Page 35 of My Enemy, My Obsession

He spreads my legs, his fingers exploring me, stroking me, fingers sliding inside me, readying me, and just when I think I can take no more, he goes “there” again. He smacks my backside, and when I arch my back, he drives inside me. I’m back to not even recognizing the sounds coming out of my mouth as he pumps into me again. I have never felt such wild abandon in my life, and it’s everything and not enough.

“Ethan,” I cry out, and as if he knows what I want, he pulls out of me and turns me around.

He’s kissing me then, lifting my leg, settling me on the back of the couch, and driving into me again. At some point, his shirt comes off, and my fingers revel at the feel of taut muscle and warm skin against me.

He leans over me, pressing me backward until I feel I might fall on the other side of the couch, but he’s holding me. He’s got me. And we grind together—wild, so very wild—until I’m trembling and quaking, and his face is buried in my neck and he’s moaning with his release. Time stands still, and our bodies slowly relax into each other.

I hold my breath then as he continues to hold me up, preventing me from falling, and wait for what amounts to the morning after. The dreaded moment of what comes next.

Chapter Thirty

We’re still leaning overthe couch, Ethan buried inside me, holding me up, when he kisses my neck, and I can feel his smile as he says, “Faster than planned, but we can do it again.” He eases back to look at me, his blue eyes alight with playfulness, no longer the dark and unreadable. “And don’t say a word about me not being fully undressed. That’s your fault.” He pulls out of me and sets me on the floor.

It’s only then that I realize he wore a condom, and I was so into the moment, I don’t even know when he put it on. For a responsible person, I was very irresponsible, but I assume Ethan never allows himself a mistake to that end. A man with as much money and power as he possesses has to be ridiculously careful with people. His life might seem like a dream on the outside, but there are drawbacks, like never knowing who to trust.

“Come with me,” he orders, capturing my hand and walking through the living area of what I suspect is a presidential suite based on the elegant décor and plentiful space, though I barely noticed my surroundings. I’m naked. He is not. This is becoming common between us, and I’m not sure whatto make of it.

We enter the bedroom, and soon a bathroom that is fancy, as would be expected, with a clawfoot tub and lots of deep mahogany wood décor. Ethan releases me and tosses the condom in a toilet, and before I even have time to feel a fresh wave of embarrassment, he snatches a robe from behind the door and slips it around my shoulders.

“Arms,” he urges softly, and I slide them inside, the surprisingly soft material gentle on my arms.

He holds the lapels, his gaze sliding hotly over my body before he tugs me close, my naked body pressing to his half-naked body. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

He speaks that compliment in this low, rough, guttural tone that sounds almost angry, like he doesn’t want me to be perfect, but I am, at least to him. My hand settles on his cheek, the rasp of newly forming stubble against the softness of my palm. “You don’t sound like you think I’m perfect at all. In fact, you sound like you think I’m a real bitch.”

His forehead presses to mine, and he says, “If only it were so simple.”

I’m confused, but then that is a perpetual state of being with this man. “If only what were simple?”

“Leaving you the fuck alone.”

I ease back, tilt my chin up, and study him, and I find torment in his expression that I can only assume he allows me to see. This man doesn’t show emotion unless he chooses to show emotion. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” he says without hesitation. “I do notwantyou to go.”

“Then whatdoyou want?”

“Things I shouldn’t want. Things you shouldn’t want me to want.”

Things I shouldn’t want him to want? As in sex? As in something more?

My head is spinning and my breath hitches, and I can’t seem to process what he’s just said to me, let alone the implications. “Ethan,” Ibegin, but my voice trails off, as I’m not even sure what I’d planned to say or what I hope he’ll say.

His fingers tease my cheek, a delicate, somehow erotic touch that puckers my nipples at the same time that it softens my heart. I feel like there’s something happening between us, something unexpected and wonderful and yet, oh, so dangerous to my heart. His palm caresses down my arm, and his fingers capture my fingers.

“Let’s order dessert.”

“You’re always trying to feed me.”

He winks and leads me out of the bathroom. We settle on the couch with the room service menu, a fire licking at the walls of the fireplace before us, and soft music in the background. “You ordered an entire bottle of whiskey you didn’t drink.”

“They’ll hold it for me for tomorrow,” he assures me and lifts the menu. “One of everything?”

“No.” I say, laughing and holding up my hands. “I can’t jog enough to undo that and mac ‘n’ cheese.”

“One of everything it is,” he says, snatching up the hotel phone and placing the order, which includes coffee.

His cellphone rings, and he pulls it from his pocket, a grind to his teeth as he glances at the number and hits disconnect, before typing out a message on text.

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