EWB: Enemies With Benefits

by N.R. Walker

I’d heard him say something about a relationship and then I’d heard him say, “He’s got it bad for you,” and my heart damned near stopped. I expected Valentine to get defensive or mad, even. At least deny it. But he just shook his head, his cheeks red.

Then he’d pouted, that perfect bottom lip, the colour still heating his cheeks, and damn . . . Every part of me wanted him.

I knew he’d never be prepared to give this thing between us a name. Lleyton had said relationship, and I’d be only too happy to call it that. Valentine had called it an agreement, which it was.

“What?” “Bro.” “Bro, what?” “How long you gonna pretend you hate the guy? Because I’m pretty sure the reason you been smiling these last few weeks is the opposite of hate.”

I rolled my eyes, dismissing what he was implying, but deep down I knew he was right. Hell, it wasn’t even deep down anymore. It was just under the surface. I sipped my drink. “Like I said before, it’s complicated.”

leaving him. Deny it all you fucking want. I know you, bro. And I know you ain’t ever been like this with anyone else.” Goddammit.

My heart rate kicked up a notch, but Valentine stepped out of the dark. My pulse quickened for a whole different reason.

And funnily enough, all the uncertainty about what we were and what kind of future we did or didn’t have didn’t seem to matter.

“God no.” He made a face. “Why would you even say that?” That made me laugh. “You’re cute when you’re hungover.” He glared at me for that. “I thought we agreed to never speak of it again.”

When we walked into his building and then into the elevator, I smiled at his reflection, and he smiled back before he ducked his head. And damn, if his cheeks didn’t turn pink.

It rattled my heart and my lungs felt too big for my chest, and suddenly the elevator seemed so small it was a relief when the doors opened.

And wait . . . I went to him, my fingers under his chin, and inspected his cheekbone. “Is that a bruise?” He laughed. “It’s a slight bump. You know, because I play rugby.”

“As if I’d tell you! So you could line him up sometime and take his head off.” “I don’t like the idea of anyone else’s hands on you.”

He grinned as he lifted his sweater, revealing his abs and . . . a scrape of sprig marks across his ribs. I knew these were common in rugby. I’d had them countless times and I’d given my share too. I knew they didn’t really hurt too much . . . but it rankled me to see them on him. That anyone would do this to him.

He was probably expecting me to burr at the word caveman and maybe throw him over my shoulder and take him to bed . . . but he was still holding my hand. I couldn’t stop staring at how his long fingers interlocked so perfectly with mine. How nice it felt.

“This is the first time you’ve held my hand,” I murmured. He dropped my hand and shoved my shoulder. “Until you made it weird.” I snatched his hand back, clasping it in mine. “I didn’t make it weird.”

His dark eyes met mine, full of light and something I didn’t dare name. Then he leaned up on his toes and gently pecked his lips to mine. Holy shit. “...

“Are you keeping tabs?” Had I really been keeping tabs on tha...

He studied my eyes. “Want me to kiss you some more, Marshall?” “Yes.” He took his hand from mi...

His palm was warm, his touch electric—his eyes intense, flickers of fear and fire—and he brought my lips to his as his eyelids fluttered shut. Soft and...

He took my bottom lip in between his, gently tugging me closer so he could deepen the kiss. I let him lead, let him do whatever he wanted. There was a tenderness to Valentine I wasn’t expec...

But no, not this Valentine. “I want to ride you,” he murmured, trailing his nose along my jaw until his lips met my ear. “Marshall.” My breath hitched and sweet mother of god, how he said my name.

“Say it again,” I whispered. He breathed in my ear. “Marshall.” A shiver of cold fire ran through me. Holy fuck.

He chuckled. “Will you let me ride you?” I’d have let him do anything he fucking wanted to me at that moment. “Anything you want.”

He sank himself down on my cock and rode me, slow and deep. He was in charge, and he was glorious. Seeing him on top of me, seeing his head thrown back in pleasure.

He controlled everything: pace, touch, the way he kissed me. He controlled me like a puppet on a string. I fully surrendered to him, to his power over me, and when he begged me to come inside him, I surrendered that as well.

I woke up facing him. He looked so peaceful in the dark room, faint light coming in from the hall and the door we’d left ajar.

He looked younger, his long lashes, his pale skin and pink lips, his dark hair tousled. I could stare at him forever. You’re supposed to hate him. Yeah. But I don’t. I haven’t for a long time.

“Are you watching me sleep?” he mumbled, a smile tugging at his lip. His eyes cracked open. “’S fucking creepy.” I chuckled and pulled him...

I was already looking forward to Wednesday night. From the moment I left him on Sunday, I was already counting down the minutes until I saw him again. Was alone with him again.

He was fine on Monday morning at the manager’s meeting. Trying not to smile and trying his hardest to ignore me, not look at me, and definitely trying to not make eye contact.

It was a rush. A thrill that made my heart gallop. That made me happy, walking around with a dumb-arse smile on my face, and not even giving one single fuck about all the j...

know you might find this difficult to believe, but I’m capable of eating. Yes. I’m at a restaurant right now. Well, I’m outside speaking to you. I told them I had an important call to make.” “This is an important call.”

Except when I was getting ready to leave for his place, I got a text. Sorry to cancel. Tonight’s not a good idea. I’m sorry. I read it and read it a dozen times. I waited for the punchline. I waited for another text, an explanation. I got neither. I hit Call.

It rang and rang and I wondered if he’d answer at all. If he was okay. He certainly didn’t sound it.

Tonight’s not a good idea. What the fuck did that mean? He answered just before it rang...

“Hey, Valentine?” I asked. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He sighed. His voice was distant, quiet. “It hasn’t been a good day. I’m not up for . . . anything. Sorry . . . I’m sorry, Mar...

“I wouldn’t be very good company tonight.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he let out a long breath. “Can we just forget about tonight, please? It wouldn’t be anything good. I’ll call ...

I hated those two words. Because he ...

“What are you doing here, Marshall? I asked you not to come.” “Because something’s wrong. Because you need someone, that’s what I’m doing here.”

“I . . . I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what we are. But you sounded so miserable I just couldn’t stand the idea of you being alone. We don’t need to do anything tonight. But just let me stay with you. If you need to talk—”

“I don’t need to talk!” He raked his hand through his hair, frustrated and angry. “Christ, Marshall. I had a bad day, so fucking what?” A bad day.

I’d seen him have bad days before. Hell, I’d even enjoyed his misery. I’d walked in here before, saw that he’d clearly had a bad day, and made him get on his knees and suck my dick. He’d loved it, and I’d left him with a smile on...

“I don’t need to fucking talk. You know why I cancelled on you tonight? Because what I wanted so fucking bad was for you to hurt me. Like really hurt me, Marshall. And I knew it’d be fucked up. I didn’t want you to have to go through that.” Jesus fucking Christ.

“Valentine,” I murmured, reaching for him. He took a step back, as if touching him right now was a bad, bad idea. He put his hand up, telling me not to come any closer.