Page 60 of Enticing the Enforcer

“How was your exam?”I ask, tucking my knees up to my chest on the bed. He’s shirtless, hair damp from the shower, and leaning back against his headboard. That’s all I can see of him on the video. It’s enough. He should be asleep, but he waited up for me. That knowledge alone makes my chest ache.

“All done,” he says, flashing that boyish grin that slays me every damn time. “Just one paper left, and I’m officially out of here.”

“That sounds amazing.” My smile is instant, impossible to hold back. “I’m proud of you.”

He grins wider. I grin back. We’re two stupid grinning fools staring at each other through a screen, like neither of us has any idea how to play it cool.

His gaze dips, soft but knowing. “How are your blisters?”

“They’d be better if you were here to kiss them.”

The words slip out before I can stop them, flirty and dumb, but when his grin goes wolfish, my stomach curls.

“Flirty little thing,” he teases.

“It’s dumb,” I say quickly, laughing to cover the flush creeping up my neck.

“No,” he cuts me off, shaking his head. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

My throat tightens. It makes no sense that just a few words from him leave me drenched between my legs, but here I am, clutching my pillow like it’ll keep me from combusting.

“I miss you,” he says suddenly. His voice softens, but the weight of the words slams into me. “I miss your face and your mouth–and that pretty pussy that takes me so good.”

“Jefferson.” I laugh, scandalized. “You’re filthy.”

“I’m honest,” he corrects, his tone as unbothered as it is devastating.

And he is. That’s what’s so refreshing about him. Him and the guys he runs with. They’re solidly who they are–loud, brash, funny,horny–and there’s no pretending, no polished mask of celebrity. It makes it so easy for me to be my true self in return.

Still, Madison’s voice gnaws at the back of my mind. “Madison thinks we’re going too fast,” I confess, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “She says I don’t know you well enough.”

His brow furrows, but his voice stays steady. “Angel, that’s not even close to true. But what do you want to know? I’m an open book.”

I tilt my head at him. “An open book, huh? Tell me everything. Dazzle me.”

He shrugs one broad shoulder taking up half the screen. “The first time I picked up a hockey stick? Six. The year I learned to ride a bike? Eight. I did better on skates than wheels. First kiss? Twelve. Carla Goodwin.” His lips twist. “First time I had sex–not with Carla Goodwin, by the way: I came in three minutes flat. To one of your songs.”

I groan, covering my face with both hands. “Don’t remind me. I’m still trying to figure out which one.”

He laughs, low and smug. “And I’m still not telling.”

“Was itBlue Skies, Full Hearts?” I peek at him through my fingers.

“Nope.” The smirk tugging at his mouth makes me want to both kiss and strangle him.

I drop my hands, squinting at him. “Hate to Love?”

His lips twitch. Nothing.

“Cupid’s Bow?”

Still nothing. The bastard just watches me, eyes glinting with amusement.

I huff, hugging the pillow to my chest. “This is actual torture. Why do I even care?”

He leans closer to the camera, voice soft but sure. “Because you want to know everything about me. And you should. I want to know everything about you too.”

The air between us shifts, heavier now, his grin fading into something deeper. I speak before thinking. “I want to see where you live.”