Page 5 of Twins for the Enemy

"I’m not the right person," I say, the words coming out more forceful than I intended. I need to convince myself of them too, and stubborn fuckers can be difficult to sway. "I’m not someone you want to be with for your first time. Sex isn’t an act of roses and sweet nothings to me. It's just a moment when two peoplelet go of their formalities and let their primal side take control."

She lets out a huff of breath. "I'm not looking for the right person, and even if I was, I can decide who is the right person for me.”

“Not when you’re unfamiliar with the process,” I counter, but I make the mistake of looking at her.

Her green-brown eyes remind me of a kind of soft wilderness—untamed, but gentle—and her lips are a twist of ribbon that I'd love to unravel. I want to keep that flush in her cheeks. I want to bring it out in every other part of her body.

The desire must be raging in my eyes because she reaches up, hooks her hand behind my neck, and pulls me in. She kisses me again. It's a long, drawn-out kiss, her hands sinking into and gripping my hair.

I should pull away.

I should stop kissing her.

I shouldn't be moving back onto the bed with her, mesmerized at the way her small body fits under mine.

I shouldn't ask her name.

I shouldn't let the name "Farah" roll on my tongue and pass it back between her lips.

I shouldn't undress us.

I shouldn't press a kiss under every new inch of her skin I reveal, reveling in the warmth and the scent of her arousal.

I’ve been with enough women to earn a reputation as a womanizer—or a piece of shit, depending on who you ask—but when I grasp her underwear and her hips rise to give me space to lower them, it feels like lightning in a bottle. It's the first time I've felt something real since Olivia was killed, but instead of death, it's life.

Her hands are trembling as she touches my cheek. It's a reminder that for me, it might feel different, but for her, it's completely new. It should remind me to stop or even show restraint, but when she's touching me, it's gasoline to our fire.

She reaches down, touching me. Her breath hitches.

“Will it hurt?” she breathes. I run my nose over the side of her jaw and the place beneath her ear.

I slide my hand between our bodies, stopping at the warmth of her pussy. I trace her opening, circling around her clit two times before pushing a finger inside her. She's so wet and tight, my head spirals.

Her tongue glides against her bottom lip as I feel her chest rise and fall under me. I slip another finger inside her, her arousal coating them.

"It might," I say. "But I'll make it worth it."

She nods once. "Make it worth it."

It's all I need to hear. I press my cock at her entrance.

Be slow. Be gentle.

I look into her eyes. Fire is blazing in them. It makes sense that she smells like smoke. She’s combustion.

I push into her. I concentrate on her mouth, continuing my mantra.

Beslow. Be gentle.

But, God—she’s fucking perfect—and when her fingers grab onto my back, pulling me closer, the words start to burn. Her back arches. Her mouth is slightly open, soft breaths coming out. I keep a firm grasp on her hip, feeling her body accommodate for my size.

"You good?" I ask.

She blinks at me before her hand moves from my shoulder to the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss.

A growl rumbles in the back of my throat as her insistence breaks my self-control.

My thrusts aren't slow or gentle. I grab her hand from the back of my head, pinning it to the bed above her as I fuck her.

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