EWB: Enemies With Benefits

by N.R. Walker

God, I hated him. I hated that I was letting him get to me. But then at ten to five, when I was pissed off and packing up—and even when I knew my work team was avoiding me because of my mood—my phone beeped.

Smiling, I gave him a nod. I shouldn’t be this happy. I shouldn’t let Valentine fucking Tye consume me so much.

I shouldn’t actually like fucking him hard and telling him what a piece of shit he is. I shouldn’t like that he craves it as much as I crave giving it to him.

I shouldn’t like knowing I’d be leaving him tonight with an arse full of my come. But damn . . . ...

pressed his intercom at five to seven. Did I hate myself for being early? Yes. But I hated him more. For making me desperate.

It was his fault, and I hated him for it. And I fully intended to make him pay.

He looked like he’d had a rough day. A bad day, even. And I might have asked him if he was okay, if he was up for tonight. But that’s not what this arrangement was.

“If you’re not up for tonight—” He shot me a glare over his shoulder. Ice cold and lethal. “I need it tonight more than ever.”

“You’re such a whore,” I whispered. His eyes closed and he breathed in deep, the set of his shoulders relaxing already. God, he wanted this so bad. Needed it.

God, he was teasing me. Like he knew every box to tick, every one of my kinks, my fantasies.

I hated that I was going to give him what he needed. I hated that I needed it too.

“You want it this bad?” I bit out. “You want this as bad as I do?”

I was never going to last. I wanted it to last all night, I wanted this pleasure to never end, but he felt far too good.

Fuuuuuuuck, he felt so good. I wasn’t ready for this to be over. Not even close.

I didn’t want to pull out. I wanted to stay right where I was until I was ready for another round. But I needed to think of him.

I pulled back, such an exquisite slide, and watched as his body released me. His beautiful arse, his pale white body, lean and strong, yet pliable. So very seductive. Yeah, I was nowhere done yet.

“Stay right where you are,” I ordered....

knelt on the bed beside him and put the bottle to his lips. It was awkward and he spilled some, but he drank it, licking his lips again. “You can leave it on the bedside,” he said, his voice hoarse. I put the bottle where he’d said, but I chuckled as I ran my hand up his back. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet,”

Then I scraped my teeth along his shoulder blade and bit him again. Not enough to draw blood but enough to make him groan.

He was almost naked before me, so fucking beautiful, but he immediately drew his arms in. A defensive move: he was vulnerable like this, facing me, exposed, and I could see every flicker of fear and panic in his eyes. But there was something else there too.

I rammed into him again and again. “You should be careful what you wish for. Think you can handle this? You think you’re so good?” I squeezed his nipple, and he cried out. “You’re good for nothing.”

My forehead to his, my mouth against his. Our breaths hot and heavy, and when the room stopped spinning, when I remembered where I was, I opened my eyes and he was staring at me.

I’d kissed him. I’d kissed Valentine Fucking Tye. Not that he’d specified kissing was not allowed, but I’d assumed it wasn’t something we’d be doing.

Like crossing some forbidden line, because our agreement certainly wasn’t about intimacy. And kissing was intimate, right?

And I tried really hard not to think about how he’d tasted of expensive scotch with hints of honey and malt. And I tried to forget how he’d kissed me back and ...

I shouldn’t have fucked him on his back. I should have just kept him face down, arse up, and shoved his face into the mattress in that fu...

His muscular torso, his bulky arms and strong hands . . . testament to the marks he’d left on my neck, to the bite mark he’d left on my back. My blood warmed at the thought of it. And he’d kissed me.

I knew it wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and most men I’d encountered weren’t up for how rough I liked it. But Marshall had no problem with it.

I couldn’t say I blamed him. My father ruined a lot of people’s lives. I wasn’t excluded from that. No one was.

I wondered briefly if I should tell Marshall about the marks on my throat. Should he know? Probably. But I could only imagine he’d probably freak out, apologise profusely, and promise to never do it again. And I wanted him to do it again.

Not that she knew everything about me. Not that anyone did.

“How’s it going here anyway? Glad to be back?” I wasn’t sure why my mind leapt straight to Marshall Wise, as if he was the one good thing in my life. I shook my head.

“I just got busy,” I said, feeling bad for not replying. He seemed concerned and crossed his arms, waiting for me to finish the biscuits, apparently.

“Had to drop off some invoices,” he replied. “Got talking to Olivia.” “You two seemed cosy.” I regretted saying that the second it was out of my mouth.

“Thanks. It’s to hide the bruises on my neck you gave me.” I also regretted saying that the second it was out of my mouth, but his reaction almost made it worth it. He choked on his drink and coughed. “Are you serious?” I peeled back the tight-fitting neck and his eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I added casually. “Because I’m not.” He seemed to consider something for a second. “Well, I dunno what’s more concerning. That I’m not sorry, or that I find it incredibly hot.”

And then he saw me. He tried to hide his reaction, and maybe no one else would have ever noticed. But his jaw ticked and his eyes hardened.

Now, he’d looked at me with the hatred of a sworn enemy a thousand times. I was no stranger to Marshall’s contempt. It was my favourite thing about him. The man hated me. But this look was different.

I considered taking it off when someone decided they needed to wash their hands in my sink. I knew from his scent, from the way he brushed up against me, and the warm timbre of his voice who it was.

“Who did that to you?” Marshall asked. He shook the water from his hands and met my gaze in the mirror. “Who was it?” That hatred, the barely contained loathing, was in his eyes all right. It just wasn’t aimed at me. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

I only had to wait a few minutes for my Uber and when I climbed into the dark backseat, someone slid in right next to me. Someone with a familiar scent and soft woollen sweater.

Whoever had hit him had hit him hard. And it wasn’t a typical knock from rugby. Lord knows I’d had my fair share of those. This was a deliberate hit. And it bothered me in ways I wasn’t quite prepared for. In ways I couldn’t quite rightly explain.

Because just a few days ago, I’d caught a quick glimpse of the bruises I’d put on his throat and, as disturbing as it was, I found it hot. I’d marked his skin. Imprints of my fingers when I’d gripped his throat while I fucked him. While I owned him, owned his body in animalistic ways.

Yes, it was fucked up. Me marking him? I was totally on board with that, and so was he. But someone else? Someone else hurting...

As soon as I’d seen him, a burst of fire flared behind my sternum, embers white hot. No one else...

And that feeling, that possessiveness and claim of ownership was a new and strange thing. Because I didn’t own him. I mean,...

I had no claim on him. I had no business even caring what had happened. Before our agreement, if he’d copped a black eye from someone, I’d have found it funny and would have assumed he’d deserved it. I’d probably have offered...

Number four from Burwood. Second row. No one touched Valentine fucking Tye but me. ...

He was pale and clearly not feeling well. His friends should have noticed that. They hadn’t. But I had.

would have been funny if it didn’t look so painful. And if it didn’t fucking bother me so much.