Page 70 of Icing the Enemy

I pick up the last note and even though it appears we’re feeling the same way, nerves still prick up my spine, and my chest pounds wildly. With my hand on the knob, I turn and ease the door open. The curtains are drawn, and there are flameless candles on the nightstand and dresser, but Oakley is sitting up on her knees, not in lingerie but in my jersey.

“Jesus, Oakley. I’ve never seen someone so beautiful.” She makes my mouth water, and there’s no skin exposed except her neck and face.

The candlelight flickers across her face, and she blushes at my words. “Can we talk?” she asks.

She doesn’t look like she wants to talk. She wants to drive me crazy in my jersey.

“Yeah. We’ve put this off long enough.” I climb on the bed with her and take her hands in mine. “The moment I picked you and Dixie up at the truck stop, I felt weird inside. That’s the only way I knew how to describe it to myself. The connection we had was incredible, and I had never felt it before, but…”

“Then I made you an enemy by stealing your truck,” she finishes my thought. I wasn’t going to say enemy; angry is closer to the right word.

“You challenged me at every turn. Made me consider that my feelings wouldn’t be so potent if I didn’t feel something more than an arrangement. Answer one question. Do you want your trust fund?”

She shrugs.

“Because you don’t need it. Be my wife—my real wife. I’ll give you everything you need.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I love you, Oakley James Shearer. I honest to God love you.”

The Notes logo on my jersey rises as her chest inflates. “You love me? Then why did you not speak to me for a week?”

“I was working through my feelings for you, and I was scared. Afraid you didn’t feel the same way, so I pulled together a wedding reception so you could meet my family. I realized at the party when I was talking to your father that you didn’t need his money.” I turn over her wrist and bring it to my lips, pressing a lingering kiss on her skin. She leans forward and pushes her forehead to mine. “So it comes down to whether you feel the same way about me.”

She folds her lips, and her face trembles. “I was going to tell you that I wanted to terminate the agreement.” Tears roll down, over both cheeks.

“You don’t want to be married… to me?”

She shakes her no. Damn, I read the room wrong.

“Not under those conditions. I don’t want to divorce in ninety days. I love you too.” Her hands cup my jaw. “I love you, and I want to stay married to you forever.”

We kiss, and each one gets sloppier and hungrier. “I love you and for your information, I’m going to fuck you silly in my jersey. Then you’re going to wear my jersey at the game tonight.”

“Prove it.”

“You asked for it.”

“That I did, now kiss me.” She lifts off my shirt, and her warm hands travel over every nook and cranny of my core. I kiss her like she asks. “Stand up.”

She pushes down my shorts, and I kick off my shoes. Standing in front of her with my body bare but my heart so full, it might explode, and my dick so hard, staring at her hair falling over her shoulders.

Crawling over her, she lies back and stretches out. My large palm caresses her thigh while we explore our connection. She grabs my hand and places it between her thighs and squeezes. “Make me come.”

“I’ll do my best.” I work my fingers through her center already drenched with arousal. “So wet.”

“All it takes is the sound of your voice.”

“Should I talk you into an orgasm? Like a couple of nights ago.”

“No, we’ll save that for when we’re apart. Right now, I want to feel you,” she says as her hands roam over my back and down to my butt. “I want to feel those powerful hips. The softness of your lips. I want you to feel my love.”

Her eyes sparkle, and her lips glisten as I scrunch the jersey up under her chin and suck on her breasts. When I quit sucking on one, I roll the other nipple between my fingers. She arches. “Yes. Yes.” I lower myself and kiss her belly button, teasing her. Her hands thread through my hair. “Please,” she asks in a broken whisper.

Not a problem, I would lick her all damn day. She cries out my name when I finger her and suck on her firecracker. As I keep coaxing her, she detonates, coating my tongue and lips. And I think we may need to rename her clit to “Volcano,” she spews so violently.

She tastes so good, I would order her juice off a menu.

---