Page 56 of Enticing the Enforcer
Her lashes lower, and I feel her pulse quicken against my chest.
“That’s what you are to me,” I say quietly, like it’s the only truth I’ve ever been sure of. “You’re not just a voice or a stage presence. You’re not a costume or a headline. You’re more than glitter and songs people scream back to you. You’re this rare, powerful, impossible thing I can’t believe I get to touch.”
My hand slides up her spine, anchoring her closer. “And I don’t want to share you with the rest of the fandom,” I admit, my voice dropping to a growl. “I don’t want you to just be their wings, their flock, their story to consume. I want you for myself.”
Her eyes glisten, and her fingers curl tighter around my arm. “That’s different from how anyone’s ever said it to me before.”
“Good,” I murmur, tipping her chin up with my thumb. “Because I don’t see you the way they do. I never fucking will.”
The words hang there, heavy, final. Her chest rises and falls like she’s holding her breath, like she’s terrified of breaking the moment. My pulse pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. What the hell is this woman doing to me?
Then she leans into me, her lips brushing mine, tentative but searching. I don’t hesitate. I kiss her back, slow and deliberate, a claiming she can feel in every drag of my mouth over hers. She tastes faintly of mint and sugar, her tongue brushing mine like she’s testing, teasing, but I deepen the kiss until she’s melting into me.
Her hands slide up, threading into my hair, tugging me closer. I groan against her mouth and cup her jaw, angling her just how I want. Every wall between us–the fame, the distance, the bullshit–crumbles in a single, desperate collision.
She whispers against my lips, “Jefferson…” It’s soft, raw, like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to want this.
“I know this is a lot. It’s fast,” I breathe back, my forehead pressed to hers. “But if you let me, if you want it, I’ll prove to you that I’m not him, that what we can have together is better.”
The hesitation in her eyes flickers, then disappears when I slide my hand down her side, over the curve of her hip, anchoring her to me. She nods, barely, but it’s enough.
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as though her body’s been waiting for this. She gasps when her back hits the mattress, but her fingers never stop clinging to me, pulling me down with her.
The kiss turns frantic, years of hunger and denial spilling out. My hands roam over her waist, her ribs, the hem of her tank top. She arches her tits into me, whispering, “Please.”
I pull back just enough to see her flushed face, her hair spread out wild on the pillow. “Angel,” I say again, reverent this time, like a vow. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Her answering smile is shaky but sure. “Then show me.”
I do–pressing my mouth to the curve of her throat, tasting her pulse, kissing down her collarbone while my hand slides beneath the thin cotton of her tank, splaying over warm skin. Her sharp inhale fuels me. My body’s on fire, but I force myself to move slowly, to savor every sound, every shiver.
By the time I peel away her shirt, laying my eyes on her amazing tits, tearing off those sexy, thin, shorts, baring her pussy to me, there’s no doubt left–no spotlight, no exes, no past. Just Ingrid, trembling and radiant beneath me, and me, getting to claim what I’ve wanted from the moment she first looked at me like I was more than a hockey player sliding into her DMs.
Her lips part on a sharp inhale as I press my mouth against her clit, kissing the bundles of nerves with light, feathery kisses. I love the sounds she makes, how hard they get me. I strip down, basking in the way she looks at my body. My cock bobs between us as her fingers trail over my abs making every rep, every added pound to the barbell, worth it just to see her appreciate it.
She’s the first woman I’ve been with where I haven’t used a condom and everything about it is fucking amazing. I climb overher body and press into her, slow and careful at first, letting her feel every inch of me. Her nails scrape down my back, a strangled sound escaping her throat that nearly undoes me.
“Jefferson,” she gasps, clutching at me like I’m the only solid thing she has left.
“Shh.” I press my forehead to hers, kissing her again, swallowing that sound. “I’ve got you. Every second, I’ve got you.”
She’s tight around me, almost unbearably so, and I fight the urge to drive deep too soon. Instead I rock slowly, savoring the way her body opens for me, the way her legs hook tighter around my waist. She moves with me, tentative at first, then bolder, rolling her hips until we’re finding a rhythm that has her head falling back against the pillow, her breath catching.
“God, you feel–” Her words break on a moan. “Fuck, babe.Harder.”
Her demand wrecks me. I capture her mouth again, thrusting deeper this time, punching into her until we’re both lost in something neither of us can come back from. Her cries are muffled against my lips, her body trembling beneath me, every muscle straining like she’s right on the edge.
“What they get and I get are different,” I growl against her skin, nipping her jaw, her throat. “You’re not a brand. Not a fucking mascot. Not something to be hidden. You’re mine, understand?”
“Yes.” The word rips out of her, desperate, like a confession. “Yours.”
Her surrender unleashes me and as much as I hate it, I pull out, flipping her over until she’s on her hands and knees. I hold her in place with both hands on her hips and then slot myself between her legs, feeling her slippery heat, and drive into her with a raw hunger I’ve never felt with anyone else.
“Oh,” she gasps, backing into me. “God, that feels good.”
Every thrust wrings another gasp from her lips, another broken cry that tells me she’s losing herself in this just as much as I am.
She arches suddenly, a shudder tearing through her, her walls clenching tight around me. Her cry is sharp, guttural, shaking her whole body. Watching her, eyes locked on her spine, feeling her unravel beneath me is the most brutal, beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
