Page 91 of Beautiful Enemy

Appreciation isn’t what I need from him.

I reach for his belt, fumbling until it falls loose. I drag the zipper down over his straining length.

He’s a storm I can’t control—but, I realize, he’s one I can choose.

I might not know where I’ll land, but I can decide to step out into the winds.

So I do.

When my hand closes around him, my throat dries.

He’s hard and strong and male. As long as I imagined from feeling him against me on the yacht and even thicker.

Knowing that arousal beading at the tip is for me, that the tension in every inch of his glorious body and the fierce possession in his eyes is mine alone, makes me tremble.

For the first time outside of a DJ booth, I feel powerful.

I barely get a few strokes in before he reaches for the bedside table on a hiss, returning to rip at a package and toss the wrapper to the floor.

When he rolls the condom down, my throat constricts as if I can already feel his length filling me.

I want it so badly.

He lifts me against the wall, encouraging me to hook my legs around him.

When I shift, my head hits the edge of a picture frame.

I wince, sucking in a breath and flinching at the sharp pain.

Harrison bats at it with one hand. The picture slides down the wall and hits the floor with a thud.

He grabs my hip, his thumb rubbing a slow circle.

It’s the only warning I get before he thrusts inside me.

I cry out as my body stretches to accommodate his size.

Fuck, he’s deep enough it hurts. My back arches in protest, my nails digging into his arms hard enough to leave marks.

“God, you’re slick.” The tortured pleasure in his voice, knowing he’s as agonized as I am, makes the discomfort bearable.

He withdraws, a slow drag that leaves me aching, then shifts back in on a groan.

I swallow hard. This time, the discomfort abates enough that I’m focused on the tug of need deep in my stomach.

His jaw works, and I don’t know if it’s from the effort of what we’re doing or the effort of holding back.

The third time, the wave of pleasure catches me off guard as he fills me.

He bends his head to bite the curve of my breast, and my body clenches around him.

Wallpaper scratches my back.

Sweat has my fingers slipping on his.

My legs ache from clinging to his hips.

The more I writhe, the tighter he holds me. His lips skim my neck, my jaw, my ear.

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