Page 22 of Twins for the Enemy

Chapter seventeen

~FARAH~

It’s a strange kind of comfort, waking up in a hotel room that costs more per night than my old building’s rent combined.

Maybe it’s not just the price tag that feels bittersweet.

Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve gone from clawing my way through hell to sinking into sheets that feel like heaven—knowing full well clouds don’t hold forever. Sooner or later, they break. And when they do, you fall. Hard.

I roll over and freeze. Kieran’s side of the bed is empty .

My hand slides across the sheets, still faintly warm, like he was just here. I try to talk myself down—he could be out running, handling business, anything—but it feels too familiar. Too expected.

Men like him hunt what they want. Acquire it.

And when they’ve stripped it for value, they walk away and leave the rest to rot.

If Ellie is his sister, why is he trying so hard to stop me from meeting her?

How foolish would I be to not consider that he’s the type to keep a few women in his bed?

What do I possibly have to keep him satisfied when he could have any other woman in any city?

Crippling self-doubt and a childish need for validation?

The door separating the bedroom from the rest of the hotel suite opens.

Kieran carries in a mug with a thin ribbon of steam swaying above it.

The questions shrouding my thoughts fade as I look at him.

Even in the early morning, he looks like a propaganda ad for becoming a lumberjack.

Rugged without looking grimy. Stunning without looking superficial or delicate.

“I thought you’d left,” I say.

“I did. I went downstairs. The restaurant has this coffee with blood orange and grapefruit mixed into it. They’re known for it throughout the country. It seemed like something you’d like, but you can spit it out if you hate it.”

I take the mug from him. The warm ceramic feels nice compared to the faint chill in the room.

After we’d had sex twice in the night, it’d been unbearably hot.

We’d still stayed close together, our sweat-stained skin constantly finding each other, but I must have used up all of the heat in my body because it feels like it dropped thirty degrees.

“What time is it?” I ask, looking around for a clock. I glance back at him when he doesn’t answer. He’s gazing at me with a softness that could almost be mistaken as adoration. He blinks and checks his phone.

“9:24,” he says, shoving his phone back in his pocket .

“Wow. I never sleep that late.”

“We were busy last night.”

“Sure, but you didn’t sleep in.”

“I wanted to make sure my work was finished, so when we restart our marathon, I can give all of myself to you,” he says.

I smile, the thought already heating up my chilled skin. But the smile falters.

“The party’s today,” I say.

He shrugs. “It’ll be quick. Maybe I’ll give Ellie some whipped cream, so she and Henry will want to kick us all out and make their own desserts out of each other.”

I take a sip from the coffee. The contrasts of flavors trigger all parts of my brain, almost calming me until my brain starts going into overdrive again.

“That would be a fun engagement gift,” I say. “You should start heading back. I need some time to get cleaned up, maybe get a massage after last night. My legs feel like I ran a marathon. ”

“As long as you’re ready for tonight,” he says. “I’ll leave my card for you. Get the massage. I ordered some room service, which should be here soon. I’ll try to get back before two. If we don’t get naked too quickly, I can make reservations somewhere. How do you feel about Italian? Or French?”

“I’ve never had French food,” I admit. “I do like Italian.”

“I’ll have some French food delivered here for lunch. We’ll go to the new Italian place for dinner. If we’re dressed.”

He gives me a quick kiss, then seems to think better of it, and leans down for a longer kiss. The steam from the coffee curls under our jaws, and as his mouth opens my mouth, I can almost taste the coffee wafting off the mug.

When he pulls away, he takes his wallet out of his pocket and takes out a gold and black credit card, setting it on the nightstand. As I glance over at it, the light glints off what looks like a diamond in the right corner .

“Buy yourself whatever you want,” he says. “It doesn’t have a limit.”

“Maybe I’ll have to repay you by not having limits either,” I tease.

He groans, his 5 o’clock shadow rubbing against my cheek as he kisses next to my ear.

“I could make Ellie wait,” he says. “And you could put your money where your mouth is.”

“That’s not the only place I could put my mouth,” I whisper.

He pulls back, his pupils slightly dilated and his lips parted as he gazes at me. Lust radiates off him, but if I was naive, I could almost say there was something more there. Something more permanent.

I can’t let myself think that.

I whip off the duvet. With my hand still on the edge of it, he straddles me. He hurriedly pulls off his pants and boxer briefs. His hand grips his erection with an ease that speaks to experience. I can barely take another breath before he thrusts inside me .

My legs pull up as he grips my shoulder to stop me from moving too much against the Egyptian cotton. I press my knees against his ribcage. The zipper of his pants chafes against the inside of my thighs, but it only adds to the sensations that threaten to turn me into confetti.

He buries his face against the curve of my neck, moving slower now, letting his body drag against my clit in a way that makes me arch my back and press harder against him. We’re turning into one body, chasing after the same thing.

Kieran pulls himself up, looking down at me.

His dark eyes—those ones that look like the most radiant mahogany that nature could create—mix with his spicy, warm scent, and I could imagine us in some forest, forsaken by humans and making love in a way that only two people can do when everything else has crumbled away.

My breath quickens. Kieran’s hand cups around my breast, squeezing it lightly. His tongue rolls over my nipple before his hot breath hits the wetness, nearly taking me completely over the edge.

“Farah,” he murmurs, kissing under my throat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I swear he’s ready to tell me something, but the moment slips away as he starts to accelerate his thrusts.

I brace my hands against the headboard to keep from slamming my head into it. He grabs one, drags it down, and presses it between us—right where he’s driving into me. My fingers slip along his cock, soaked and thick, while the heel of my hand grinds against my clit.

The friction is overwhelming.

It’s a perfect storm.

My head lurches back, barely tapping the headboard as the orgasm crashes into me. I must look possessed as my whole body seizes, because every inch of me vanishes into the pleasure pulling me under .

Kieran doesn’t stop. He pulls out just long enough to flip me over, hands rough but careful as he drags my hips up and into place.

His hand comes down and smacks my ass—sharp, stinging, a filthy punctuation that makes me gasp.

He thrusts back into me with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs.

“Fuck—Farah,” he grits out, voice low and wrecked.

His grip tightens on my waist, holding me in place as he drives into me. The sound of skin meeting skin is dizzying—matched only by his uneven, labored breathing.

“Christ,” he mutters, the word guttural and lost in his throat as he pounds harder, faster.

He groans, sharp and raw, and with one last thrust, he comes—every muscle pulled tight as he buries himself deep.

He rocks into me once. Twice. Slower now, like he’s wringing every last pulse of pleasure from his body .

A low, wrecked sound escapes his throat—sated and rough—before he finally pulls out.

Then stillness. The crackling silence of aftermath.

He collapses over me, hand sliding down my side, and pulling me into him as he lays down next to me.

Even as I start to relax beside him, it takes me a moment to remember to exhale.

When I catch Kieran’s eye, a surprised laugh bubbles out of me.

His mouth curves, his eyes crinkling as a low chuckle rumbles from his chest. He leans in, brushing a kiss against the spot where my head met the headboard.

“You good?” he murmurs. “Didn’t mean to have you bouncing off the damn furniture.”

“I’d be mad if you hadn’t,” I say, breathless but grinning.

He gives me one last look before easing off the bed. He grabs his pants, tugging them back up over his hips and zipping them with one sharp motion. Then his hand slips into his pocket to check his phone, his chest still rising and falling like he hasn’t quite caught his breath yet.

“I’m sorry, Farah, but I need to get to the house. I need to make sure that security is there,” he says. “I’ll have to shower at home. Thank you for being so goddamn tempting.”

He kisses me—on the lips, on the corner of my lips, and on my cheek.

“I hope you know that you’re not off the hook,” he says. “I’ll want you again when I come back.”

“I hope so,” I say. “How else will I know what to do with my hands?”

He smirks at me before leaving the room. I listen to the suite’s door open and close. I lean back, hitting my head against the headboard again. I close my eyes.

I could trust him. I could accept that Ellie is his sister and he just doesn’t want us to meet during her engagement party.

Or I could take out enough money with his card to run so far he’ll never be able to find me again.

But neither of those two options is the kind of person I am anymore.

After ten minutes have passed, I pick up the hotel phone and ask the front desk to call me a taxi. They offer me one of their drivers instead, which I accept.

I know that no matter what, the truth is going to rip me apart. But I’d rather be dissected by my own hand than be surprised by the knife later.