Page 284 of Enemies

“I’d say he’s adjusted rather well,” I comment, stretching my neck.

Rae steps out of her heels, groaning a little when her feet hit the carpet. “Why not? It feels like home.”

Some days I can’t believe she’s here—in front of me, beside me, under me. She is every bit the queen I never knew I wanted.

No, needed.

I shrug out of my jacket and toss it on the hall table without looking.

“When were you going to tell me you decided you wanted to stay?” I ask.

We’d talked about it as a possibility, but I didn’t want to pressure her. While we’re becoming more comfortable together with our routines as a couple, her career means being available to play to crowds all over the world.

It’s part of the job, and part of the thrill.

“Just recently. Everything I want is here.”

This is good news. I drag her against me. “Dinner at Picasso?” I think of the restaurant at the Bellagio.

“And shopping,” she deadpans breathily against my lips.

“But mostly...”

“...Barney,” she says.

The dog perks up once again.

For that, I toss her over my shoulder. “You’re in trouble.”

“Put me down! Being British doesn’t make this any less caveman.”

“No, but it means I can stare down my nose at you imperiously when I decide to drop you.”

I flick the lights by the door with my free hand, and the soft glow from behind the dark wood headboard brings our bedroom into focus.

I toss Raegan on the bed, taking a moment to appreciate the view from here.

Her costume is sexy, a joke and a provocation at once, like only the woman I love can pull off. Her curves are decadent, but it’s the confidence beneath, the ownership of who she is, that’s most attractive.

“This outfit is ridiculous,” I rasp.

Rae angles her chin up, offering me full lips and knowing eyes in the semidarkness. “And here I figured you’d like it. Seeing as how you’re the clothes whore.”

I’m already hard in my pants.

I take my time stripping her out of her obscenely sexy costume and tossing it on the floor.

The lingerie beneath is lace, matching the color of her skin. As I shift over her, I imagine it darkening when it’s wet from my tongue, her slickness.

Her fingers thread through mine, and I drag her hands over her head, pinning them against the headboard.

“Save your breath, love,” I murmur. “The only thing you’ll be calling me in a moment is a god.”

She grins, and I go to work making it so.

I touch every curve, following my hands with my mouth, until she’s moaning and incoherent. Then she helps strip my shirt and trousers off, and when I turn her over and yank up her hips to slip inside her bare, my gaze locks on the floor-to-ceiling mirror across from the bed. Watching her take me, arching her back while I grip her ass and sink deeper with every stroke, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Oh shit,” she groans.