Page 14 of Enemy of Ours #1

IRIS

F or once, I have the penthouse to myself without Inga hovering over me, and it feels like absolute freedom I haven’t realized I’ve been missing.

I have the speakers turned up so loud that I can feel the vibrations under my feet on the hardwood flooring.

It’s fortunate that the penthouse is very isolated; otherwise, I would likely have the police at my door for a noise disturbance.

A Stevie Nicks song plays from each surround sound speaker, about her ex being an asshole, which happens to be my favorite one.

I dim the lights just as I pop open the wine.

I want to live in the dark right now, dance with the shadows to music while drinking a glass of wine, acting like a complete lush, but I don’t give a fuck.

For once, this is my world, and I’ll do what I want. No one can see me anyway.

‘All American Rejects,’ ‘Hope It Gives You Hell,’ comes on next, and I can’t resist grabbing the remote to sing the lyrics into it as loud as I can.

When you see my face, I hope it gives you hell.

I’m full-on belting out the lyrics drunkenly, practically on my knees, and the image of him pops into my head.

Freaking Romeo Messina.

If he ever sees my face again, I do hope it gives him hell.

I gulp back the rest of my wine from the wineglass and trade it for the bottle as my favorite and worst song comes on. Iris, by the Goo Goo Dolls. This song kills me, but I feel so fucking much inside my heart with the lyrics as if the song was meant for me.

I settle down on the fur rug in front of the fireplace and stifle a cry into my wine bottle as the words hit me hard in the core.

You’re the closest to Heaven that I’ll ever be, and I don’t wanna go home right now.

At that point, I’m sobbing into my bottle as I tip it back, not caring as the sweet red wine drips down my chin and onto my long nightshirt. I’m drowning in my sorrows, and it can get messy. Thank God no one can see this shitshow.

“You need to get yourself together, Iris. It’s been years; it’s time to move on,” I slur to myself, feeling slightly dizzy as I hug the bottle to my chest and sway on my butt for the rest of the song.

When the music stops, my bottle is empty, and I’m having a drunken pity party by myself. Even Sofia abandoned me long ago when the dancing started; my poor dog is probably frightened of me now.

“Sofia. Girl. Come cuddle with Mommy. I need a cuddle!” I cry out loud, trying to get to my feet to go find her to apologize for being a lush, but I just end up back on my ass as I stumble.

I may have drunk too much.

“Yes. You have, but don’t worry, Pet. I’m here to take care of you.

” The deep, sinful voice, smooth like silk, penetrates my ears with the softest of whispers, causing me to stop breathing for a second and turn my head toward the sound that haunts me every day but leaves me craving more.

Just one more word that I can carry with me in my memory even when it hurts.

Maybe this is all a dream, and I’m peacefully in bed while Inga is on the other side of the penthouse sleeping too, instead of visiting her sister for the night.

But that can’t be right. Although the music has stopped playing, I still feel the sticky residue of wine on my chin and chest, and I can hear even the smallest hum from the fridge in the kitchen.

So why am I hearing his voice? It sounds so clear I’d almost swear he’s in the same room as me.

My breathing picks up with my heartbeat; a glimmer of hope hits me, but also anger.

I harbor deep-seated anger towards him. How can one person crave someone so much it literally hurts to go without them but still want to carve their eyeballs out with a rusted spoon for hurting you?

“Romeo?” I whisper in the quietness, the one word coming out slurred and longing even to my own ears.

I strain to listen for the faintest sound, and I swear I pick up calm, soothing sounds of breathing that aren’t mine.

As I inhale deeply, the scent of leather, with a hint of cinnamon and a distinct masculinity, overwhelms me.

It’s the same scent from the elevator, and it now makes sense why it smelled so familiar and filled me with a rush of desire.

“I know you’re here.” I slur my words, yet my voice comes out strong.

“My Iris, my good girl,” he suddenly says from behind me, his strong arms picking me off the floor as I squeal in surprise.

I almost thought I was losing my mind, but he’s really here unless I’m dreaming. I can’t tell if it’s a good dream or a nightmare. I’m going with the latter for now.

“You fucking arsehole! Put me down. I’m going to kill you!” I beat at his chest with my fist as he carries me bridal style from the living room, down the hallway towards my bedroom.

He only chuckles the harder I hit him, and I start to swear in a thick Irish accent.

My Irish side always comes out when I’m pissed off, which is a result of growing up half the time in Scotland.

I also blame my Da for having cursed like a sailor around me my whole life; it’s a habit I picked up when I was little, much to Inga’s chagrin.

“I don’t think so. You’re fucking drunk, and it’s my job to take you to bed every night so you’re right by my side. I take care of what’s mine.”

Must he sound so damn sexy and make my thighs literally tremble with need?

When I first met him, his voice was the first thing I noticed.

Smooth, deep, with a hint of Italian accent that melted me on the spot.

It’s the type of voice you want to hear whispering in your ear at night as he takes your body over and over.

“Hush, Kitten. I got you. Stop talking before I stuff your mouth with something to shut you up. You are killing me, and I’m trying to be a gentleman.

” He growls, literally growls like a feral beast, and loosens his arms from around me.

I shriek as I suddenly find myself airborne and landing with a bounce on my back onto the mattress.

I didn’t realize I was talking aloud. It's always been a bad habit of mine when I'm drunk. Words just vomit out of my mouth without giving my brain a chance to catch up. I just say what I’m thinking without giving a damn what anyone else thinks. Only this time, I wish my mouth would stop because that’s embarrassing as hell.

I don’t even remember what I was thinking ten seconds ago about him.

I'm pretty sure it was about his strong, muscular arms that can lift me as if I weigh nothing. He can literally pick me up and move me however he wants, like a ragdoll completely at his mercy. He could flip me right now onto my hands and knees without breaking a sweat. I’d really like to feel his big hands around my hips, moving me around as he pleases.

”Jesus. Iris. You test me, and I’m at my breaking point.” His voice comes out so deep and husky with lust that my head rolls back on my shoulders as I lean up on my elbows to face where his voice is coming from.

It sounds like he’s at the end of my bed.

I can hear my bedposts groaning under his grip as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

Instant power courses through me like lava; the complete feeling of control gives me a rush I haven’t felt in a long time.

It’s already addicting knowing I could bring him to his knees with just a few little words.

He deserves this torture for what he’s done to me.

I deserve nothing but to feel like I own his body and soul. Both are mine to possess.

”Since this is my dream, and the devil is already in bed with me, I want to feel good.

Make me feel good, Romeo. It’s the only chance you’ll get because when I wake up, I’m going to hate you again.

” My tone comes out with conviction, but I know deep down that hating him has always led me to loving him even more, and I despise that.

“Hate me all you want, Iris. I’m still not going anywhere. You. Are. Mine. You’ll know soon enough what that means, but for now, spread your legs, pretty girl, so I can see just how wet you are for me.”

My breathing picks up, heat rising over my chest and crawling up my neck until my cheeks are warm. No one has ever spoken to me like that, except him. Always him.

I hear the comforting rustle of the sheets as he crawls up from the end of the bed and makes his way between my spread legs.

The first touch of his fingers on my ankle causes me to squeal, but that quickly turns into a moan when his whole hands engulf my calves and roughly push my legs apart further for him to fit in between.

My shirt rides up past my thighs and pools around my belly as his calloused hands slide up my legs, savoring me oh so slowly.

It feels amazing, his rough hands against my soft skin.

It’s as if he’s touching me everywhere at once; my body starts shivering uncontrollably at the overwhelming sensation.

”So fucking soft. My perfect girl. My only girl.” He sounds hungry, his voice dripping like warm honey. My pussy clenches around nothing, making me feel desperate.

”Please,” I beg, hating myself for a fleeting moment, until I feel his hands climb higher, pausing at my inner thighs.

I’m barely breathing, and I can’t help wondering what he’s thinking.

I can feel his stare on my pussy, which is drenched the longer he looks down the crease of my ass.

I’m soaking the bedspread beneath me. My legs tremble, trying to close them at feeling so exposed, but his hands leave my skin only for a second before coming back down on my inner, sensitive thighs with a powerful smack to keep me wide open for him.

”None of that. You're so fucking wet for me, I can almost see my reflection. Keep these gorgeous legs open for me, and I’ll have you screaming soon enough.

” He promises, desire deep in his tone. It almost makes me smile knowing he wants this just as badly as I do, but I quickly keep my facial expression blank just in case he looks up at me.

His breath ghosts over the top of my pubic bone so suddenly, it causes me to slightly jerk in place, and a gasp leaves my parted lips.

Goosebumps break out over my body as I bite back a delighted moan and resist shifting my hips up towards his mouth.

He’ll come to me. I don’t want to beg with my mouth or body, but I can’t help myself when it comes to him. I pray he’ll never know how much I want to be worshipped by him. I want him to think I don’t want or need him. It’s the only power of control I have left.

“Be still, or I won’t help you come,” he demands, his body shifting on the bed until I can feel his breath blowing softly over my pussy lips, and I just know he’s lying on his stomach staring right between my legs.

Wait. What does he mean, help me come ?

“Romeo, you son of a bitch. Make me come!” I try to sound stern, downright fucking mean, but my voice only comes out as a desperate whine that sounds way too needy.

“Oh, I will. All in good time, pet.” He purrs in his deep tone, and the sound of his voice vibrating in my sensitive ears makes my head dizzy; it could also be the wine, or perhaps both.