Page 41 of Hired By the Enemy
I moan as he grabs some soap, running a hand over my shoulder before trailing it down my chest. His fingers find my cock, and he strokes at an agonizingly slow pace.
“You’re particularly sandy here,” he says.
“Then I guess you better clean me,” I rasp.
Matthew continues to stroke me lazily as I kiss his ear, then his neck. I bite gently at his shoulder, and he groans, then reaches around to steady himself against the shower wall. My hands roam over the planes of his back, then down his ass again, before reaching to wrap my hand around him.
“Liam,” he moans, rocking his hips into my hand.
Fuck. It appears nothing heightens my own arousal as much as seeing Matthew like this, all slippery and wet and panting with desire.
He starts to come, and seeing him letting go triggers my own orgasm, white-hot pleasure rippling through me.
I reach up to turn off the shower, then wrap my arms back around him.
Matthew’s pupils are blown out, hazy.
I nuzzle into his shoulders, loving the way he leans into me like I’ve rendered him completely boneless.
I hold him, depositing a gentle kiss on his shoulder, my mouth lingering on his skin.
The steam from the shower has dissipated enough that Icatch a blurry outline of us in the bathroom mirror. I’m cradling Matthew like he’s something precious.
Disbelief shoots through me.
Fuck.
What the hell am I doing?
I mean, this is Matthew O’Connor. Matthew with his smug grin and his perfect life.
He spent our entire childhood reinforcing how much better than me he was.
It’s just sex, I remind myself as I gently pull away from him. It’s just sex with a hot guy who I happen to have insane sexual chemistry with.
There’s nothing more going on than that.
Chapter Ten
Matthew
Over the next few days, Liam and I continue to fool around at every opportunity. The sex remains scorching between us. It’s on another plane of existence to anything I’ve experienced before.
The working-off-our-animosity-in-bed theory turns out to be a great concept because it seems Liam and I work great together in every other aspect of our fake relationship.
The day after the sandcastle competition, the group activity is sailing.
Neither Liam nor I have ever sailed, but somehow, we just…click as sailing teammates. We’re both competitive and seem to have a complementary set of skills. I’m tactical and have good attention to detail, while Liam has the physical fitness, coordination, and calmness under pressure. Both of our skillsets prove beneficial in learning to sail, and we end up winning the impromptu race.
“Not to brag or anything, but we are really kicking your colleagues’ asses,” Liam says after we get back to the marina. He gives me a cocky smirk. “Now you get to use that brain ofyours to come up with some ideas of how to reward your captain now we’re back on shore.”
“Hey, who says you were the captain?” I ask.
I’m expecting my words to trigger an argument about which of us was the most important factor in our success, but instead, Liam shuffles closer to me.
“Fine. You can be the captain.” He gives me a heated look. “A good captain goes down with his ship, wanna go down on me?”
I let out an agonized groan. “Oh god, and he went there.”
