Seducing The Enemy - Shayla Black Page 0,15
hurts, but I hate myself far more for not being able to fall out of love with her.
Whitney is still pushing, testing. What is she after?
“So you’ve said.” I tug and caress the tips. They harden more as she flushes and writhes in unconscious offering. “But that doesn’t change anything, so why not take what you want from me?”
I release her and sit back on my heels, watching and waiting.
Seconds later, her eyes flash open. They’re even more dilated than before. A little whimper escapes from her throat. Jesus, how long before I get inside her? How long before I feel—at least for a few precious minutes—like she’s mine?
“Suck my nipples,” she finally gasps. “Hard.”
“Please?” I taunt.
She nods. “Please.”
“Sir?”
She sighs, then jolts when I pinch the sensitive tips again, this time with more bite. “Please suck my nipples hard, Sir.”
“I know that wasn’t easy for you, so I’m inclined to comply. This time. But next time you want something, the begging will have to be much sweeter.”
“You’re a bast—Oh!”
Whitney stops berating me when I suck one of her sweet berry nipples past my lips and take it deep. I slide my tongue over the crest, swirl around it, nip gently, then draw it to the roof of my mouth and pull without mercy.
The sounds she makes are both desperate and animal. When I release the tip into the waiting vise of my fingers, I capture the other orally, alternately soothing and torturing it, too.
She squirms and twists, gasping and fisting the sheets. Unconsciously, she parts her knees wider like she burns for me alone. That sends my desire rocketing.
Fuck, she’s going to my head.
“Princess…” I murmur against her glistening nipple before switching back to the first and giving it another suckle and jerk. “More?”
“Yes.”
“Am I still a bastard?” I scrape the edge of her nipple with my teeth.
Her gasp sharpens. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to give you an orgasm?”
Whitney’s eyes slide shut as she thrashes under me, her voice and neck straining. “Yes. Please.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Sir.” Even through clenched teeth, she sounds breathy. “Please give me an orgasm.”
“Better,” I praise, but I don’t make any move to grant her wish, just keep at her nipples.
I’m enjoying my power over her, I confess. Not simply because I’m tormenting her—though that’s part of it—but because she’s so close to admitting she wants me, too.
I’ve fucking fantasized about this more times than I can count.
“Will you?” she pants.
“Probably. Eventually.” I shrug. “We’ll see.”
Her keening cry of demand is music to my ears. As I curl my tongue around her nipples again, one after the other, I let the agonized sound crawl into my brain and fill the space between my ears so I can replay it over and over.
“Jett…” she whines. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Deny me.” She lifts herself enough to stare at me, eyes soft and pleading. “Deny us.”
Her reply makes my heart stop. I feel my resolve wavering.
I’m so close to stripping her bare. Not physically. Getting her naked was easy. But emotionally, in the way I need her most? Yes.
God knows I’m ridiculously hard for her. But it’s more—far more. I’m fast coming to a fork in the road. What I choose next may dictate my entire future.
Revenge or Whitney?
She reaches for me, pressing her palm between my legs. I have to bite back a groan. But it gets ten times worse when she curls her fingers over my aching ridge.
Why the hell didn’t I take my pants off?
“Don’t play games,” she implores.
“We’re already playing, princess.” Brow raised, I grab her wrist and tug it away. “Right now, I have the power. The more you insist, the less likely I am to give in to you.”
“Because you’re vindictive?”
If I’m being honest? Because I’m susceptible. Because the minute I hear her scream for me, I’ll probably rush to get inside her—heedless of the consequences—and meld myself with her. Because when she’s near me, I have to fight for every ounce of my control.
Because I know if I don’t have my head screwed on straight, my brain won’t be the organ making my decisions.
“Think what you want. I only care what you do. Put your hands on the mattress, palms flat. Now.”
She scowls. “Who are you? Not the Jett I used to know.”
It’s a valid question I’d rather avoid answering. “Ah, guilt. Sadly for you, it’s a trite, ineffective response. Surrender, Whitney.”
“No.”
“Then we’re both wasting our time. I’ll call Valentin. He’ll drive you home. Our deal will be null and void.” It takes