Page 255 of Enemies

He stands and surveys me. A hard, dripping god in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“You’re wet,” I murmur.

He reaches an arm around my waist and tugs me toward him. I step over the edge of the bathtub, my bare foot finding grip on the bottom as the water rises to my calves.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I want you with me.”

“I’m here.”

“Not close enough.”

Before I can decide whether to strip out of my clothes or try to coax him out of the bath, he tugs me down into the water. I’m soaked. My denim shorts are plastered to my hips, my tank top sticking to every inch of my breasts and heaving stomach. He strips the shirt over my head before getting to work on my shorts.

“Good luck getting them off.”

“Challenge accepted.” The glint in his eyes is the first hint of humor I’ve seen him show in a week, and I didn’t realize I was starved for it until now.

He works the shorts off my hips, though I slide and send a sheet of water cascading over the side of the tub in the process. We’re both breathless when he drags my hips to straddle his, the impressive erection pressing against my wet panties.

“I succeeded.” The rumble of his voice strokes along my skin. “I’m claiming my prize.”

The tension is as thick as the steam around us. I skim a finger across his muscled bicep, trace the scars on his chest.

“I don’t have anything for a king,” I murmur. “I can’t sleep. I can’t stay in one place. I’m just a girl from Orange County.”

“Then I’ll stay up with you all night. And in the morning, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

He crushes my lips to his, his grip on the back of my neck desperate. As if he needs this to keep breathing.

In this moment, I need him too.

I know what it’s like to lose him. This past week, I was losing him all over again before my eyes. I tried to keep doing my job, to appreciate everything I’ve built for myself, but nothing felt the same without having this man to talk to, to laugh with, even argue with.

“Make me yours,” I murmur against his mouth.

His hands slick down my back to my hips. He grinds against the panel of my panties, where my wetness mingles with the bath.

Harrison’s touch slips under my bra to squeeze my breast. I arch into the pressure, tortured by his rough palm and the pinch of his fingers on my pebbled nipple.

Every ridge and plane under my touch is perfect. I stroke down to brush his cock, the silky hardness of him. He catches my hand, forcing my exploratory touch to still. Then he threads his fingers through my hair.

The intensity on his face overwhelms me. Emotions so vivid I never thought I’d see them on this man.

Regret.

Devotion.

Love.

He drags my underwear to the side to position his cock. The first stroke makes me gasp. He fills me so tightly, rubbing against that magical place. I’m drenched.

My hips buck into his, seeking more friction. He grabs my waist and grinds in a slow circle. The intensity of his gaze makes my blood pound.

My hands slip as I try to grab the side of the bath. I fall forward, braced against his hard chest. My knees wedge themselves on either side of his torso, squeezing as he fills me with a long, deep thrust.

He’s attuned to every breath, every twitch I make. All the emotions of the past week, the frustration and worry, evaporate in the steam. His humility is still there, but it’s twined with determination. Conviction that he can give us both what we need.

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