Page 49 of The Pretender

I should step back.

She should toss the lipstick back on the counter.

But we’re not quitters.

In the mirror, I watch as my nemesis slides the collar of my shirt to the side.

“Ah, fuck.”

Her lips press down on my neck, just below my jaw. My heart is pounding. My stomach is doing that ridiculous tingling thing again and now my dick is on the verge of leaking jizz.

The asshole part of me wants to ask her just what the fuck she’s doing, but when she leans back, her hand goes to my jaw and all thoughts of saying anything are smothered by pure lust.

“See,” she says, trailing a finger down my jaw, just like I did to her the night we became mortal enemies. “If I go with the wrong shade, it won’t show up well on camera.”

Her thumb swipes through the perfect outline of her lips, smearing it down the side of my neck before looking up and meeting my eyes. “It’s not enough just to have a smear. The mark has to pop on the screen.”

I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about. All I care about is the fact that she’s now applying the other shade of lipstick to her lips.

“You have to do it again?” My voice sounds pained and hopeful, at the same time. I’m a fucking mess. My body yearns for this girl, but my mind is like, “Eh. Slow down, champ. This is the chick we hate, right?”

“I need to decide,” she says, already pulling me close with her hand around the back of my neck. “You promised to help me.”

Did I? Did I promise to help her or to trust her? God, who the fuck cares Sebastian? This is the first time you’ve had anyone this close to your mouth in months. Chill the fuck out and enjoy kissing the enemy.Well, not kissing, but you know.

“I did,” I admit softly, swallowing down a golf-ball sized knot in my throat. My head is guided to the side and her fingers slide under my collar, once again, before her lips touch the heated skin of my neck.

It feels like she lingers there for a solid half-hour, but I know, in reality, it’s probably only a matter of seconds. “See the difference?” she asks quietly, pulling back and letting her finger drag through the mark.

I don’t see.

In fact, I think I’m blinded by lust.

“Sebastian?”

I shake off the feelings of wanting to ravage the girl in front of me. It’s a challenge. It wouldn’t take much for me to shove her back onto the sink, yank both our pants down in seconds and fuck all the hate out of our systems in one blessed go. Maybe then we would really be able to start over.

“Sebastian?”

She shakes my shoulders and my brain finally sends a signal to my dick to calm the hell down.

“Yeah.”

It’s not a great answer, but it’s something.

“See?”

My patience is gone or maybe I’m so damn sexually frustrated that all I want to do is beat the hell out of something.

“Yeah, I see,” I lie, removing her legs from around my waist and stepping back. “The one on the right looks better against my shirt—” Okay, so after a few seconds, I see what she means, but it was a painful test, “—which I’m not wearing.”

In a dick move that will forever haunt me, I yank off the shirt and use it to wipe both marks off and toss it to the floor. “I’m not in the mood to do this anymore.”

I thought I could, but I was so fucking wrong.

“Youwillfucking do this,” she says, grabbing my arm. “We made a deal and you’re not going to let your PMS get in the way of our success. Tuck your bitchiness away and let’s do this dance that you justhadto do with me.”

Her bossing me around is less than ideal, but for some reason, my dick digs the attitude.

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