EWB: Enemies With Benefits

by N.R. Walker

I pulled a chair over and sat in front of him, our knees interlocked. He took the pills without argument, and I gently unwound the bandage from his head and peeled the wad of gauze off his eyebrow.

It’d stuck to the butterfly clip with blood, and it did pull a little even with me being gentle and slow. But he never flinched. I had to wonder about his pain tolerance.

Then I remembered how he’d been the other day when I’d seen him at the office. He was pale and a bit shaky because he hadn’t eaten. “Did you eat tonight?” “No.” “Did you eat today?” He looked away. Christ.

“You don’t have to do . . . any of this,” he said quietly. He let his hand drop, his swollen eye making him look more pitiful.

“Keep it on there.” “I’m no stranger to pain,” he mumbled. Jesus Christ. I didn’t want to think about that.

“Kinda convenient that we play Burwood next week.” He snorted. “What are you gonna do? Get even?” “Fuck yes, I am.”

I pulled on his shirt collar to get a look at his neck. The marks I’d left there were gone. “No one lays a finger on you but me.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I didn’t know what it was supposed to mean. It sounded better in my head, less possessive and less . . . I d...

“Sorry I’m not pretty enough—” “I don’t give a fuck what you look like, arsehole. You’re in pain enough as it is, and there ain’t no way I’m pushing your face into the mattress or squeezing your throat when you already have a headache and a head wound. Jesus Christ, Valentine.”

It was possibly a growl, and maybe under different circumstances it would have been hot. “Then what are you here for?” he asked quietly. Like it was a completely foreign concept that someone might want to make sure he was okay.

He looked stunned. “Stay?” “You said you don’t remember being hit, and you woke up in the dressing rooms. That means you got knocked out. Which means you need someone to check on you to make sure you wake up. For fuck’s sake, did they say none of this to you?”

He chose the tandoori chicken to start with and almost inhaled his first slice. The idiot needed to eat more.

He sighed. I didn’t know why, but annoying him made me happy.

I picked a piece of Italian sausage off my pizza and gave it to the cat, and when Valentine glared at me, I smiled at him. “Pissing you off is my favourite thing to do,” I said.

I think he’d had two pieces. “You need to eat more,” I told him. “You need to mind your own business.”

“That might explain why you have no food here,” I said. “And why you went to work the other day without eating. Does that happen often?”

He shot me a glare. “You’re awfully concerned about something that’s none of your business.” “But it kinda is my business. If I’m gonna come here and rail you twice a week as hard as you like it, I need to know you can handle it.”

He sighed, his voice flat. “You can leave whenever you’re ready. I don’t need you to stay.” “Oh, I’m staying. For no other reason than to piss you off.” “You’ve far exceeded my expectations in that regard.”

I probably didn’t need to stay. I was sure he’d be fine. But he’d had a pretty decent knock to the head, and by rights, someone should check on him.

I checked on Valentine again. He was now on his back, snoring softly. So typical that he was even gorgeous when he slept with a banged-up face.

But then he mumbled and flinched in his sleep, immediately wincing at the pain and groaning. He didn’t wake up though, so I went in and sat beside him.

I touched his forehead with the back of my hand. He didn’t feel hot, but the touch made him stir. His good eye cracked open. “Just checking o...

Hmm. Maybe I should keep a closer eye on him. With that in mind, I peeled off my sweater and socks and, leaving my jeans on, I climbed into bed with him. I was on the other side of the bed, the ...

“What are you doing?” he mumbled. “Keeping an eye on you,” I hissed back at him. “So shut the fuck up and go to sleep.” Even in the dark room,...

I woke up before the sun to find Valentine using my arm as a pillow, tucked into my side with his head on my chest. He was sound asleep. What the hell?

I was still wearing jeans and a shirt, which wasn’t overly comfortable. But his bed . . . holy hell, it was the most comfortable bed I’d ever been in. And him in my arms. His body heat, his weight. It made for real deep sleeping.

I was tempted to shove him off, but I remembered his black eye, so I let him lie on me for a bit longer . . . Not thinking about how good it felt. How comfortable it was, how he fit against me so well. How I wouldn’t mind waking up like this with him more often.

Well, he’d been unwell and even thankful for the tea and crackers I’d given him. He’d even smiled. But when he saw his father, I swear a wall of ice went up around him.

And maybe if I hadn’t spent time with Valentine over these last few weeks, I wouldn’t have even noticed. But notice I did.

I told myself it wasn’t my business because I did not care. I did not care about Valentine fucking Tye.

I should have just left. I should have grabbed all my shit, called an Uber, and took my arse home, but something—and I don’t know fucking what—but something made me stay.

He glowered at me. I pushed the plate closer to him. “Eat up.” “No, thank you.” “Eat,” I said.

Why I wanted him to know this, I couldn’t begin to say. I just wanted him to know that I could ruin him, leave him a shattered, sated mess, no matter which way I decided to take him.

When he was done, he all but collapsed on the table, lying back with his legs spread, panting and twitching. He was so fucking hot.

And I hated that he turned me on so much. I hated that every little thing he did sang to me in ways no one else ever had.

“Stay the fuck there,” I said, gripping my shaft and pumping. “I should fuck you right now,” I bit out. “I should make it hurt.” He opened his legs wider. Daring me. Tempting me. Like the whore he was.

“You need to learn your place,” I hissed at him, jerking myself. So close already. So fucking close. “And your place is beneath me, taking everything I give you.”

God, it felt so good. Like I’d just marked my territory, like I owned him. Like he was mine to do with whatever I wanted, and the more I treated him like shit, the more he liked it. Because he knew his place.

Like Marshall was concerned. Sure, he sneered at me a lot and gleefully said things purely to annoy me. But he had been concerned. He’d come home with me, tended to my injured face. He’d fed me, and he’d slept beside me to keep a close eye on me.

He had surprisingly gentle hands. When he was cleaning my eyebrow, I was surprised by how deft his calloused hands could be. Normally he was rough with me, holding me down, gripping hard. But not last night.

And him sleeping in my bed . . . I’d never slept so soundly. Maybe it was just that I wasn’t alone, that for some strange reason I felt safe with him, which was ridiculous considering the thing...

But god, I’d slept well. Even in my sleep, I’d had vague recollections of the warmth of his body, his strong arms. Maybe that had been a dream. Goddammit. Marshall Wise.

I wasn’t supposed to like that he’d stayed the night. I wasn’t supposed to like that he’d threatened me to eat breakfast.

Or how he’d sucked my dick or held me down and come on me. God, how he’d done that. And then just walked out as if I was some...

He was so good at it. No. Stop thinking about him. As long as he kept on despisin...

Marshall ticked all those boxes. I required nothing more from him than that, and he required nothing more than that from me. It was the perfect arrangement.

But also, how he spoiled Enzo, and how my arsehole cat adored him. The way Marshall smiled. The sound of his laughter. Christ.

you eat breakfast?” “Having it now,” I mumbled, stirring my coffee, pretending I didn’t know him. He grabbed a second burger and shoved it at me. “You need to eat.”

my way once or twice, and then he stood with his back to me. Was that so he wouldn’t keep looking at me? I’d have liked to think it was.

That I bothered him. That he had to make himself not look at me. That I messed with his head. That it annoyed him. That it made him mad at me or at himself. I didn’t care which, as long as he took it out on me on Wednesday night. When I looked the next time, he was gone.