Page 48 of Twins for the Enemy

He moves too quickly for me to react, his hand slipping into my pocket. He pulls the compass out, raising an eyebrow at me.

“You told me you sold this,” he says. “Fifty dollars, if I recall correctly.”

I sheepishly shrug. “I lied. I took it to a pawn shop, but I liked that it reminded me of that night. When I rear-ended a kind soul who made me feel alive. You know, the guy I met right after you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and stick my tongue out, trying to not laugh at my own joke. As I start to open my eyes, my tongue slipping back into my mouth, he kisses me. I start to kiss him back, he pulls me closer to him, our legs twisting together in an imperfect knot.

Not bad for two fools.

Sex isn’t what I thoughtit would be.

I didn’t have many school friends—Neal’s reputation was a deterrent toward the types of people I’d be friends with—but the few women I’d gotten to know made sex sound transactional.

It wasn’t that different from ancient times. A virgin was sacrificed on the altar to get a god—or what the woman considered to be her god—to give her what she wanted. And what she wanted was that glowing, golden, consecrated love.

Of course, it never lasted. No matter how many times you gave yourself up, gods were easily bored by mortals.

But with Kieran, it isn’t like that.

It’s open mouths and teasing tongues. I’m not sacrificing anything to him. I’m anything but holy and clean—I’m greedy, taking everything I want, while he is depraved, corrupting my sense of self by pressing his tongue against my slit and claiming my clit with the slow, sinful drag of his tongue. His hands keep my thighs spread wide, his mouth slow and thorough, driving me wild with the patience of a man who plansto ruin me completely. His tongue flicks and circles, dipping lower and then rising again to that aching spot until my hips buck and I moan shamelessly. I reach down, fisting his hair, pulling when the pressure becomes too much. He doesn’t stop. Not until I’m breathless and trembling.

With my clothes and the compass discarded around us, he rises over me.

His knees dig into the mattress, anchoring him between my thighs. Without a word, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid motion. His torso is cut from muscle and shadows—broad chest, defined abs, and a trail that draws my gaze lower. Power coils beneath his skin, every inch of him carved for sin.

His eyes darken with hunger as he reaches for his belt. The sound of the buckle coming undone is a sharp, metallic promise. He keeps his gaze locked on me as he pulls the leather free and unzips his pants with deliberate control, every motion infused with tension.

His eyes never leave mine, charged with possession and need. It pins me in place, leaves me open, exposed—and aching for everything he’s about to give me.

When he wraps a hand around himself and strokes once, my breath catches. He’s thick, long, and already so hard it makes my thighs press together in a desperate pulse. He’s not just ready—he’s showing me exactly who I belong to.

I try to pull him closer, my legs twisting around his legs and my hands gripping the firmness of his upper arms. As he lowers himself, I feel myself sink deeper into the mattress. It’s still softer than I’d ever expect it to be, but the weight of Kieran’s body against me is even more of a comfort.

This is new. While I still want him, need him, completely and desperately, there is a mirror to that desire. I am protected. I am treasured to the point that I couldn’t even fracture myself without him holding me tight enough that the pieces wouldn’t fall away from each other.

When he pushes inside me, my head falls back, looking up at those handholds on the rock climbing wall. I may as well be climbing, because that’s what it feels like as he moves—deep, steady, possessive—slower than the other times, but it’s slower in the way like waves breaking against the shore instead of a tsunami crashing down.

He buries himself again and again, each stroke hitting places that make me gasp and cling to him. My heels dig into his lower back. His groan rumbles against my neck as he dips down to kiss the hollow of my throat, his breath hot against my skin.

It’s not adrenaline flooding my body, but a kind of awe for the way the world works.

The intensity builds. The waves start to crash down faster. His hips slam harder, my nails carving red lines down his back. And just when I think I’ll fall apart, his hand finds my face, anchoring me. And he kisses me.

It’s slow, almost reverent. Like he’s giving me something fragile, something that lives in the spacebetween our mouths. I can almost taste it, a sweetness that tingles on my tongue.

He looks down at me. My heart tumbles in my chest.

Oh.

This is intimacy. This is what makes people soft, makes people crazy, makes people run.

It’s insane to think this isn’t what created the twins. It should be. It’s enough to make two beating hearts. It’s enough to breathe life into a million newborns.

It’s enough to make me shatter in a way that he can’t even stop.

The orgasm surges through me, a whole ocean of tides taking me to the edge of the world. It’s so good that I can barely breathe. My body tenses enough that it would hurt if the pleasure weren’t pushing every other feeling out.

Kieran curses above me, his body jerking as he spills inside me. He holds himself there, buried deep, his arms shaking as he slowly starts to come down. Hetakes deep breaths before his body starts to relax, and my body answers his stillness.

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