Sleeping with the Enemy (An Enemies to Lovers Collection)

“What’s this?” I stroke his chin and bury my face in his shoulder since I know I’m suddenly flaming red again. Finn clears the room, takes the kitchen exit, and starts upstairs. To his room.

Good bananas, that bed is springy. We should have gone to my room, where the bed doesn’t creak and groan.

“This? Whatever you want it to be.”

The reassurance is given so confidently and gently that it makes me flush—with happiness this time. I know that by the time we get to the top step, I’m smiling the biggest smile known to humanity.

And then we’re finally in Finn’s room, and he sets me down on the bed. True enough, the springs groan, and the mattress dips.

“Hmm,” Finn says like he hadn’t thought about this.

“Hmm.” I reach out, twine my hands around his neck, and pull him on top of me.

He catches himself with one arm and a knee, which lands between my legs. I tug his face to mine and kiss him hungrily. When I have zero breath left, I come up for air, but I can’t stop touching him. I run my index finger over his shoulders, reveling in the striated, bulging muscle there. He’s shaped like a freaking god, but that’s not what’s so interesting. I just find his muscles, veins, and entire body so fascinating, so different. I run my finger lower, trailing it over his dark nipple, and then stare in utter awe as it puckers beneath my touch. Finn shivers above me, and when I lean in and blow on the tight bud, he shivers again.

“Becki,” he groans, his eyes clenching shut.

I guess fair is fair because he then sits me up, and we both rip my shirt off together. We struggle with the bra a little bit—both of us—before we finally get it off. Sports bras are not easy to get out of, and this one doesn’t have a front or back clasp. When the bra is finally off, Finn stares at me, an unmistakable glint of hunger in his eyes that makes his head swim.

Finn cups my breast, which is barely enough for a handful, but when he groans and lowers his head, I forget about worrying they’re not big enough. I realize how stupid it is because I’ve never thought anything like that before. Finn’s mouth quickly claims my nipple, and he curls his tongue over the tight bud. He sucks on it, and my back arches, but when he scrapes his teeth along the peak, I nearly scream in pleasure.

He doesn’t stop there. After his mouth releases my nipple to the mercy of the air that suddenly feels far too cold in the room, he continues the onslaught down my belly like he’s on a mission to bring down enemy walls.

Really, there are no walls—just my panties, which he proceeds to tear down my legs. In my hurry to get them off, I almost knee him in the chin, but thankfully, he’s more athletic than I am and avoids disaster. Once it’s fully off, he glances down, sighs, and then looks up and smiles at me.

“My god, you’re beautiful,” he purrs, his eyes shining brightly.

I don’t think there’s a spare bit of my skin that doesn’t erupt in chills at his words. Yeah, Finn is looking at me. He’s looking at me, and he was just looking at my hoo-ha, so I think he’s complimenting them both.

I have to swallow back my own desire to tear his jeans away and lick every single inch of his delicious skin, including the new farmer tan he has going on. I know my tan lines are deep and dark from working outside so often, no matter how much protection I put on against the sun, and I like that Finn now has a few of those lines too, compliments of weeding and mowing the grass.

“Can I taste you?” Finn asks, somewhat tentatively.

“Yes,” I pant, anticipation coursing through my body. “If you don’t, there might be serious repercussions.’

He then mock frowns at me. “That’s disconcerting. And what might they be?”

“Death,” I pant again. “For me.”

“Well, we can’t have that then,” Finn says as he circles my belly button with his tongue. His words tickle my tender skin there. He shifts my legs so that my feet are on the bed, and then he settles between them.

All I have to do is look down, and holy moly and then some, I think death might be a reality anyway. His fingers skirt up the insides of my thighs, barely touching me, but still just about killing me. He brings his face down there, his breath gentle and controlled—I don’t even know how it can be either of those things—and then he tastes me. His tongue is like heaven, doing absolutely terrifying and wild things to me. He’s not rough, and those sweeps of his tongue are slow and deliberate, but they’re also scalding and mind-numbing.