Page 50 of Claimed By the Enemy

“Don’t stop,” he pants. “Please—don’t stop.”

I reach for his wrists, guiding his hands up to my breasts. He groans when his palms cup me, fingers brushing over my nipples. The contact sends a fresh jolt through me, and I arch into his touch.

“That’s it,” I whisper. “Touch me. I want you to feel everything.”

He does. Reverently. Like I’m something he’s been aching to hold.

I lean forward, bracing myself on his chest, and kiss him—deep and open, hips never slowing. Our mouths move together as if the kiss is part of the rhythm, just another pulse of need we can’t escape.

“God, Sophie…” His voice is wrecked, full of awe.

I’m close. So close. Each thrust sends heat spiraling higher, and when I clench around him, he gasps, hips jerking once beneath me.

“Sophie—”

“Let go,” I breathe against his lips. “I’m right there with you.”

And I am. The pleasure fractures inside me all at once, rushing through my body in waves. I cry out, riding every ripple of it, and seconds later, he follows—groaning deep in his throat as he spills inside me, surrendering completely.

I stay straddled over him for a moment, panting, forehead resting against his. His arms come around me, firm now, grounding us both.

When I finally collapse gently onto his chest, careful not to hurt him, he doesn’t let go.

We lie like that, tangled and breathless, skin still buzzing.

“This doesn’t solve anything,” he says eventually, voice raw.

“I know.”

“We still don’t know who’s trying to kill us.”

“I know.”

“We still have every reason to be enemies.”

I lift my head, meet his eyes in the darkness.

“Do you want to be?”

His fingers brush slow circles against my bare back.

“No,” he says. “I want to figure out the truth. With you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sophie

Istir awake to the sound of Dom’s steady breathing beside me, his arm still draped across my waist. Everything from last night comes rushing back.

Dom. The attack.

I turn carefully to look at him, taking in the butterfly bandages on his forehead, the bruising around his eye that’s darkened overnight. Even injured, even sleeping, he looks like he’s ready for a fight.

“I can literally feel you boring holes into my brain,” he mumbles without opening his eyes.

“You look terrible.”

“Good morning to you, too.”