Page 82 of Falling for the Enemy

“I can lower the temperature.” He did so with another entry into his phone.

“Quite the space house you have here.” She took another six hundred dollar gulp of bubbly. The alcohol was finally getting to her head.

“Do you want to⁠—”

“Have sex? God, yes.”

He stilled then laughed. “I was going to say watch a movie.”

“Oh.” She tipped back her champagne, chugging down the last four-hundred-dollar swallow. “Sure. How about Goonies?” She held out her glass. “More please.”

“Okay, I can see this isn’t working.”

“I told you—Hey!” He took her empty glass and set it on the end table. No coaster.

Standing, he kicked the dog toys aside and tossed the fur blanket on the floor. Then, with the flick of a switch, he turned on the gas fireplace. Flames ignited, and the room transformed with a golden glow.

“Lie down. Clothes off.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m giving you a back rub to help you relax.”

“I don’t want a back rub.”

“Too bad.” He pointed to the blanket. “On your belly.”

She met his challenging stare, refusing to move, but eventually crumbled, letting him win this little standoff and promising she wouldn’t give in so easily next time.

“Fine. But my clothes are staying on.”

“We’ll see.”

She crawled onto the blanket and sat with her back to the fireplace, arms akimbo. “I don’t like massages.”

“That’s because you’ve never had one from me.” He shoved her back, catching the backs of her knees and yanking her closer. He pulled off her suede boot and held it up. “You can model these later for me—naked.”

He pulled off the other and tossed them aside. Then he reached for the zipper of her jeans, stripping her legs bare in seconds flat. Refusing to look at him, she rolled her eyes back as far as she could without giving herself a headache.

He peeled off her panties and pushed open her legs.

“Hey, what kind of massage is this?”

“The kind where you come.” Diving forward, he dragged his tongue through her slit, closing his lips around her clit.

Jocelyn’s back arched as her arms unlocked from her chest. Her hands balled into fists at her side when he did it again.

“You’re too in your head.”

True, but now her body was starting to pulse, and she welcomed the distraction.

He dragged the flat of his tongue over her sensitive flesh, slower this time, like he had all night and intended to savor every minute of it. No urgency like she usually felt when he took her. No race to the finish, they typically sprinted toward. Just that maddening, unhurried exploration, as if he were learning her this time, instead of conquering her again.

“Soren.” His name came out as a warning when she realized he was doing things differently on purpose.

“Hmm?” His response hummed against her clit, the vibration rolling through her core.

“Are you trying to—” Her breath hitched when he did something fancy with his tongue. “—torture me on purpose?”