Page 85 of Falling for the Enemy

He worked the knots she carried in her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tight cords on either side of her neck, the knots that never fully loosened from years spent hunched over a laptop. Then, against every good instinct, something inside of her began to give.

As her body relaxed, her heart raced. Blood thrummed through her veins, and she felt like a bunny facing off a predator in the garden. Trapped.

She said nothing. She couldn’t. Her throat tightened to a pinhole as the warmth spread through her back and limbs.

A glacial shift moved her stubbornness. Not far, but there was a shift. It felt…good. And she wanted him to keep going as much as she wanted him to stop. But the internal battle was wearing on her, and she couldn’t bear the polarized desires.

She was in a war with herself, trapped between comfort and safety. Yes, she wanted his soothing touch, but no matter how hard she tried to relax her body, her mind couldn’t accept the reliance on comfort from anyone but herself.

His palms swept over her back, mapping the wings of her shoulder blades, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. Every pass pressed her a little deeper into the blanket, a little further from the part of her that kept score and braced for impact.

He wasn’t trying to arouse her. He was trying to take care of her. The second this devastating realization occurred, her eyes stung with a wet burn.

She pinched her face tight, trying not to breathe, forcing her eyes shut, and refusing to blink. By her expression, it probably looked like she was surrendering to having surgery without drugs.

A drug would help. Anything to put a little distance between the incredible way he touched her and the wild bewilderment in her heart. Anything to shut off her brain.

Her body confused tenderness and seduction. They were so different, yet too similar. When his thumbs pressed into the small of her back, the moan that escaped her throat was outright sexual.

“Good,” he said softly, and she heard the satisfaction in it. “That’s what I wanted. Let yourself go. No more armor.”

A tremor formed in her chest as her heart seemed to shiver under the threat of his intentions. Brick by brick, he was breaking down her walls.

His hands traveled lower, smoothing over the curve of her backside, parting her ass cheeks, squeezing, massaging her sit bones, but nothing more. Down the backs of her thighs he went, until she was trembling everywhere.

A slow build crept up on her, embedded into her by the warm oil and the low murmur of his voice. Her body had stopped fighting and started wanting. A slow, heavy ache pulsed through her belly and clit with every hard beat of her pounding heart.

“Soren.” His name was a plea, no longer a threat.

“I know.” He leaned over her, his bare chest warm against her back as his lips found the nape of her neck. “I feel it too.”

His skin was hot against hers. When had he removed his clothes?

He pressed a line of kisses down the length of her spine, disrupting her thoughts as he retraced the path his hands had carved. By the time he reached the top of her ass crack, she was arching into him, silently begging, as she came shamelessly undone.

Never had she felt so needy and tender. She mentally forbade such desperate moans, but lost all authority over her composure.

Her body now belonged to him as she physically begged in languid stretches, a slave to his touch. Her mouth formed soft little pleas, as need overpowered reluctance, and she became an unrecognizable, wanton version of herself.

The grounding weight of his body pressing over her hips disappeared, and she instinctively reached for him. He gently turned her over, caught her hand, and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Now, you’re ready,” he breathed. “I love seeing you so soft like this. So welcoming.”

Her heart raced as she became paralyzed by uncertainty. His thumb traced her bottom lip with the patience of a man who had all night.

It would be death by kindness in the end.

“You’re still tense.” His voice dropped low, barely above a murmur. “Don’t be afraid. Not of me and not of this. It was always going to get to this place, Joce. We were already there.”

Soft enough words that she could pretend she had no choice in the matter, certain enough that they both knew the truth.

Soren wanted this. He wanted it badly, and once he set his mind on something, he rarely backed down. Born and bred to get everything he desired from the world, he had no qualms about demanding too much. Even if it meant claiming parts of her no man had ever dared to claim before.

Sitting back on his heels, he took her in. Firelight painted gold across the hard lines of his shoulders and chest, catching the definition of muscle that spoke to hours spent earning his strength. Already hard, he gripped his impressive length and stroked himself slowly, making no move to rush.

He settled between her thighs, opening her body to him, and braced his forearms on either side of her head, caging her in.

His eyes held hers as the head of his cock notched against her entrance without penetrating. Heat pulled like hot honey moving through her veins, warming her insides as she shivered against the burning heat of his skin touching hers. Writhing beneath him, she silently begged for his touch.