Page 19 of My Enemy, My Obsession

My breath quivers from my lips, and I whisper, “It might—work.”

He laughs again, another of those deep, sexy rumbles, and says, “Let’s find out.”

Chapter Sixteen

Kissing is the mostintimate thing you can do with a man, my mother’s wild sister once told me.That’s how you know if he’s fucking you or making love to you.My mother had been outraged at the latter part of that advice, but I’d been intrigued, though dumbfounded. I’ve never been kissed by a man who didn’t want to fuck me. It’s always felt the same.

But when Ethan kisses me now, when his mouth slants over mine, and his tongue caresses my tongue, I feel something I have never felt in my life. Not fucked. Certainly not loved. The man barely knows me.

Consumed.

Owned.

Possessed.

Things my aunt’s wisdom and my limited romantic life have not prepared me for, not one little bit. But I like it. I like it a lot. One of his hands is on my face, the other is on my backside, folding me closer, and he devours me, and I’m right there with him, my arms around his neck, my body melting into his hard perfection.

I’m panting when his lips part mine, and he whispers, “You taste like whiskey in the rain.”

I suck in a breath, air trickling from my lips as I laugh and say, “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he strokes my hair behind my ear, his eyes dark with a lusty heat that somehow manages to be as tender as the touch, “you manage to be both the quiet in the storm I needed tonight and lightning in the middle of the clouds.”

I know then that his statements are not about me as much as they are about his need to get out of his own head. Something is bothering him, eating him up inside, a puzzle or problem he has not solved or wrangled. He’s not in control. And this bothers him deeply. Therefore, he needs the escape I represent. He needs me. And just for tonight, I need him, too.

And I damn sure understand needing out of my own head.

“I’d definitely call you the storm I didn’t see coming,” I whisper, and I’ve barely spoken the words before his lips are on my lips again, his kiss once again devouring me, and when he’s left me thoroughly kissed and breathless, his lips kiss my neck, his hands caressing my breasts and nipples before he sinks to his knee and cups my backside. He squeezes even as he leans in and kisses my belly, his eyes meeting mine, as his tongue swirls, and teases.

“Where do you want me to kiss you next, Zoey?”

I want to shout at him to stop calling me Zoey, but his hand caresses over my hip, and then his fingers are back between my legs, sliding into the slick heat he’s created. “Here?” he asks softly.

The shy me, the normal me, would freeze up with such a question, but all I know right now is how close I am to orgasm. “Yes,” I whisper, “God, yes.”

He laughs, and I’m truly addicted to the deep rumble of masculine perfection this man’s laugh is to me. What I’m not addicted to is theway he denies me, the way he teases me, feathering kisses on my belly and hips, touching me, but still his mouth is not where I want it to be.

He is so close, his breath hot on my clit, and I’m coming out of my own skin. “Ethan,” I murmur, my fingers tangling roughly in his hair.

As if that impatience is exactly what he’s waiting for, his tongue flicks over my clit, and I gasp with yet another tease, but it’s a good one, so very good. And then finally,finally, he is suckling me, fingers inside me, and my eyes squeeze shut with the intensity of the immediate pleasure. I’m there. I am sothere. I orgasm with ridiculous speed and intensity, my body jerking with my release, the room fading around me.

When it’s over, when I come back to myself, my knees give out, or maybe that happened sometime while I was living in bliss, and trembling inside and out. Ethan’s arm is around my waist, strong and steadying, holding me so that I don’t fall. My hands settle on his broad shoulders, my eyes meeting his, the intimacy between us stealing my breath. He pushes to his feet and in the next moment, he’s kissing me, and I can tastemeon his lips.

“I need inside you,” he announces, tearing his mouth from mine, his voice rough with arousal, and the realization that he no longer feels in control, stirs new fire in my blood. His need for control, the way he dominates me, is surprisingly over-the-top arousing, but knowing he’s near the edge, and I put him there, is everything.

“Finally,” I breathe out, and my hand presses to his leg. “And yet, you’re still not naked.” I reach for his pants, and he does too, and in seconds, it seems, his cock is in my hand, and he is ridiculously big and thick. He’s also already wearing a condom.

My gaze jerks to his, amusement lighting his eyes. “I might have taken my time, but I made sure I was ready.” He captures my leg and pulls it to his hip. My hands press to his naked chest, and I’d object to the fact that he’s still wearing his pants, but he presses between my legs, thick and hard, and I’m in sensory overload.

Finally, I think again in my head, but somehow, he still has it in him to hold back, teasing us both, sliding his erection along the seam of my body, and driving me wild. He clearly does not want me the way I want him, or he would be inside me right now.

“Ethan,” I plead, and in answering reply, he presses inside me, and as if his willpower is now fully eradicated, he thrusts deep, burying himself to the hilt, a guttural groan escaping his lips; his handsome face contorted in pleasure.Yes, I think. Yes. This is what I want from him.

And when a little voice in my head intrudes on the sexy moment to challenge that thought, I shove it aside. He’s the asshole who upset my father, which is why he doesn’t even know my real name. And therefore, this is nothing but sex, sin, and satisfaction—a fairy tale one-night stand.

As if driving home that point, he pinches my nipple, and thrusts into me again.

Pleasure wins.

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