EWB: Enemies With Benefits

by N.R. Walker

I hated that I noticed him. He was tall, lean, fit. His dark floppy hair, his pale skin and flushed cheeks. I fucking hated him for making me want him.

He moved his hand to my throat, squeezing a little. “Keep your mouth shut,” he whispered. Threatened. I shouldn’t have liked it. I hated that I liked it.

Then I watched as he left with them, and he never once turned around. He never once looked at me. He just walked out like what he’d done meant nothing at all. Yeah. I really hated Valentine Tye.

And he’d always looked at me as if he hated me. Maybe he did. He’d certainly tried to take my head off on the rugby field every chance he got. God help me, I loved it every time.

expensive cologne. His jaw bulged. His eyes flashed with . . . something. Then his gaze dropped to my lips. What the fuck?

I needed to be on my game. And I needed to not think about Valentine goddamn Tye and how he looked at me with those dark eyes, at my mouth like he wanted to devour me, how he made that noise.

After I’d had enough beer and was two vodkas deep, I decided that maybe hooking up with some stranger in front of Valentine was in order. I wanted to see how he’d react. See if he cared.

“I want you to hate me. I need you to hate me.” Then he popped the button on my jeans and wrapped his fingers around my cock, pumping me rough and hard. “And when you fuck me with your monster cock, I need you to hate me as hard as you can.”

I was bereft by his absence, hollowed out and empty. I wanted him to stay inside me. I wanted him to stay inside me until he was ready to fuck me again. I wanted his seed inside me. So he’d know he owned me, and he could treat me as if he owned me anytime he wanted. I wanted it to never end.

“I, uh, I’m not entirely sure what that was.” I never took my eyes off him and sipped my wine. “It was exactly what I wanted you to do.” His eyes cut to mine and his lips parted. He was clearly unsure of what to say. Or perhaps he was unsure of what to make of me. “You, uh . . . you—”

“What—and I mean this with as much sincerity as possible—the actual fuck? You want me to hate-fuck you?” Hate-fuck. That made me smile. “Yes.”

And even though I knew I had to be hurting him, I couldn’t stop. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to beg me to stop. I wanted to hear the pleading in his voice. I would have stopped—if he’d asked. But he never did.

I liked watching him talk though. His carefully chosen words, his long, elegant fingers, his chiselled jaw, and sharp, dark eyes.

It looked expensive too, the way it clung to him so perfectly. God, I hated that he was so good looking. He smelled good too, which I also fucking hated.

There was no spark of fire aimed back at me, no barbed reply. Instead, he exhaled and a look of calm washed over his face. Even his shoulders relaxed. And ever so slowly, he sank to his knees. Holy fucking shit.

I saw myself out, not entirely sure what to make of anything that had just happened. His behaviour. Mine. Christ almighty, I’d never treated anyone like that before. And fuck, he’d loved every second of it.

A march of regret he reminded me about every chance he got. Whatever I did was never good enough, would never be good enough.

Fuck, yes. I wasn’t sure why I wanted that so badly. I’d never even considered it with anyone else. Part of me wanted him to own me so badly, I couldn’t even think straight.

So, while I wanted to see him at work, see his face, see him squirm, I hoped my absence served a greater purpose. I wanted him to think about nothing else. To want nothing else. I wanted him to suffer as I did.

I met Marshall’s gaze. Only he and I really knew what happened that night, what he’d done to me . . . how much I loved it. And what he’d be doing to me tonight. I just needed to rattle his chain a little.

“I don’t give a fuck how ready you are,” he murmured. It sounded like he got into a car. The wind was gone and then his engine started. “I’m fifteen minutes away and then your arse is mine. Ready or fucking not.” The line clicked off and it sent a jolt of pleasure through me. His words, the authority. The ownership.

I’d never wanted anything so bad.

It hurt and, god, it felt so good at the same time.

“The way you looked at me tonight, trying to make me hate you. Well, guess fucking what?” He slammed into me over and over. “You got what you wanted.”

“Now take what you deserve,” he said, fucking me into submission. Harder, faster, he owned me, treating me as though I was nothing but a means to an end. My god, I loved it.

His hands stayed on my hips, and I was breathing hard. I felt good, used for his pleasure, and his pleasure only.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice hot in my ear. “I’m not done with you yet.” I shivered, goosebumps erupting over my whole body.

“Can you take more?” he asked, his hand at my throat, tightening just enough. “Always,” I whispered. It sounded like a prayer.

I was in that blissed-out state, that place between heaven and hell where I knew I was going to hurt in the best of ways, and I longed for it.

He’d claimed me. Owned me like I was something to use and throw away. I smiled into the silence.

There was no way I was missing the stupid Monday morning meeting at head office, for no other reason than to see Valentine’s face.

I wanted to smile at him the entire time, only the two of us knowing what I’d done to him, how I’d left him on Saturday night.

I’d never experienced anything like what I did with him.

Walking out of his apartment, knowing he was a quivering mess on the couch with two of my loads in him, like I owned him . . . Jesus Christ. That was the hottest thing ever.

And the way he’d smiled when I said he could expect the same on Wednesday night . . . So yeah, ex...

But I was going to sit in on this waste-of-time meeting just so Valentine fucking Tye would be reminded of who owned h...

He looked around the room, his gaze falling to me for a beat too long, then on to the next person. Yeah. He knew who owned him.

Christ. Think of something else. Do not get a hard-on here. Because then who owned whom? Goddammit.

Everyone perked up immediately, moods lifted all around, and Valentine smiled. He didn’t look at me directly, and it was probably just as well. I’d have hated for him to see the shock on my face. Because I’ll be damned. He actually did what I’d suggested.

Man, I hated that he actually listened to me. I hated that he implemented something so easily just because I’d told him he needed to do better.

I hated that he could streamline a meeting so it didn’t actually suck. What I hated most of all was that I hated him a little less.

What I didn’t hate was how he filled out those suit pants and how that white button-down shirt was tailored like a freaking piece of art. I hated his ...

And I’m not gonna lie. Watching him laugh with Valentine kinda irked me. I don’t know why, which pissed me off more. That Harris liked Valentine, or that Valentine was smiling for him. Christ.

I didn’t turn around to see if Valentine was watching me leave. While I’d have liked to see him notice, I really didn’t want to see him not notice.

And just like that, I didn’t give Valentine Tye one more thought. Well, until I was in the shower after work . . . and again when I was alone in bed.

With his flushed cheeks and messed up hair, and that glazed-over look in his eyes. I really hated that he was so fucking hot. I hated that he was taking up so much room in my head.

I wanted him to show up at my worksite. He didn’t, and I hated him for that. I wanted him to text me, and he didn’t. I hated him for that too.

But did he think of me as often as I thought of him? And that’s when it occurred to me . . . was he doing this to fuck with my head?

Was this mind game his way of torturing me? Did he hate me that much that he’d do this just to mess with me? I wouldn’t put it past him. Because at the end of the day, Valentine Tye never did anything that wasn’t self-serving.

I typed out a message. You better be ready for this And I hit Send. It gave me a thrill, a buzz. This game of cat and mouse, tit for tat. I waited for a reply . . .