Dear Enemy

He grins down at me, a drop of sweat trickling down the side of his flushed face. “Not yet.”

Slowly, too damn slowly, he circles his hips, stretching me, making me ache.

“I need to come,” I whisper. Whine. Plead. It’s all the same. Every inch of me throbs. Pleasure is a tightly drawn bow within, and I need that snap of release.

His grin fades, replaced by intention. “You will. When I’m ready.”

“Sadist.”

He nips my earlobe. “You love it.”

I shudder as that glorious dick of his eases out, making me feel every hard inch, only to slowly push back in. Too fucking slowly. I’m writhing on him, and he loves it. Dark eyes glint as he works me.

Naked in the sun and sprawled on an armchair that barely holds us, he’s been fucking me with a steady deliberation designed to drive me out of my mind. And though I’m a pleading, panting mess, I love it too.

God, he’s gorgeous. Endless muscle and tan skin beaded with sweat, flush from exertion. His expression is slack, hazy with lust. It sends licks of pleasure along my skin. Panting, I reach up and touch his jaw, trying to draw him near. He complies, dipping his head. Our mouths meet in a lazy, deep kiss, an exchange of air, messy exploration of lips and tongues.

He groans, shivering. Not unaffected. Just so very good at torturing me.

In. Out. Pull. Push.

“Macon,” I whisper into his mouth. “Please. Fuck me.”

He freezes, and then with another groan, all that power and need breaks free. I can only hold on as he goes hard and deep. The chair scrapes along the floor as he pounds into me. Every thrust impacts my swollen, sensitive sex. Pleasure builds and builds until I’m keening, my eyes closed as though I can somehow hang on to the feeling forever. But it breaks over me in a shimmering wave.

Macon’s teeth clamp down on the meaty curve of my neck, not hard but holding me there as his thrusts turn rapid, a greedy chase of his own pleasure. It’s so animalistic and unexpected that another orgasm slams into me with unexpected power.

I lose track of myself, of him. My fingers claw at his back, thread through his hair. I’m struggling to get closer, get more. He comes with a great shout, his big strong body straining against mine.

Light headed from release, I go limp with a sigh. Macon lies panting and replete on top of me, but he holds most of his weight on his knees. Our breaths slow, and he stirs enough to press a hot but weak kiss to my neck. “Delilah, I . . .”

The front door flings open, startling us both. North always knocks, and no one else knows the key code. Or so I thought. Until I hear a voice that I know as well as my own. Cold shock and disbelief slam into me as it rings out.

“Helloooo? Saint, babe, you home—oh my God!”

Sam’s cry is shrill, horrified, and enough to have Macon and me snapping out of our frozen surprise. I scramble to get up, but I have two hundred pounds of muscled man on me. Macon snarls a curse and reaches for a throw to cover me, even as he’s turning to glare over his shoulder at a gaping Sam.

“Get the hell out,” he practically shouts.

She doesn’t move. Tanned and styled as though she’s just come from the salon, my sister stands in the living room entryway, glaring as if this is her house, and I’m some interloper she’s found with her man.

“What the hell? You’re fucking Delilah?” she shouts at Macon. “Are you serious?”

Given that he’s still half on me, blocking my body with his, I feel the surge of anger that punches through Macon. Naked, he rises in one swift move and turns on Sam as I frantically wrap the throw around me.

“Get out.” He points to the door. “Now!”

The intensity of his shout makes both Sam and me jump. She blanches, but her gaze travels south, and her lips part.

Oh, hell no.

I finally find my feet and step in front of Macon. I’m not tall enough to cover all of him, but the essential bits are blocked. Sam gaping at Macon’s nakedness has made me surprisingly territorial. I have to bite back a snarl of “Mine!”

Macon’s hand comes down on my shoulder. For a second, I fear he might tug me behind him, but he gives me a quick comforting squeeze instead.

Sam’s eyes narrow in on the gesture, and her lips purse in a tight line of hot-pink gloss. “You’re together now?” The shock and disgust at the prospect rings loud and clear.

Macon makes a noise, his hand on my shoulder twitching, and I know he’s about to blow again.

“Sam,” I say before he can talk. “Focus. You’ve just walked into Macon’s house without invitation. He’s asked you to leave.”