Page 10

Staring at My Abs

She went up to bed right after we arrived back home, and now her voice is in my head as I read Married to the Enemy for the third time.

The story is great, but it’s the sex scenes I’m flipping to, mostly so I can read one-handed and fist my cock in the other while I read the words that she wrote and hope for some insight into how she has sex.

On the one hand…I don’t want to know.

On the other hand…it’s all I want to know.

It’s so conflicting, and I know this is fiction. Just because she wrote it doesn’t mean she’s tried it, and the enemies-to-lovers heat in this one is off the charts as these two finally give in to the strong feelings they’re having only to have the hottest hate sex I’ve ever read in a book.

To be fair, I haven’t read a ton of romance novels. I tend to read playbooks and nonfiction books about athletes and healthy lifestyles, but I do enjoy the occasional guilty pleasure of a Summer Love book.

And in this book, during the hate sex scene, he slips his cock into her ass, and fuck, is that scene hot.

Has she ever had ass play ?

Could I break that barrier for her?

No. Pull it together, Banks. Jesus.

I was in the next room the night she lost her virginity. I know she’s had sex, and she’s told me about her previous partners—much to my distaste. Sometimes I hate knowing those things about her, but our openness with each other is one of the things I appreciate about our relationship.

Still, we’ve never discussed anal.

Maybe we should discuss anal, though the more I even think about anal, the harder my dick gets.

It’s painfully hard as the hero thrusts into the tight ring of the heroine’s ass, and the scene is from his point of view. I start to stroke my own cock as I read the words on the page.

It’s so realistic as Sophie—or Summer Love—paints the picture of how it feels from a man’s perspective. The pressure building up, the intense emotions, the heat tearing through his body.

How does she know how it feels? Did she interview someone, or is this just out of her imagination?

He inches closer and closer to his climax, and I feel it, too, as I stroke my hand up and down my cock.

He explodes into her ass, and I set the book down and close my eyes.

I picture Sophie bent over my bed the way the woman in the book is as I pound into her ass from behind. I tighten my fist over my cock, and I give in to that image that lives rent free in my brain.

I stroke myself faster as I sprint toward the finish line, my other hand coming down to cup my balls as I feel them drawing up.

The same fire that the hero in the book just felt tears along my own spine, and my body contracts as pulse after white-hot pulse of come jets from my cock and onto my fist. I stroke myself through it, never letting go of the image I have in my head, watching it like a movie as she screams out in pleasure, too.

As I finish and my body starts to come down from the high of an orgasm, I picture her turning around, those gorgeous brown eyes connecting with mine in a hot, intimate moment.

God, I want her.

But I can’t have her.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

When morning dawns after a fitful night’s sleep knowing she’s in my house sleeping a few doors down, I get up, throw on some athletic shorts, and head straight for my home gym.

Tanner and I worked hard to ensure this gym would have everything we need in it, and I start with a run on the treadmill followed by squats, lunges, and weights.

By the time I emerge two hours later, I’m ready for some fuel to start my day.

Sophie is up and working at the kitchen table when I walk into the room, and she slams the lid of her laptop shut again.

I watch as her eyes zero in on my abs, and she says, “Good morning. Have your abs always looked like that?”

I laugh. “I wouldn’t say always , but probably since I started working with the pros.”

“Damn, Miller.” She wiggles her brows.

“What? If I had these abs in high school, you would’ve given me a chance?” I’m flirting, and she blushes.

I think she likes it, though we both know it’s just harmless fun. Or it appears like it is, anyway, even if I’m serious about it.

She lifts a shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Well, you had that same ass in high school, and I never had a chance.” Her ass. Why did I bring up her ass? I’m still hot thinking about last night and what I was imagining while I read her book.

She scoffs as she rolls her eyes. “My ass is definitely bigger now than it was fifteen years ago. ”

“Just as hot now as it was then.” I know she thinks I’m just being nice, but the words are true. Before it gets awkward, I change the subject. “I was just about to make some breakfast. You want anything?”

“Sure, whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Protein oatmeal with extra nuts?” I ask.

She wrinkles her nose. “I thought you’d say, like, scrambled eggs and toast.”

I laugh. “I can do that. And a protein shake.”

“Why all the protein?”

“I just worked out. Replenishing energy.” I head toward the fridge to grab a bottled protein shake, and I take out the eggs while I’m in there.

“Hey, wait a minute. Wasn’t I supposed to be cooking for you?”

I laugh and set the eggs down. I point to them. “I’m pretty good at scrambled eggs, but be my guest if you’d like.”

“I’m actually right in the middle of a pivotal scene. Is it awful if I ask you whether I can finish typing while you cook?”

I laugh. “Not at all. I was planning to make food anyway.”

I chug down my protein shake, and I wonder what our daily routine will look like. I’m quiet as I listen to the rhythmic tapping of her keys, and when it stops, I glance over at her.

She’s staring at my abs.

I pretend like I don’t notice, but then she moves her attention back to her document. I hear the typing stop again, and this time when I look over, she’s staring out the window, seemingly lost in thought for a few seconds before she starts typing again.

It’s a whole process, and I’ve never seen this side of her work. It’s interesting to watch her stop and go, and ten minutes later, breakfast is ready .

She shuts the lid of her laptop as I set her plate beside her, and she grins at me. “This is awesome. Thank you so much.”

I dig into my own plate, and truth be told, it is pretty damn awesome.

But I can’t help wondering what she was just writing. Was it another sex scene? Was it from the man’s point of view? Will I jerk off to it in a few months when it’s published and I get to finally read it?

“What do you want to do today?” I ask, shaking those thoughts off.

“Well, I already hit my word count goal, so the rest is just bonus. I guess I could unpack a bit. What about you?” she asks.

“I was thinking I could take you ring shopping.”

She sets her hand on her forehead. “Oh, God, I told those girls that, didn’t I?”

“And your mom,” I remind her.

She laughs. “Right. Look, I’ll chip in some money on it. We don’t have to do anything fancy, just something cheap to—”

I hold up a hand. “If you’re playing the part of my fiancée, you’ll wear a ring my fiancée would wear.”

Her brows rise at that, but she doesn’t challenge my words.

We each shower—separately—and I call Tanner to fill him in on what’s going on before I head downstairs to meet her for our excursion.

“Hey, bro, what’s going on with Sophie, and why did Mom call me asking me if you’re engaged?” he answers.

I blow out a breath. “Because we are engaged.”

“Holy shit. You did it?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Huh?” he asks, clearly confused.

I glance at the closed door and wonder if she can hear me. Likely not. She’s probably still in the shower, or maybe drying her hair, but I lower my voice anyway.

I tell my brother everything. He’s more than just my best friend. But something stops me from telling him the specifics about this . Her secret pen name is not my secret to tell—even to Tanner, who I trust implicitly.

“Here’s the short version. Sophie’s ex posted something personal about her on her student message board, and it led to her being put on leave.

She decided to quit, and I told her to come stay with me a while to get back on her feet.

When she told her mom she was moving in with me, she blurted out that we’re together, and it was one of those play-along-with-it kind of things.

So I did, and she told her mom we were getting married.

We left, her mom called the paper, and the news got out. ”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” he sputters. “Her mom called the paper?”

I blow out a breath. “She wanted to take out one of those engagement announcement things and was giving out our information. She meant well, probably wanted to book a date in a few weeks after we announced it, but as soon as she mentioned my name—”

“The jig was up?” he guesses.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“So you’re engaged now?” he asks.

“I guess.”

“Figures you’d steal my thunder right after I got engaged,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t think this was the way it was going to go. But we’ll have a nice, long engagement, and—”

“And in that time you’ll get her to actually fall in love with you?” he guesses, ending my sentence for me.

I press my lips together .

I wish that was the way this story was going to end, but I don’t think I’ll ever actually get up the courage to admit my true feelings to her.