Page 3 of Twins for the Enemy

Chapter two

~KIERAN~

The moment I saw her in the car, I knew I had to keep her safe.

And after she was safe, I had to have her.

Her lips brush against mine, almost clumsy in their tenderness. They brush against my lips again. Her hand moves down to my shoulder. I kiss her back, harsher than her, but she responds with the same intensity. Our lips collide—like thoughts or cars or bodies. The compass clatters to the floor.

I nip at her bottom lip, surprising her enough that her body flinches under my palms. A small sound escapes from her throat that strikes a desperation in me that I've never felt before.

I’ve never been the desperate type. When I walk into a negotiation, I come with leverage, sharp words if needed, and I’m not afraid to show teeth. If a deal falls through, I move on. No drama.

Women are the same to me. It's not that I don't respect them, but I've never needed them. They're a momentary pleasure, meant to be savored, devoured, then left behind like a good meal when it’s done.

But as this woman kisses me, desperation rises in every nerve of my body. I'm at the negotiation table now, willing to give up anything.

She's too young for me. I'm not one of those men who need a younger woman to feel youthful. Youth is a time for mistakes. I don't have time to make mistakes, and I don't have time for someone else's.

Still, I don't pull away because the taste and warmth of her mouth pulls me closer.

Her kisses are small, almost timid, but she's clinging to me in a way that's more demanding than a military captain.

Her full breasts push against my chest. I push back against her, pressing her back into the mattress.

My fingers sink into her hair. I'd seen it as simply blonde before, but it's much more radiant than that.

It's the golden shade of a sunrise, giving off a warm glow.

Her back arches. The gesture is enough to send a feral hunger through me—not like a man who could eat steak every night, but an animal that hasn't eaten in days.

Her breath is in my ear as I unbutton her jeans. She slides an inch up the bed as I tug on them. She grips the edges of the mattress so I can get them past her ass before whipping them off and casting them aside.

I run my hand up her calf, her knee, her thigh. Her underwear is a plain black cotton pair that’s starting to fray at the edges. When I brush my hand on the inside of her thigh, a shiver passes through her.

I lean over to kiss her again and feel her hands fumble with my belt.

After several seconds of her struggling to get the leather out of the buckle, I take it, unbuckle it, and toss it in with her jeans.

She bites her bottom lip, indenting it, and starts working on my zipper.

The lip bite is usually meant to look sexy, and it does with her, but it's not a purposeful sexiness that I've seen with other women.

She seems to be concentrating, unaware of her own facial expressions.

After some minor issues with the zipper, she's struggling even more with the button. Sweat, like tiny diamonds, starts to glitter on her forehead.

She's biting her lip so hard now, I'm worried about bloodshed.

I take her hands just as she undoes the button. They're trembling.

"If you've never slept with a stranger before, it's okay," I reassure her. "I don't know most of the people I've slept with, and it's the same mechanics as when you know somebody. You just run the risk of finding out that they're unstable afterward and you need to get a restraining order. "

"Oh, it's... it's not the part where you're a stranger," she says. "That is... unexpected, though. And I don't think that last bit is helpful."

"See, you know me already. Unexpected and unhelpful."

She snorts, but she still looks like she's expected to perform surgery. I'm so goddamn hard, I'd rather fuck her than talk, but I was both blessed and cursed with two sisters, and I know I'd tear out the throat of any man that didn't notice their discomfort.

"I'll just let you rest," I say, standing up and ignoring the strain in my pants. "Do you need anything? A drink? Food?”

"No, don't go," she says, taking my hand. Her hands feel impossibly small compared to mine. "I'm just nervous because—I've never done this before."

"Had sex with a stranger?"

“No. Well, yes. But I haven’t slept with anyone that I know either. I’ve been... a lot’s been going on in my life. "

I smirk, waiting for her to laugh or at least smile, but her expression is more of a challenge than stand-up comedy.

“Every man in the city must be trying to get a chance with you." I slowly move a piece of blonde hair away from her eyes. “Is it for religious reasons?”

"No," she flushes. "I've never had a boyfriend. Like you said, I can be difficult. Maybe men don't like that."

"I never said I didn't like it." I turn to zip my pants. My cock is so fucking hard, every move feels like death. "I'll let you rest."

"Wait." She grabs my arm. "I didn't say I didn't want to do this."

"I’m not the right person," I say, the words coming out more forceful than I intended. I need to convince myself of them too, and stubborn fuckers can be difficult to sway. "I’m not someone you want to be with for your first time. Sex isn’t an act of roses and sweet nothings to me.

It's just a moment when two people let go of their formalities and let their primal side take control. "

She lets out a huff of breath. "I'm not looking for the right person, and even if I was, I can decide who is the right person for me.”

“Not when you’re unfamiliar with the process,” I counter, but I make the mistake of looking at her.

Her green-brown eyes remind me of a kind of soft wilderness—untamed, but gentle—and her lips are a twist of ribbon that I'd love to unravel. I want to keep that flush in her cheeks. I want to bring it out in every other part of her body.

The desire must be raging in my eyes because she reaches up, hooks her hand behind my neck, and pulls me in. She kisses me again. It's a long, drawn-out kiss, her hands sinking into and gripping my hair.

I should pull away.

I should stop kissing her.

I shouldn't be moving back onto the bed with her, mesmerized at the way her small body fits under mine .

I shouldn't ask her name.

I shouldn't let the name "Farah" roll on my tongue and pass it back between her lips.

I shouldn't undress us.

I shouldn't press a kiss under every new inch of her skin I reveal, reveling in the warmth and the scent of her arousal.

I’ve been with enough women to earn a reputation as a womanizer—or a piece of shit, depending on who you ask—but when I grasp her underwear and her hips rise to give me space to lower them, it feels like lightning in a bottle.

It's the first time I've felt something real since Olivia was killed, but instead of death, it's life.

Her hands are trembling as she touches my cheek. It's a reminder that for me, it might feel different, but for her, it's completely new. It should remind me to stop or even show restraint, but when she's touching me, it's gasoline to our fire.

She reaches down, touching me. Her breath hitches .

“Will it hurt?” she breathes. I run my nose over the side of her jaw and the place beneath her ear.

I slide my hand between our bodies, stopping at the warmth of her pussy. I trace her opening, circling around her clit two times before pushing a finger inside her. She's so wet and tight, my head spirals.

Her tongue glides against her bottom lip as I feel her chest rise and fall under me. I slip another finger inside her, her arousal coating them.

"It might," I say. "But I'll make it worth it."

She nods once. "Make it worth it."

It's all I need to hear. I press my cock at her entrance.

Be slow. Be gentle.

I look into her eyes. Fire is blazing in them. It makes sense that she smells like smoke. She’s combustion.

I push into her. I concentrate on her mouth, continuing my mantra.

Be slow. Be gentle.

But, God—she’s fucking perfect—and when her fingers grab onto my back, pulling me closer, the words start to burn. Her back arches. Her mouth is slightly open, soft breaths coming out. I keep a firm grasp on her hip, feeling her body accommodate for my size.

"You good?" I ask.

She blinks at me before her hand moves from my shoulder to the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss.

A growl rumbles in the back of my throat as her insistence breaks my self-control.

My thrusts aren't slow or gentle. I grab her hand from the back of my head, pinning it to the bed above her as I fuck her.

An abnormal anger builds inside me, seething at this woman who's made me lose control, but it's kept at bay by the desperation. I could hate her at another time, but now she has something I need. Now, I couldn't find an ounce of satisfaction without her .

The silk of the sheets makes her body slide until her head is against the headboard. It would appear uncomfortable, but her eyes are lit up, that green shade dancing with vitality. Her hand, still restrained by my grip, claws into the bed.

Her other hand—the burned one—is near her side.

I'm tempted to grab it, pin it down too, or flip her over, fuck her in every position I can think of, but a small part of my brain feels the burn on my own skin, worse than I imagine it truly feels.

It's another new feeling. I press a kiss in the base of her throat as I grind up against her.

Her thighs tighten around me, her knees pressing into my sides.

Her eyes squeeze shut as my mouth moves lower, creating a path to her left breast.

Soft. Full. Tipped with a nipple that tightens under my breath.

I wrap my lips around it, suck hard enough to make her gasp, then graze it with my teeth.

She’s close to orgasm. I've never prioritized a woman's pleasure—they know their own bodies, they can ride their own way to orgasm—but this is Farah's first sexual experience.

Every possessive part of me wants her to remember this as her awakening.

The moment her body learned what it means to be mine.

I slide my hands under the small of her back, pressing her closer to me as I grind slower against her.

Her eyes open again and she grasps onto my back, the rough material of the bandage wrap contrasting with the softness of her other hand.

I start moving my body faster, the friction against her clit causing her to bite that lip again.

I kiss her, nipping at the same place she bites her own lip. I feel her body tensing, her knees pressing so hard into me that it almost hurts. I return to my reckless thrusting. I bury my face into the curve of her neck, hoping to prevent the stream of curses that are raging to the surface.

"Shit!" she blurts out as her nails dig into me and her pussy contracts so tightly around my cock that it nearly stops me, but with one more thrust, a stream of curses fills the room as I come so hard, it almost knocks me out.

I slip down beside her, my chest heaving. Every breath slows down my heart, but the euphoria is still pulsing through me.

Orgasms always feel good, but this is more than that. It must be the adrenaline from the crash. I may need to start jumping from planes before fucking another woman.

I turn on my side. I pluck a small piece of glass out of her hair, reaching over her to set it aside on the night table.

A gentle smile plays on her lips. "If I'd known that was what happened, I wouldn't have waited so long."

I kiss her. Her lips are slightly chapped now. Her tongue slips out between her lips, wetting them. I kiss her again.

"I'm going to get us some water," I say. "I'll be right back."

"Maybe something sweet too?" she asks.

"Maybe."

I pull on my briefs and slip out, quickly walking down the hallway. I head downstairs to get to the kitchen and find the collection of strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries that Caleb keeps in the fridge. I dish out two small bowls and fill two glasses of water.

The whole time, I can't shake the feeling of a major shift in my life.

I can predict a significant amount of possibilities when it comes to my business because I research the businesses we plan to acquire down to the last detail, and I have enough experience to know when people will push back against any clause or ask for a provision, but I know nothing about this woman, and I've never had this type of experience with anyone.

So, I shouldn't expect anything. But the expectation lingers.

As I walk back up to my room, I plot. I'll make her comfortable enough to stay the night. By morning, I'll know exactly what to do to see if it’s worth pursuing this further .

But when I walk into the room, the bed is empty.

I check the attached bathroom. Nothing.

I glance around in the other nearby rooms.

She's gone.

My phone vibrates. For a half-second, I’m relieved, thinking it's her, hiding somewhere in my house, but she doesn't know my number and she didn't have a phone on her.

It's Falke Hospital.

"Hello?" I answer.