Page 13 of Pucking My Bad Boy Enemy

He licks along the seam of my mouth until I open for him. When I gasp he swallows the sound, sinking into the kiss until I taste the wine and the low, dark want from him.

The kiss lands everywhere at once. In my scalp, where his fingers thread and tighten. In my chest, where my heart is throwing itself at my ribs. In the slow pull low in my belly that has been winding tighter since I walked into his bedroom.

He kisses the way he plays, all appetite and focus with absolute control, and I’m losing a game I begged him to let me into.

I fist both hands in his henley to keep my knees from buckling.

He backs me towards the bed one slow step at a time without breaking from my mouth, until the backs of my thighs meet the mattress, and the sound I spill into him would mortify me if I had one working brain cell left. He catches it, groans it back to me, and chases it deeper.

He pulls back, forehead to mine, both of us unsteady.

"I'm going to take this dress off you now." His voice is low and rough. "You want to stop, you say so and we stop. Otherwise I'm taking my time."

"Stop narrating it, Hunter."

His mouth curves against mine. "Bossy. Noted."

He undresses me like he’s unwrapping something he waited a long time to be allowed to hold. His mouth chasing his hands. He eases the dress off my shoulders and just looks.

His eyes move over me slowly, like he's memorizing, like I'm something rare he only gets to see once.

Nobody has ever looked at me like this. Like the sight of me knocked the breath clean out of him.

"Margot." His voice has gone so soft. His hands span my ribs, thumbs skimming the lace of my bra, and when he unclasps it and lets it fall, the sound he makes is close to pained.

"Look at you. Just beautiful. You've been hiding all this from me."

He cups my breast, drags his thumb across the nipple until it draws up tight and a gasp jumps out of me, and he does it again just to watch it happen.

"These." He closes his mouth over one, tongue moving flat and slow, and the noises I make are mortifying. But his mouth is magic.

He groans, his hands each cupping a breast. "I have thought about these more than a grown man should confess. Heavy, perfect and they fit my hands like they were made for me."

He lifts his eyes to mine. "And that sound you just made. Don't you dare swallow those down. I want to hear every single one."

"My turn." I get my hands under the hem of his henley, he lifts his arms when I push it up so I can drag it off over his head.

Oh.

I have seen Jax half-dressed a hundred times. In the tunnel, on the ice, on a magazine cover I did not buy and absolutely did not keep.

It’s nothing like that. This feels so real. All muscle and old scars.

My eyes trace the dark trail of hair below his navel. He’s so beautiful it makes me a little angry. Only because I know I’m a lesson to him. Part of our deal.

"You're allowed to touch." His voice has dropped to a whisper. "I’ve been dying for it, honestly."

I don’t believe him. But I flatten both palms on his chest and feel his heart slamming as hard as mine. I drag my hands down over every ridge of him, inspecting him. Loving the feel of his reactions from just my touch.

And when I get his belt open and reach for him he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

I’ve never seen one up close and I don’t watch porn, but I do dabble in artsy films. But this doesn’t compare. He’s heavy and hot. Hard and impossibly soft in my hand, and my whole brain white-outs. He’s just full of contradictions.

"Oh." I can’t even form sentences but I managed to say, "Amazing. You're..."

"Careful." A rough, strained laugh. "Keep touching me like that, sweetheart.” He leans in for a kiss, short and sweet. “And this is over before it starts."

“I don’t want it to be over.” I stroke him, learning the weight of him, and the sound he makes goes straight through me and lodges somewhere low, and I decide on the spot that I could get addicted to being the reason for it.