Page 170 of Enemies

When he drags off his pants and black boxer briefs, he steps back. “You trust me?”

“Yes.”

He pins my wrists over my head and my body tenses instinctively at the feeling of being restrained and helpless. But the look on his face tells me I’m safe with him, that he’d take on the world for me.

“I don’t take that for granted one goddamned second, Raegan.”

My heart skips a beat.

He yanks my thong to the side, sinking two fingers inside my wet core.

The grip on my wrist doesn’t relent. After a few pumps of his fingers that build the ache inside me, I’m grateful he’s holding me down. Otherwise, I might float off into space.

“You’re beautiful, and you’re mine,” he rasps, bending close to run his lips along my neck, my jaw. “Today. Tomorrow. No matter what. Tell me you want that.”

His thumb presses down on my clit, fingers still playing with me, and I explode under his hands.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

Harrison soaks up every second of my reaction with blazing eyes and tight body.

“How is it possible that every time we finish, I want more?” I pant.

“You saying you’re not satisfied?” We both know he’s joking, because I’ve probably had more orgasms since meeting him than I had in my life before.

“I’m saying you’re turning me into a monster.”

He strokes down my cheek, eyes softening. “We’ll be monsters together, love.”

He’s dragging my thighs apart to shift between them when my phone goes off on the desk near my head.

“Ignore it,” he growls, playing with me as he strokes his hard length, preparing to fuck me.

I do, but it rings again a moment later.

Frustration fills me and I grab for the phone, meaning to switch it to silent, but when I see the name I suck in a breath.

“I have to get this.”

“Don’t.”

There’s an edge to his quick response that’s more than irritation, but I push on Harrison’s bare chest until he lets me up.

“It’s my brother.”

“What happened to the honeymoon?” I ask Kian when he shows me to a private office at the end of the long hallway of his medical practice.

I haven’t been here since he opened it more than five years ago. The standalone building is shiny and new looking, with a cheery yellow waiting room and a perky receptionist.

“I had to wrap up some things here before we left, so I planned a week in between.” He reaches into the bar fridge and pulls out a water, holding it up. I shake my head, and he opens it, taking a long drink.

“My wife told me you gave us a very generous gift,” he goes on, though the small talk feels awkward. “You’re my little sister. You didn’t need to do that.”

“It was my pleasure.” I recall the check I dashed out and stuck in a card. “So, do you want to tell me what you didn’t want to talk about over the phone?”

His brows knit together as he shifts a hip against the large desk holding a monitor, notebook computer, and reams of files. “I got a call from Zach. He’s been arrested. Technically, it was a call from his lawyer, who wanted to talk to a few of his friends. Sounds like there are multiple charges. Sexual assault. Possession of pornography of underaged women. Girls,” he amends.

The blood drains from my head.

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