Undeniably Enemies: Chapter 22

Chappell Roan’s “HOT TO GO!” is playing through my speakers. It’s actually my running mix, but it has a lot of badass chicks on it, and I wanted to try to throw Jack off. I should have known better. While I was mentally talking myself back from an emotional cliff and into a hot fling for the day, Jack ran back to his place, changed out of his running clothes, grabbed food, and came back over before I even stepped out of the water.

I don’t know how men do things like that, but by the time I left my bedroom, he was already making us coffee in my kitchen and scrambling up eggs. Now he’s singing along and shaking his hips as he pours the eggs into a heated pan. Jack is doing that. He’s making me breakfast and singing along to my music. I feel like I must be in a coma, and this is some alternate dream state fugue, and soon I’ll wake up and not remember anything, including my name or my family, but I’ll actually be married with children or something.

I’m not even making sense.

But neither is Jack doing this.

His head swivels over his shoulder, and he throws me that perfect smile. “I hear you cook.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

“Tyson Freaking Mayme. Because he lives upstairs and your brother didn’t mention that last night, which is crazy to me as a C’s fan. Anyway, Tyson said you make these incredible pancakes. I’m not a pancake guy, but what else do you have in your arsenal that would go well with these eggs?”

“Your liver?”

He chuckles and turns back to the eggs, stirring them with a spatula. All that’s missing is an apron. As it is, I have to watch the muscles in his back move against the soft cotton of his shirt. Didn’t I just pep talk myself into saying I’d treat today for what it is and ignore everything else? He’s talking food, not future babies here.

I make a disgruntled noise because I have to and head for the freezer.

“How do you feel about homemade sourdough and jam?”

He groans. “Don’t make me hard yet. I need to save all my cum for your pussy and mouth.”

I snort. “If you think I’m not only sucking you off but swallowing your cum, you’ve been spiking your coffee.”

“Just wishful thinking. Sourdough and jam would be amazing.” He gives me a boyish smirk and a wink, and it’s like, who is this guy? “When did you start baking and cooking like this? I don’t remember Owen ever mentioning it. Yet another thing.”

He doesn’t so much as wince at the drop of my brother’s name, which tells me exactly where his mind is. Today and not beyond it. It’s helpful actually, and I do what he told me to earlier. I chill out. Well, partially. I can’t exactly tell him the real reason I got into cooking and baking.

“A few years ago, shortly after I moved back to Boston. I cooked in Seattle for myself, and growing up, my mom had a huge sweet tooth, so we’d bake together a lot. But during medical school, baking relaxed me. It’s a process that requires precision and skill and practice. Even then, it’s easy to fuck it up.”

“Sort of like medicine.”

“Yes, but burning cookies isn’t the same as killing someone.”

“True,” he concedes. “I’ll grant you that.”

I unwrap the frozen bread and pull apart a few slices to stick in the toaster before I take another sip of my coffee. It’s seriously good. Much better than the crap we get at work or what I tend to make for myself here. Usually I grab my coffee out, but this is a nice treat.

“What made you pick emergency medicine?”

Yet another thing I won’t answer. “The adrenaline,” I lie.

He must hear it in my voice because he looks back over at me, trying to read my expression, but I hide my face in the fridge as I pull out the honey butter and raspberry jam I made last week and set them on the kitchen counter.

“What about you?”

The toast pops up in the toaster, and I press it back down since it needs another round in there.

“I was going to be a trauma surgeon like my dad.” He throws me a quick glance. “For the adrenaline.” Returning to the eggs, he continues. “A cleat sliced open my hand my sophomore year of college and severed a nerve. It was a freak thing. It was wet and I wasn’t wearing a glove, and it was just bad luck. I had surgery, but there went my football scholarship along with my career in surgery.”

I vaguely remember this. Not the details, but the hand and him having surgery. I was, wow, I was only ten. Our age difference feels really big when you think about it like that.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “That must have been difficult.”

“It was awful. I was devastated. It sent me into a huge depression. I loved football, and I had wanted to be a surgeon my entire life.”

Wow. People are rarely that blunt. Usually they just say yeah, it sucked and move on. Not Jack. We’re doing the honesty thing. At least he is. And if this were a real date and if he were a real guy for me with a chance at a real future, I’d tell him. I’d tell him because any guy I actually date would need to know. But Jack isn’t that guy, and I won’t start opening myself up to him emotionally.

Not now. Not ever.

Luckily I’m saved by the bell. Literally since our toast pops up and is finally done. So are the eggs, and we make our plates and sit at the counter side by side to eat.

“Shit, Wren,” he garbles around a mouthful. “This is seriously fucking good. Tyson wasn’t kidding. You have real talent in the kitchen.”

“Good to know that if this medicine gig doesn’t work out for me, I have a fallback.”

He gives me an unimpressed look. “You’re a Fritz.”

“So?”

“So you don’t need a fallback.”

That shit just pisses me off. “I’m not simply living off my trust fund, Jack. I know you think I’m a spoiled princess, but I work hard.”

He sighs, looking contritely at me as he holds his mug in his hands and then sets it down. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You work very hard, I’ve seen it, and your place doesn’t scream billionaire princess. You’re going to be an amazing doctor, Wren. I don’t doubt that.” He sighs again. “You like hating me, but I wish you didn’t. I wish…” He laughs, almost as if what he’s thinking is ridiculous.

“What? Say it.”

“I wish we could be friends or at least friendly.”

I’m not sure if I can be friends with him, but to a certain degree, what choice do I have?

“Maybe. Maybe once the dust has settled between us and this weekend is a long, forgotten memory we can be. By the start of my intern year next summer, we should be fine.”

He frowns. “That’s a while off, sweetheart. I just wish you weren’t going to be in my ER.”

I shrug, finishing off my toast. “Tough shit.”

He chokes on his bite of eggs. “Such a fucking brat.”

“What are you going to do, Jack? Spank the good girl back into me?”

A dark and devious look crosses his way too handsome face. He sets his fork down and slowly stands, his eyes never leaving mine. My heart rate spikes, and the flickering rush of adrenaline now coursing through me tells me to run. But I don’t. I hold firm and hold his gaze and don’t back down for a second. He likes that. I can see it in him.

Jack wants me to submit, but he doesn’t want me weak, and it turns me on like nothing else. My empty core floods with heat, and the thought of his hands on my body again makes me want to rub my thighs together and moan.

“If that’s what you need, sweetheart, that’s what I’ll have to do.”

“Fuck off.” I start to run when his arm bands around my waist and he spins me back to him until I crash directly into his chest.

His chin dips down as mine tips up. “I believe I warned you about saying that to me, Miss Fritz.”

His arm slides the dishes across the counter with a jarring clanking loudness until they practically smash into the wall. In a flash, he spins me around once more and has me flattened, chest to stone against the counter. I can’t think. My mind scrambles, and my thoughts go haywire. But he doesn’t touch my arms or wrists, and he doesn’t hold me down or restrict my movements.

Instead, he lowers my joggers to the ground along with my thong, and I realize it’s because he knows I want this as much as he does. He doesn’t have to hold me down, and with that, I don’t have to panic. My breathing slows, and my mind clears, especially when his hands start to caress the backs of my thighs and the globes of my ass.

“You have such a perfect ass, Miss Fritz.” More rubbing, and his breath against my skin, makes me gasp and shake. “It’ll be such a shame to have to mark it.” His teeth sink into my right cheek, and I shriek out a cry even as I rock forward, meeting nothing but air in front of me. “What’s your safe word?”

Oh my god. I thought he was kidding with that, but his tone is suggesting no such thing. “Chocolate.” I close my eyes and bite my lip so I don’t whimper. As it is, I’m positive my pussy is starting to leak my wetness, and I’m also positive if he spread my legs—fuck, like he is now—he’d see it. Shit.

“Look at you, beautiful girl.” One finger slides up along the soft tissue of my inner thigh, swirling through the mess I’m already making for him. His tongue follows his finger and his groans against my skin as he approves. “This is going to be impossible to give up.” Both hands squeeze my ass, hard, and spread my cheeks. “You know that, right?”

I do know that, which is why I choose not to respond. Jack was always impossible for me to give up, though I’ve tried—and mostly succeeded—on several occasions.

“I believe I get two sets,” he says in a low, calm voice, and I feel him stand. His chest meets my back, and instinctively I buck, but he doesn’t press down. He simply places his mouth by my ear and speaks, and I do my best to hold on and not show how much I hate him against me like this. “You were a brat and told me to fuck off. That’s two transgressions. I think two sets of four.”

My teeth sink deeper into my lip, and I can feel tears threatening. He knows about the fours, this I already knew, but does he know the reason for them?

“How many is that, Miss Fritz?”

“Eight.”

“Perfect.” A kiss to the skin just beneath my ear.

He’s gone from my back, and I suck in a ragged breath, holding in my emotions even as my body trembles.

“I’ll need you to count for me, sweetheart.”

And that’s when the first strike hits. Smack. My ass stings, and my body buzzes.

“One.”

I don’t even fight. I want this. And that should scare me because I feel more and more of myself giving in to him. Succumbing. Submitting. If he asked me to get on my knees for him now, I would. Especially with the way he strokes me in between, rubbing my hair and my back and my ass. The words of praise that drip from his mouth are not condescending but prideful and respectful and worshipful.

He gets to four, and I hum, already lost and crawling into some alternate place. That warm, safe place where only he knows how to take me.

Smack. “Five.” Smack. “Six.” Smack. “Seven.” Smack. “Eight.”

His mouth is back on my heated skin, and he’s kissing me and licking me and touching me so gently. He splits my cheeks and starts to lick me from my asshole down to my clit, where he sucks it into his mouth. I cry out, reaching for the other end of the counter but finding no purchase.

“Did you come, sweetheart? It tastes like you did.”

Did I? How messed up would that be? Can you come from someone spanking you?

“More,” I tell him, because if I did, it wasn’t enough, and that’s exactly what I want.

His tongue pushes up inside me, and his finger swirls my clit.

“I think you need my cock.”

I do. I really do.

“Stop talking and fuck me.”

He chuckles against me, and I can’t stop my resulting moan. I’m so keyed up, I’m about to explode again. “Come here, baby. I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

He picks me up and walks us over to my sofa where he sits down and slides off his track pants. His large, hungry, beautiful cock springs out, and I lick my lips, my mouth pooling with saliva. I told him I wouldn’t suck him off, and I won’t on principle, but fuck, do I want to get on my knees, take him down my throat, and absolutely destroy him.

Instead I take him in my hand and start to stroke him the way I did last night. He grunts, his head falling back against the cream cushion, and his black eyes ringed in an icy blue stare up at me with a dirty, evil gleam. Adjusting myself, I position the head of his cock at my soaked entrance and use him to play with myself a bit. I rub him against my clit, pushing it in and circling it exactly how I like. An unholy grunt exhales from his lips, and it makes my empty core clench in anticipation.

My breath quickens and my body shakes. He watches me with hooded eyes as he straightens and removes my top so he can suck on my breasts, trying to fit each one completely in his mouth while his other hand toys and plays with the opposite nipple.

“Does that feel good?” he manages though his voice is shredded.

I can only nod in return.

“You’re soaking my cock.” He glances down, looking in wonder at where our bodies are joined but not yet one. “Do you see it? I haven’t even been in you yet, and I’m already soaked in you.”

I look down too, but my view isn’t as good as his is. I don’t care, though, because the head of his cock is getting me closer and closer. I start to roll my hips, and he grasps them to hold me steady and help me out. Faster and faster, I move, using him, ringing him around my opening but not sliding him inside.

“Fuck, Wren, you’re killing me.”

I can feel it too. The little jerks his hips make as he tries to hold himself back from thrusting inside me. His jaw is clenched tight, and his grip on my hips is bruising. He’s letting me have this, either because he likes it too much to stop me or because he wants me to feel like it’s not only about him. I don’t know and I don’t care because I’m so. Fucking. Close.

“Oh, god, Jack. Yes.”

“Fuck, Wren, you’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t handle how gorgeous you look using my cock to get yourself off. You feel so good, and I want you so badly, baby, I can hardly stand it. I want to feel it though. Come on me like this. Soak me, and then I’m going to fuck you so good.”

I moan, and when he pinches my nipple, I detonate, pressing his cock as deep as it can go on my clit and rocking back and forth as I come all over him. It feels incredible. So fucking amazing. But it’s not enough, and I slide him inside of me as I’m still coming and use my fingers to rub my clit to finish myself off.

“Fucking Christ,” he bellows as my pussy spasms and squeezes him, and I bounce, feeling him hard and perfect and right where I want him. My clit throbs and pulses against my fingers, but with him inside of me like this and him now starting to fuck me, my orgasm doesn’t stop. It just continues and grows and morphs into a song that doesn’t have an end.

He bounces me on him, using me to fuck him, and my tits jiggle against his lips. My fingers don’t stop on my clit. I don’t think I could if I wanted to, and with him inside of me like this and his mouth on my tits, I hit a new level of climax and absolutely lose my freaking mind. Stars dance behind my eyes along with multicolored fireworks. They explode along with me, and Jack follows, pounding up into me and coming with a roar against my chest.

I sag against him, boneless and spent, outside of my body completely.

He holds me again, whispering soft words I can hardly make out. But I swear, I hear him mutter, almost as if he doesn’t want me to hear it. “I’ll never be done with you now.” And I worry it’s the same for me.