Page 69 of Protect Thy Enemy

The response feels as guilty as I do. Another buzz follows, this time from Tate.

Tate: Park and I just got here. We’ll meet up tomorrow. Don’t scare her off before then.

My grip tightens on the phone, the teasing grating on my already frayed nerves.

Me: Didn’t plan on it.

I toss the phone aside, flipping on the TV out of habit more than anything. The screen flickers, filling the room with empty sound, but none of it sticks. My focus drifts to the hallway, where her door remains closed, light seeping through the bottom.

The thought of her in there, angry and avoiding me, twists something inside my chest.

I stay on the couch for as long as I can stand it, but the itch under my skin doesn’t fade. Eventually, I stand, my footsteps quiet on the hardwood as I make my way to her door.

I hesitate, my hand hovering just shy of knocking, when I hear it.

A soft sound.

I freeze, my heart pounding hard enough to echo in my ears.

Another sound. A low, breathy moan that shoots straight to my dick, making me hard in an instant.

I should turn around. Walk away. But I can’t.

I press my palm against the wall beside her door, my breath shallow as the noise comes again, more distinct this time.Myname. Barely audible but unmistakable.

Heat surges through me, sharp and relentless, pooling low in my body. My fingers curl into fists against the wall, trying to anchor myself, but the pull is suffocating.

Another broken sound. Another whisper of my name.

My cock strains painfully against my waistband, my body betraying every shred of restraint I’m clinging to.

I should leave. I know I should. This is a line I can’t cross, a moment I can’t undo. But I’m stuck, rooted to the spot, every nerve in my body alive and burning.

Her voice, soft and needy, cuts through the door again. And for a moment, I swear my control slips.

My knuckles tap against the door before I can think better of it.

The sound feels loud in the silence, and for a moment, I’m certain she won’t answer.

Then, she says a soft, breathy, “Come in.”

The air shifts, growing heavier as I twist the knob, pushing the door open slowly. The warm light from a bedside lamp casts the room in soft gold.

Arden sits on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked beneath her. She’s in a thin camisole, the straps delicate against her flushed skin, her wavy hair slightly mussed, as if she’s been running her hands through it.

I stop in the doorway, the breath hitching in my throat as my gaze trails over her. The faint sheen on her skin, the way the fabric clings to her curves, it all strikes me with the force of a freight train.

My mind goes to places it shouldn’t, places it can’t.

I wonder how soft her mocha skin would feel under my hands, how she’d sound if I touched her the way I’ve been fighting not to think about. I want to grip her thighs, drag her to the edge of the bed, and take her hard enough that she can’t look at me without remembering exactly who made her fall apart.

It’s like I can taste how sweet that fiery mouth would be. I wonder if she’d still be able to argue while she chokes. The thoughts I shouldn’t be having go to the deepest and darkest depths of desire, and I can’t stop it. No matter how hard I try. No matter how wrong this is.

Her eyes lift to meet mine, wide and questioning, and it snaps something taut inside me.

“You left me a plate,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t look away. “You didn’t have to come all the way here to say thank you.”

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