Page 24 of Enticing the Enforcer
“Thank you,” I say finally, but it comes out rough, too full, like it’s holding more weight than just gratitude.
She sets the jar down, her fingers leaving my skin, and it’s ridiculous how much I already miss the contact, which is why I take a step closer.
She might bolt. But she doesn’t move, and I swear the corner of her mouth curves up, just a little. “Is this a secret?” I ask, truly wanting to know. “This thing between us?”
“I don’t know whatthisis,” she admits, a little of the bravado failing.
I take a slow breath. “I know I want to kiss you again.” Her eyes flicker, surprise, maybe a flash of the memory we both share–that one night, quick and easy, supposed to be nothing. A one time thing. I hold her gaze, not moving in, not pushing, but add, “I just don’t know if I’m allowed.”
The silence stretches, heavy with possibilities, before she shakes her head and laughs softly, breaking the tension. “Do you always ask permission before you kiss a girl?”
Fuck. It’s a challenge pure and simple and Jefferson Parks isn’t the kind of guy who runs from a challenge. My eyes drop to her mouth, and her breath stutters, the space between us shrinking until I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. She doesn’t back up. Nah, she just stands there, steady, even as her fingers twitch like she’s fighting the urge to reach for me. Then she exhales, shaky but certain, and tilts her chin up.
That’s all the permission I need.
I close the gap in one motion, my mouth crashing against hers, hard and hot. The kiss is just as good as the first time–better–heated, desperate, full of every question neither of us wants to answer.What is this? What does this mean? Where is it going?How?She fists my shirt in her hands, pulling me closer, and I grip her waist, anchoring her against me like I might lose her again if I let go. Her tits feel incredible against my chest while my dick threatens to break loose.
It’s fire and want and something dangerously close to trouble, and the only thing I know for sure is I don’t want it to stop.
“Stop,” she says, wrenching her mouth from mine. Her lips are puffy. Sexy. Her eyes wide. “We need to stop.”
With my cock throbbing against my leg, I inhale and exhale, willing my body to slow down.
“Do we?” I ask, leaning down to suck a kiss on her jaw.
“They’re going to wonder where we are,” she explains, placing her hands on my chest and pushing me away, before turning to look in the vanity mirror to clean up her lipstick and smooth out her hair.
So it is a secret.
“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to go out first.” I don’t hide the fact I need to adjust the front of my jeans. This woman gets me harder with one kiss than anyone ever has before. “I’m going to need a few minutes.” Her lips form a perfect circle, the shock of finding out how my body reacts to her. As she passes me on the way to the door, I grab her wrist. “This isn’t over, Ingrid.”
To my surprise she doesn’t argue, she just glances back at me one more time, leaving me and my boner all alone.
It’smy second shower of the night, but this one had nothing to do with getting clean. I came home from Ingrid’s apartment still hot and throbbing, needing to work off some of the pent-up want that’s been building for days. It’s one thing to have flirty little texts, but to have her in my hands, to have her mouth against mine… it’s too fucking much and I ducked into the shower the minute we got back and stroked myself thinking about the way she looked at me–touchedme. Her hands were gentle when they skimmed over the bruise, and my arousal was as much from the mere fact skin was touching skin, but the erotism of not taking it a step further.
Everything about her is so fucking hot.
It doesn’t take long for the pressure to build. Not when I’m thinking about that soft pink mouth, or the feel of her tongue. Not when I’m imagining what her tits feel like in my hands, or how tight her pussy would clench around me when I’m inside.
That’s the image that does it, and I come, painting the tile, while I let the shower drown out my heavy breaths.
“Jesus, Christ,” I mutter to myself, hand flat against the shower wall. The water runs cold, and I bask in it, like a post game ice bath, cooling off my muscles. Reese doesn’t give a shit–he was already Facetiming with Twyler when we walked in the room, hardly able to be away from her for a few minutes without checking in.
They’re off the phone when I come out of the bathroom, my towel-dried hair a mess. My muscles are finally loose, but jerking off doesn’t fix the knot in my chest. I already know the truth. I’m not going to settle down until I can fully have her.
Reese is sprawled out on his bed in shorts and a Wittmore T-shirt, scrolling his phone, TV flickering low in the background. He doesn’t look up until I flop down on my own bed, dragging the comforter up over my waist.
“Crazy night,” he says, setting his phone aside. “It’s big enough we made it to the finals, but I still can’t believe Ingrid freakin’ Flockton brought the girls to the game.” He makes a face. “That’s insane, right?”
I smirk up at the ceiling. “Yeah, pretty wild.”
Reese shifts onto his side, eyeing me. “You’re not even freaking out. This is your celebrity crush, man. Years of posters, playlists, your ‘number one’ speeches. And she just shows up and you don’t care?”
I roll my eyes, trying to play it cool. “Relax. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Reese laughs, incredulous. “Bro, if I was single and Margot Robbie walked in and sat courtside, I’d be fainting. You’re acting like she’s just some random Kappa you met at a kegger who showed up at the game.”
I force a shrug, leaning back against the headboard. “Dude, she’s just a person, right? I’m not fifteen anymore. Crushes don’t count in the real world.”
