Page 43 of Enemies to Lovers

The fact that she’s allowing me to kiss her at all after what I did is a damn miracle, and I thank God as my nose brushes against hers. A catch in her breath spins my brain, and I inhale before I close the distance.

My lips find hers softly, tentatively… partly because I’m afraid she’ll change her mind, but mostly because I want to drag out the sudden sensation of her skin.

I dream about holding her hand. I’d never admit it to anyone, but the ghost of her touch haunts me daily. I thought I’d had it memorized, and I could recall it at any given moment.

How damn wrong I was.

I don’t remember deciding to do it, but my hands lift from the counter and cup her cheeks, and I cradle her face, pressing my lips with more purpose. She tastes like the sweetest victory—like she herself is the prize at the end of any and all competitions, and I’ve stupidly been fighting for the wrong things. There’s a tug on my shirt, her fingers curling into the material. I wonder if she can feel my heart pounding alongside her knuckles, trying to free itself from my chest and climb into her hand.

My thumb trails across her jaw, prodding her to open for me just the slightest bit. I want to taste every inch of her, feel this victory in every part of me, makehera part of me, for as long as this one kiss lasts. She responds so naturally, and I suckle on her bottom lip, hating that I’m losing my head… and my breath.

Her bottom lip pops from my mouth, and the kiss officially breaks. My hands stay on her cheeks, my fingers tangled in her hair.

“Damn it,” I pant against her chin. “I needed air.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, and I love that I’m still close enough to taste her, touch her, relish in this feeling I’m dreading I’ll never experience again.

We catch our breath together, and she lets me rest my forehead on hers. She’s so soft, yet firm under my hands. I don’t have to worry about breaking her, but I still want to be as gentle as possible. I don’t know how she does it—make people fall for her. I envy it, but I’m no longer irritated by it. I just want to be near her, be around whatever spark she has inside her that makes things feel so easy.

There’s a soreness in my fingers as I unfurl them from her hair, letting them fall from her face. But she catches them in hers.

My eyes pop open, and I meet the darks of her pupils. She tugs my shirt, my collar forcing my lips to hers again. She’s anxious against my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip, a moan rumbling from the back of her throat, and the sound goes straight to my dick.

“You… You said…” I say stupidly, reminding her of the deal, but she shakes her head wildly, pressing more kisses to me, and I match her intensity.

“Still only counts as one,” she blurts, tugging my shirt so hard I swear it’s going to cut the back of my neck. And it’s already sore from leaning down, so I grab her waist and hoist her on the counter, giving us both easier access.

Her nails scrape through my hair, giving me chills down to my toes. She’s so take-charge, and I used to hate that about her.

I was such an idiot.

My fingers dig into her hips, and I can’t help but run my hand under her hoodie, under that tank top, smoothing it up her back and gripping her skin. I want every bit of this skin against mine; I want to sink into this skin, swim in it for eternity. I want to memorize it, paint it with my fingertips and mouth.

My tongue taps the crease of her lips, and she lets me in immediately, stroking her tongue along mine in one, solid, slick movement that nearly has me on the floor.

“Damn,” I hiss as heat ignites my entire body. “You’re perfect at this, too?”

“Shut up,” she says, kissing her way down my jawline and to my ear. She nips at the lobe, and I go into cardiac arrest.

“Val, good God…”

Her lips tilt against my skin, and she playfully nips at me again. She can’t keep doing that if she only wants this as one kiss. We’ve already bent the rules, and I’m damn near ready to break them… and I make that intention very clear as my hand slides down her back and stops at the clasp of her bra.

She pauses, a sharp breath tickling my neck. I peek at her eyes, and I don’t know if I want permission or a stop sign. My body says one thing, my head another, and I won’t listen to either of them—only her.

She wets her lips before quirking them upward. “Think you can do it with one hand?”

A shaky laugh slips from the back of my throat. “Hmm… we’ll see.” I flick the clasps, but I only get two of the three, and she lets out a tinkling giggle that hits me straight in the soul.

“Damn it.”

“I’ll give you two shots.”

I chuckle, kissing her smile as I get the last clasp open. She wriggles in my arms, obviously directing me to the front, and I can’t help but grin like a damn fool as I cup her full breast.

“Mmm,” she moans around my lips, and I tumble a thumb over her nipple just to elicit more of those noises. I tease and toy with both, kissing her mouth, the tip of her nose, the apples of her cheeks, across her jaw, down her neck. Her breath gets more and more labored, and I don’t think I’ll get enough of her. Once she calls it, I’ll be like a drug addict, checking myself into rehab just to detox.

That scent… That vanilla. I inhale deeply, running my nose across her collarbone, and she gasps, gripping me so tight she traps my hands between our chests.

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