Page 74 of My Pucked Up Enemy

“Is that why you’re so good at seeing through people?”

She shrugs. “It’s why I don’t flinch when they try to hide.”

We stop at a curve in the path. Her face is half-shadowed by the trees, but I can see the pull in her eyes.

“I don’t want to want you,” she says quietly. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”

I step in closer. “But it’s already happening.”

Her voice drops. “It’s a bad idea.”

I take her hand and press it to my chest. “I can’t stop.”

The pause is thick with everything unsaid.

Then she grabs my shirt and pulls me in.

Her mouth crashes to mine. Urgent. Hot. Honest.

I pin her gently against the tree, hands braced on either side of her face, and kiss her like I’m starving. Because I am.

She moans into my mouth. I swear it goes straight to my blood.

“Let's go back to my cabin,” I murmur against her lips. “Now.”

She doesn’t answer.

She just nods.

It’s only a few minutes before we’re inside.

Door shut. Lights low. Hands everywhere.

She shoves me toward the bed, climbing onto my lap like she’s been waiting all season.

“Don’t kiss and tell,” she whispers.

“I wouldn't,” I groan, pulling her sweater off. “Jesus, Nina…”

She straddles me, presses her mouth to my jaw, my throat, my ear. “Let me.”

She pushes me back, strong and sure, undoes my shirt like it’s been pissing her off. Her fingers are urgent, yanking at the buttons like she’s been waiting months to rip through every layer between us. I grip her hips, teeth clenched, barely hanging on as she drags her nails down my chest and palms the edges of my jeans.

“Do you have any idea,” she whispers, “how many times I’ve wanted to shut you up like this?”

“I dare you to try.”

She smirks, then sinks her teeth into the edge of my jaw, kissing it after. It’s maddening the way she switches between rough and reverent, and teasing yet commanding. Her mouth trails lower, lips brushing down my neck to the line of my collarbone, then back up again. Every pass of her breath on my skin is a new kind of torture.

I grab her thighs and flip us, pinning her wrists above her head as she grins up at me.

“You’re trouble,” I mutter.

“You like trouble.”

“I craveyou.”

She arches under me, her voice barely a whisper. “Then show me.”

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