thinks I’m leaving, which I most certainly am not.

He pulls me around in front of him. “Where are you going?”

Turns out his arrogance is so much better than all the whiskey in Hawaii at dousing my nerves and blowing up my confidence. Tomorrow doesn’t matter. I unzip my dress, step out of it, and climb on top of him, literally straddling the man, his powerful thighs beneath mine. My hands on his shoulders. “Right here,” I say. “Your move.”

Chapter Thirteen

For a moment thatstretches into eternity, Ethan doesn’t reach for me. He just lets me sit on top of him, my hands on his shoulders, my nearly naked body on display, my legs straddling his hips. The alcohol-induced confidence, enhanced by the entire premise of a one-night stand that drove me to act, and the bravado of it all begins to fade and falter. I start to get up.

His hands are suddenly on my body. One sliding up my back, molding me close, the fingers of the other tangling in my hair as he drags my lips to his. “You interest me, Zoey.”

I’m over the name. How can I care when his hands are on my body? “Do I?” I ask, and there is no question he interests me. So much so that I decide right then that he smells better than any man has ever smelled in my lifetime—a mix of musk and spice reminding me of a chilly autumn day—the kind that makes you want to find someone just like him and get all close and intimate.

The way I am close to him now, the way I want to stay close to him.

“Oh yes,” he confirms. “You interest me very much.” And then his mouth is slanting over my mouth, and he is kissing me in this deep,seductive way that consumes every part of me. It’s as if he’s claiming me, owning me. The kiss is a possession, and for the first time in probably all of my life, I’m living in the moment, unable to think outside the experience. And I am kissing him with as much intensity as he is kissing me—arching into him, the warmth of his body seeping into mine.

But it doesn’t last.

It’s as if he was waiting for my full abandonment, waiting for me to submit to his seduction, and then he strips away all that I want, ripping his mouth from my mouth. “Take the rest off, baby.”

Sweetheart. Now,baby. I’m not sure which I like best.

For a moment, that one endearment is as spellbinding as his kiss and touch, and in this moment, I’ve lost his true intent, but he brings me right back to it, and fast. He lifts me off of him, sets me on my feet, and then orders, “Undress for me. I want to watch.”

I tremble inside with his command. He wants to watch? To a girl like me who’s inherently shy, that’s an intimidating idea. He’s so very intensely male, and while yes, I’m mostly naked now—a bra and panties are more bikini than naked—his eyes simmer with burning embers, lust, and desire. He wants me. I can actually feel his hunger, the pulse of it in the air, a living, breathing part of him. He is aroused by the idea of me doing what he’s asked. I am, too, I realize. So very aroused. My legs are slick, and my sex is tight.

I decide hesitation has been my enemy this night, and I’m not going down that path again.

Yes, it’s a power play, a part of that whole “don’t touch me until I’m ready” thing he did downstairs, but maybe that was about not rushing things. Or maybe it’s just a game he wants to play, and neither thought is anything but another dose of sexy.

He seems to read my decision, and his hands slide away from my hips. I back up and give myself space and him a better view. There is something deliciously wicked about this moment in the heaviness of his lusty gaze. There is also a vulnerability to me undressing for him whilehe remains fully clothed. It’s almost like an act of trust for someone I do not know.

Somehow my sandals are already gone. I have no idea when I took them off. It’s a blur of alcohol and this man, I decide. I won’t know how any of this happened in the morning. Just that it happened. As for undressing, there’s not much to the job. We’re on a hot tropical island, which means my legs are bare. That leaves me with the important decision of panties or bra first? Panties feel easier. I don’t hesitate, or breathe, for that matter. I catch the silk strings at my hips, slide them down my legs, and throw them away. I’m bare down there. You never know what a man wants, so I do it for me, not them. Or him. There aren’t really a lot of men that have been in my bed, as proven by my complete lack of seduction skills. But Ethan doesn’t seem to care, or maybe he prefers someone less experienced. Maybe it feels more powerful. Maybe he just likes me, I remind myself. For now, his expression is impassive, but it doesn’t matter. I can feel his reaction to my half-naked body and the shift in the air as his mood reads edgier.

All in now, I reach between my breasts and unhook my bra. In true “me” fashion, in the moment that should be my hottest, me exposing my breasts and stripping away the last of my clothes, I shrug away the garment, and the latch somehow catches in my hair. So much for showing off my best asset and being sexy about it. I try to disconnect the hook from my long blonde hair, and the next thing I know he’s standing in front of me.

“Let me help,” he says, his lips curving with a hint of a smile and his eyes alight with amusement, though I don’t feel as if he is laughing at me at all. There’s actually something quite tender in his manner as he gently untangles my mess and then strokes my hair from my face.

He’s not touching me now, but I can feel him in every part of me. His eyes rake over my high, full breasts and then lift, lingering on my lips before he says, “You’re beautiful, Zoey.”

His hands catch my waist, and he tugs me roughly against him. “I’m going to fuck you every way you will let me fuck you, and then do it again.”

Oh yes, I think.

Please.

And somehow, I don’t say it out loud, but I have a feeling I will before this night is over.

Chapter Fourteen

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