I can almost stand Emma like this. Relaxed, less uptight, less mouthy. Every single time she opens her mouth to be a little brat, I want to put her on her knees and fill it.
I can’t fucking help it, and sitting this close to her, the flames crackling in the fireplace, the room dimly lit, I’m focusing on all of the wrong things. Things I know I shouldn’t be concentrating on, yet the task feels impossible.
“Okay, so that’s a start. A plan. We meet at Town Hall, measure the area, see what we’re working with for the party space. That’s a veto on the five-course meal. Got it.” As she speaks, she’s checking things off her to-do list. Perfect little check marks, not that I expected anything less. “Now, we have to decide on a theme so we can figure out the decorations, food, and entertainment in more detail,” she says, setting her sparkly pen down to grab her beer and take a long sip.
That’s how we spend the next thirty minutes, going over this “plan” of hers, occasionally taking jabs at each other when the opportunity presents itself, and somehow ending up so close that we’re brushing against each other with every small movement.
“God, there are so many fucking sticky notes I can’t even keep up at this point.” I groan, swiping one of the gingerbread notes off the table. “And this? An ice sculpture? No, Emmie. Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
She scoffs, snatching the sticky note back out of my hand with an unladylike snort. “You’re impossible, you do realize that, right? An ice sculpture is classy, and do not touch my sticky notes, please—they are organized just the way I need them to be.”
I smirk, leaning over her with my gaze locked on hers.
I pluck another from the table and hold it between my forefingers. We’re so close now that I can feel her breath fanning my lips. “Whoops.”
Her gaze narrows as her brow arches, and my smirk widens when she tries to snatch it from my hand. I hold it high above her head… just out of reach.
We’re in a silent standoff, one that I’m taking far too much pleasure in.
I couldn’t tell you which one of us moved first, but all of a sudden, we’re on each other, my hands lacing into her silky hair as I yank her the rest of the distance toward me, sealing my lips over hers and tasting the beer on her tongue. Her hands slide along the nape of my neck, and then she’s scrambling into my lap, seated directly on my already aching cock while whimpering against my lips.
Fuck, as much as I pretend to hate this girl, I want her. Badly.
I want to be the one that strips away all of the hard, prim exterior, leaving her soft and pliable beneath my calloused hands.
My fingers ghost along the sliver of skin that peeks out from her sweater, which has risen, a shiver sliding down her spine when I do. For someone who spends so much time pretending to hate me, she’s so fucking responsive to my touch.
Her hips circle on my lap as her nails bite into my scalp, trying to drag me even closer against her, her lips battling with mine in a kiss that I feel in every single nerve ending of my body. I’m trying to be the gentleman she seems to expect me to be, but that’s not who I am.
There is nothing gentlemanly about the way I want to fuck her. Nothing gentlemanly about the things I want to do to her.
To take off her clothes, worship her body with my tongue, and show her just how much of a brat she is with my handprints blooming bright red on her ass.
Sliding my hands higher along her back, I press her against me, rocking her hips over my cock until we’re both panting and breathless. A tangle of tongue and teeth. It’s frantic, and there’s nothing elegant about it, unlike everything I’ve ever known Emma Worthington to be.
Her tongue drags along my lower lip before she captures it between her teeth and tugs at the same time her fingers snake beneath the fabric of my shirt, brushing along the planes of my stomach. The muscles contract beneath her touch, and I’m two seconds from tearing what I’m sure is something ridiculously expensive off her body and fucking her right here on this floor.
When my fingers brush along the lacy strap of her bra, she pulls back and stares at me through heavy-lidded, desire-filled eyes framed by thick, dark lashes.
Staring at each other, panting hard, I can practically see the thoughts running through her mind.
“Shit. What are we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this.” She tries to crawl off my lap, but I palm her ass, rocking into her slightly, and her head drops back with a moan, her fingers clawing into my stomach. Leaning forward, I capture her lips again, delving into her mouth and showing her exactly why we should be doing this.
Fuck the feud, fuck the fact that we’re supposed to hate each other, fuck everything that isn’t right here, right now. I’ve always been attracted to her, even if she drives me insane like no other, but being forced together these last two days has made me want her that much more. This is not something that’s going to go away, so fuck it.
We’ll worry about the aftermath later.
Tearing my lips from hers, I trail them lower along her jaw to her neck, where I suck at the sensitive spot below her ear. “This is exactly why we should, Snowflake.”
She moans when I drag my teeth along her skin, nipping while she squirms.
“B-but we hate each other,” she pants, threading her hands in my hair again and tugging. Hard.
Fuck yes, I knew there was more to this girl, hiding under her holier-than-thou attitude.
“Never said I hated you. In fact…” I slide my hands under her sweater, dragging my palms along her stomach as I inch the soft fabric up, higher and higher, exposing the light pink lace of her bra and the swell of her tits. There’s a tiny gold heart dangling from the center clasp of the bra. “I happen to fucking love these.”
I cup them in my palms, squeezing and pushing them together as my thumb brushes along the hard pebble of her nipple.
“We… shouldn’t.” She can barely get the words out over her pants as I drag my tongue along the edge of the lace. “We…” Even as she’s protesting, she’s grinding on my cock.
Pulling back, I gaze at her. “How about we worry about what we shouldn’t be doing later? Clearly, we’re attracted to each other, and this feels good. We’re adults, Emma.”
Her breath hitches when I use her name instead of the many nicknames I use just to annoy her.
“One night. That’s all I want.”
She blinks back at me, hesitation flickering in her gaze, but ultimately nods. “One night. And we never speak of it again. We pretend it never happened.”
It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself, but I just shrug, my lip quirking up. “Sure, Snowflake. We can go back to pretending we hate each other… tomorrow.”
Nodding again, she sits back slightly, pulling down her sweater, but I reach up to stop her.