Page 90 of Beautiful Enemy

I grab his neck and drag him down to me.

He stiffens when our lips collide, surprise evident in every inch of his taut body.

His breath mingles with mine, but he doesn’t kiss me back. He’s fighting his need, every bit as determinedly as he fought the man at the club.

I don’t let him.

Whatever we’ve become in these short weeks is real.

The moment of danger, of remembering that all I am could be gone in a moment…

I don’t want to lose it without experiencing this.

I rub my shuddering body against his.

The words I can’t say are clutched in my grasping hands, clinging to my desperate lips.

I’ve never begged Harrison for anything, but now, I am. I’m demanding and pleading in the same breath.

The moment he takes control, my heart skips in warning, in anticipation.

His tongue thrusts inside my mouth.

He grabs my hips, hauling me closer. His groan reverberates through my body, his need colliding with mine.

I want him in me everywhere with the same driving possession.

I grab his hair to change the angle between us, seeking relief even as he chases more friction.

When his hands slide up my legs, no longer inspecting but appreciating,memorizing, the hunger inside me grows into something alive and throbbing.

The ice falls from my fingers to the floor.

The only relief we’ll find tonight is the kind we can give each other.

My hands run down his untucked shirt before sneaking beneath to caress the hard lines of his abs. Harrison groans, pressing his hips closer.

“So many buttons,” I mutter as I try to work off his shirt.

I need to prove that I’m bent, not broken.

He shoves my hands away and rips the garment down the front.

The sudden conviction in him has me questioning whether unleashing all of this man was a good idea.

Harrison King could ruin me as easily as he could restore me.

This isn’t sweet—it’s a race to the bottom.

He backs me into the wall, his hands racing over my breasts, my pebbled nipples, my trembling stomach.

His fingers settle between my thighs, rubbing through the wet panel of lace.

My face hurts, my body shivers, but those capable fingers stroking my skin make me ache—for more, for him.

He drags my panties down, the lace digging into my hips as I squirm to help him.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs once they’re gone and he pulls back to look at me.

---