Page 44 of Undeniably Enemies

Me: Tropes and kinks?

Wren: Yep. The one on the left is an enemies-to-lovers workplace romance, and the other is a second chance, older brother’s best friend romance. The first one has some BDSM vibes, and the second one he uses toys on her.

Me: Wow. I’ve entered into a whole new dimension. Which of these are your kinks?

Wren: Not answering that.

Me: I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.

Wren: You first.

I shouldn’t do this. I really, really, seriously, totally, completely shouldn’t do this. What the fuck am I doing?!

Me: I like using toys on women. I also like light bondage and control with a touch of punishment play.

I bite into my lip. If she ever discovers it’s me texting her, this will have consequences. And not the cute, fluffy kind either. Theblow up your lifekind. Thelose your shot at chief and your best friend and likely have your new neighbor blowtorch your apartmentkind.

Wren: I like toys. I already told you that.

Wren: I like control too.

Me: That doesn’t surprise me, but I bet with the right guy you’d like being tied up and punished a little too. You’d want him to take that control from you, knowing the reward would be worth it.

My body heats, and I clear my throat. Clear all that away.

Wren: Are you trying to sext me?

That stops me short.

Me: No. Yes. Fuck. No, that’s a very bad idea. This got out of hand fast. It’s been a long day for me, and I’m saying things I shouldn’t. Thinking things I shouldn’t.

Wren: Same.

Me: Don’t text me again.

Wren: I won’t, but you should probably stop thinking about me so much. Good luck with that. I’m irresistible.

Me: Unfortunately, beautiful girl, I’m starting to learn that the hard way. Good night, Wren.

Wren: Bye, stranger.

Ten minutes later, I’m creeping out of my apartment and down the stairs. When I reach the sidewalk, I turn and find her window. It’s dark now, and I wonder if she’s in bed with one of her dirty books, masturbating with a BOB. What a messed-up night tonight has been. And I have a bad feeling it’s only the start of things with her.

14

Sundays in the fall are for football, drinks, food, and fun. They’re not for getting stuck in an elevator with the guy you not only loathe but categorically want to murder in his sleep. Or maybe while he’s awake.

I’d settle for either one.

I won’t settle for this.

“How is this happening right now?”

Jack is just as much at a loss as I am. “What did you press?”

“Um, fucking three. What did you press?”

“Um, fucking three,” he mocks, and I hate him. Like, I might actually want to throat-punch him. I even hate how good he looks right now in a red Rebels sweater with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows and dark jeans. His hair is his usual perfection, brushed back from his face, and in the dim lighting of the elevator, his eyes appear indigo and silver.

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