A Deal With The Devil: A Steamy Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  His teeth sink into his lip and I feel a stab of desire so sharp I almost stumble from it.

  It’s not a date, but if it were, I’d press up close and whisper in his ear, suggesting we cancel dinner entirely. Then I’d press my lips to his jaw just to feel that five o’clock shadow of his against my skin. I’d finish unbuttoning the shirt he’s got on, running my hands down his chest, letting my fingers trace all the hard hills and valleys of his stomach before they trail lower…to his belt, which I’d rip loose so fast my speed would shock us both.

  But, of course, this is absolutely not a date.

  “Let’s go,” I say. “Since someone ate all the pie.”

  His mouth slips into a smile. “I believe that someone is you.”

  “I’m just pointing out that pie is no longer an option,” I say, lips twitching. “I’m sorry you feel the need to assign blame.”

  We walk two blocks down to the restaurant, which is oceanfront and insanely expensive. He orders a bottle of wine that is worth more than my car—not that that’s saying much—and tastes like happiness in liquid form.

  Dinner is served while we watch the sun dim and then set in an explosion of reds and fiery orange. He eats off my plate and I eat off his. Not a date, I remind myself. Definitely not a date.

  “What an amazing day,” I say, twirling pasta around my fork. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.”

  I wish we were staying longer. Or never planning to leave at all.

  He leans back in his seat, holding his glass of wine to his chest. “Was a day with me better than a day with Matt?”

  It’s so weird how competitive he is with someone he’s not actually competing against. “Anything with you is better than it was with Matt.” My reply is instant, as I reach across the table to take another bite of his risotto. “Don’t get too flattered. I’ve finally realized he wasn’t all that great.”

  “I could have told you that within thirty seconds of meeting him. Men like him want to be the center of someone’s universe and look elsewhere the minute they’re not.”

  I lean toward him. “You date all these girls who act like you’re a superhero. Is that so different?”

  “I date women who don’t expect anything, and the rest of it…just comes with the territory. You don’t actually think that’s what I want.”

  It’s not a question, but a statement. And he’s right. I don’t think he enjoys the way women treat him. He simply chooses women who understand what he’s willing to offer and who, I suspect, won’t make him want more either.

  It will never make him happy.

  But I could, a voice whispers.

  What a ridiculous, dangerous thought to entertain.

  A waiter clears our plates, but we nurse the last of the wine, neither of us in a rush to leave. It feels, here, as if he’s mine—the pleasure of his words and his smile and his gaze. I try to ignore the part of me that, increasingly, wants more. Wants to feel the rough press of his skin, his weight above me, hear the sounds he makes when he’s losing control.

  The adorable elderly couple at the table opposite us is served a large bottle of champagne on ice and they then rise and bring it to our table. “We’re celebrating our anniversary, but we can’t drink this alone,” the man says. “Do you mind if we join you? My wife keeps talking about how much you remind her of us when we were younger.”

  Hayes and I share a glance—he looks as reluctant as I do to give up even a minute of our time alone, but it would be almost uncivil not to agree. “Of course,” Hayes replies, his smile forced.

  They introduce themselves, and then Jacob, the husband, calls the waitress over for glasses while Hayes asks Barb, the wife, how long they’ve been married.

  “Fifty years,” Jacob answers for her. He looks at our hands. “How about you two? I don’t see any rings.”

  “Oh,” I say, startled. “We’re not—”

  “Tali’s my assistant,” Hayes says smoothly. Why do we sound like we’re lying? Probably because you don’t have a romantic, oceanfront dinner on a Saturday night with your assistant.

  “I know what it looks like, but neither of us are married or anything,” I add hastily. “I thought he needed a break from work, so I arranged this, and he doesn’t know how to get his own groceries or coffee, so he made me come with him.” My words come out rushed, nervous.

  It still sounds like we’re lying.

  “Would you rather swallow ten large spiders or sleep in a bed of rats?” Jacob asks suddenly, filling our glasses.

  We look from him to each other. “Spiders,” we both answer simultaneously.

  “Okay, you can only bring one person with you to an uninhabited island and you have no way of leaving. Who do you bring?” he asks.

  My eyes flicker to Hayes, who’s already looking at me.

  “I’d have to bring Tali, obviously,” he says. “I can’t make my morning smoothie on my own.”

  I laugh. Only on Hayes’s uninhabited island would there be electricity and a Vitamix.

  “Tali?” Barb asks.

  I grin at my boss. “That’s a very hard question. I’d have to give it some thought.”

  “You know you’d pick me,” Hayes argues. “Who could possibly be more fun?”

  I shrug. “My niece is pretty fun.”

  “You’d knowingly choose to make a young child suffer on an uninhabited island solely for your amusement?” he scolds. “With no access to health care? An uncertain food supply? And you call me a narcissist.” His eyes sparkle with amusement.

  “Only behind your back. And I was under the impression this island somehow had a bounty of organic vegetables and Vitamixes, but you’ve made a good point. I’m more willing to make you suffer.”

  We both laugh, and it’s only then I see Barb and Jacob staring at us again, wondering what our deal is.

  “Well, if you’re both single, why on earth aren’t you together?” asks Barb. “You’d make the cutest couple.”

  I feel as awkward as a twelve-year-old sitting beside her crush. I couldn’t look at Hayes right now if my life depended on it.

  “Tali doesn’t trust men,” says Hayes. “And I am wholly untrustworthy. That pretty much sums it up.”

  There’s something in his voice that draws my gaze to him, and for a single moment I see hunger on his face, stark and desperate. As if it’s only the presence of others that keeps him from pushing up my skirt and taking me right here on this table.

  I would let him.

  Jacob starts talking about how poor they were when they got married: all the canned tuna and potatoes they ate, the car door tied shut with a rope. I am barely listening, watching Hayes instead. If he were mine, I would have no recollection at all of tuna, potatoes, or how we kept a car door shut. I’d only remember wanting him closer and closer, until I couldn’t tell where he began and I ended. I’d suffocate to death trying to get more and more of his gloriously smooth skin.

  I’m still fantasizing when Barb coughs politely and tells her husband it’s time for them to go. I wonder how obvious my thoughts were.

  We stand, and Barb hugs me. “Even if you don’t trust men,” she whispers, “this one’s a keeper.”

  She obviously doesn’t know much about Hayes’s careless approach to women. But then again, as he stands there watching me with that look in his eye, he doesn’t appear all that careless to me either.

  We get back to our rental and walk out to sit in the double chaise, where it’s silent but for the crashing waves and the incessant call of crickets. Our night here is ending, and we leave in the morning. I want to dig in my heels and refuse to go.

  “In a perfect world, I’d stay in this house and never leave,” I tell him.

  I see a flash of his dimple. “Would I be here with you? Before you answer, let me remind you I’m good at buying pie.”

  “Hmmm, true,” I agree. “And Pop-Tarts. I suppose you’d have to stay.”

  There’s silence. I lean my head back and
shut my eyes. As much as I love this house, it’s Hayes that’s actually made me happy here. If I were to create a Tinder profile now, I’d seek…him. Mischievous eyes, a willingness to always say the rudest possible thing, a mouth that twitches when he’s trying not to smile. Someone who holds my door without thinking, but is happy to slam it in my face if it will make me laugh.

  We only have two weeks left before Jonathan is back full-time. I wonder if it bothers him at all. I wonder if the thought of it makes his heart clench the way it does mine, if it sometimes hurts to breathe when he considers it. Doubtful, when he doesn’t even know I’m leaving for good. He’s never asked where I’ll go when Jonathan returns, and I never volunteered it. I guess there was this small part of me that just wanted to see every possibility played out. That wanted to see how things might be with us if I were able to stay.

  “And in your ideal world,” he says, “would Matt be here too?”

  I stretch and roll on my side to face him. “I swear you talk more about my ex than I do. Do you want me to set you two up? Is that what this is about?”

  “I’m just wondering to what extent you’re over him,” he says. His voice is quieter than it was, less certain. “And don’t reflexively tell me you are. I saw the way you looked at him that night, Tali.”

  Has he been thinking, all this time, that I still want Matt back? “I was just shocked. It was the first time I’d seen or talked to him since the breakup, and I felt like such a failure by contrast. It wasn’t about missing him.”

  “You must miss him a little,” he argues. “He’s basically the only person you’ve ever been with.”

  I think about this. “The things I miss are pretty stupid. I miss having someone to eat with, someone to talk to while I brush my teeth at night. I miss having someone who will listen to the stupid stuff that happens each day, the stories that don’t really have a point.”

  “I feel like much of what you say is pointless, if that helps?” he asks, and I kick him. “At least he was so deeply unsatisfying in bed you don’t have to miss that.”

  “I never said it was deeply unsatisfying,” I argue. “But I guess it’s nice not to have the pressure.” This grabs his attention. He turns his head to look at me, and his body follows, adjusting his position so he is on his side.

  “What pressure?” he asks.

  I flip onto my back. “I’d need a lot more alcohol to discuss that comfortably.”

  He grabs the bottle of wine and refills my glass.

  I take a heavy sip, wishing I’d had more to drink before this discussion began. Or that I hadn’t said anything to lead to it in the first place.

  “It bothered him,” I begin haltingly. “It bothered him if I didn’t...finish...which I often didn’t for the reason I mentioned earlier. He took it personally, so I was always kind of worried.”

  “Lots of women don’t come through intercourse. Why didn’t he just go down on you?”

  The ease with which he suggests it, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, plucks a string in my core. I picture it. I picture Hayes like that...how open and shameless he’d be.

  God.

  “What?” he asks. “You can’t come that way?”

  “I have no idea,” I groan, as I cover my face with my hand, humiliated. “And I can’t believe we’re discussing this. I’ve only slept with two people, and neither of them tried. It doesn’t matter. It probably wouldn’t work anyway.”

  “It would work,” he says. His voice is low and raspy. I shiver at the sound of it. “I could make you come in two minutes flat.”

  My gut clenches. I picture him sliding down between my legs, pushing my thighs apart. The rasp of his scruff against my skin, that first flick of his tongue… Stop thinking this way. There will be other men in the future. It just can’t be him. It’ll ruin everything.

  Hayes is perfectly still beside me, silent. I’m about to brave looking at him, but I’m scared of what I might see.

  And then his hand circles my wrist. “Tali,” he says quietly, pulling my hand away from my face. “Let me.” The look on his face is almost pleading, but there’s desire too.

  His smell is everywhere—ocean and soap and fresh air, making it impossible to think.

  I stare at him, my tongue darting out to tap my lip as I hesitate. I know what he’s asking, and I know it’s a terrible idea. “I don’t want to mess up—”

  “It won’t,” he says. “It won’t, I swear. You don’t have to touch me. Just let me do this. Let me be the first.”

  I’ve never heard him like this before. I’ve never seen him act like he really wants something, and wants it badly. I’m shocked by how compelling it is.

  I don’t think I’m capable of turning him down when he asks like that.

  “Only this,” I whisper. “Nothing more. And it all goes back to normal in the morning. We’re friends again. No weirdness. Promise?”

  His fingers push into my hair, and he turns my face toward his.

  “I promise.” He grabs the wine glass out of my hand, putting it down on the little table to his right, and then comes back to me. His hand rests on my waist, face inches from mine and I suck in a breath at his closeness. He glances at my mouth and for one endless second, I think he will kiss me. He swallows and then his lips move lower—to my jawline, then my neck. They linger there and he breathes deep, as if I’m wine he’s just decanted. Already I’m arching toward him, like a flower toward the sun.

  I feel the flutter of his pulse beneath my palm, faster than normal. His hand moves up my body, skimming my breast. He runs his fingers along the top of my sundress, dipping for a moment into the cleft between my breasts.

  “This,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving me, like I’m a meal he’s waited a lifetime for. “This made me crazy all night.”

  Grasping the fabric, he slowly lowers my dress down to my waist, freeing my breasts to him completely. His quiet groan grazes my skin, pebbling my nipples, and he traces one with an index finger before his mouth lowers to grace it with a gentle kiss.

  I arch upward as something bursts open inside me. My blood is racing, my body taut and reckless.

  “Oh,” I gasp. “That...”

  I can’t really form the rest of the sentence, and I don’t need to. He knows. He knows I need more, that suddenly I need everything. He does it again, using his teeth this time. A pulse beats in my core, insistent and demanding. My knee bends as my foot slides up the back of his leg, in a silent plea for action.

  I want to tell him to forget about his plans. I want to reach for his belt and pull him inside me. But already he’s noticed the way my skirt has fallen to my waist, exposing me. His hands trail along my inner thighs and then he pushes my legs apart, his eyes following their progress as if the Holy Grail is at the end of their path.

  And then his fingertips press against my panties.

  Oh. Even that tiny brush of his fingers is waking something up in me, something I’d almost forgotten existed. My eyelids flutter closed, but not before I see him watching my reaction, avid and satisfied.

  His index finger hooks under the elastic and drags along my core. My head falls backward, arching my neck. “Oh, God,” I whisper. But what if it doesn’t work? the voice in my head echoes. I don’t want him to look at me like Matt used to afterward, silently resentful.

  “Stop thinking, Tali,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the soft skin of my inner thigh. “This is just you and me, no one else.” He strokes me again. “Do you feel my fingers against you?”

  I swallow as he refocuses my attention. The calloused pad of his index finger brushes against my clit before it slides lower. That tiny brush lights me on fire. I’m not sure it’s even possible to worry when he’s doing what he is right now.

  “Yes.” The word is breathy, desperate.

  His mouth moves up my thigh, his shoulder forcing my legs further apart, allowing him more access. He presses his lips to my clit, outside my panties, before pushing the panties
to the side entirely and swiping his tongue over me, top to bottom.

  “Jesus, you’re so wet right now.” He glides his fingers up and down, and then pushes one inside me, to emphasize his point. I let my knees drop open even more, encouraging him. His fingers circle my opening and I groan out loud before he slides two fingers inside me, his tongue continuing to flicker over my clit in the most torturous way.

  It’s unlike anything else. I rock my hips against his fingers as he starts to move them in and out of me. I’m not even going to last a minute and I want it to last. I want him to keep doing exactly this until we have to check out in the morning. Preferably, until I have to move home.

  His thumb replaces his mouth on my clit as he applies more pressure and my head starts to spin. My breath comes out in small gasps, in rhythm with the thrust of my hips. I hear him moan and the clank of his belt as it falls open, followed by his zipper, and then...the sound of his free hand, moving over his own length.

  My eyes open to watch him. His mouth is slightly ajar, his gaze dark and drugged, his grip on his cock so tight it looks painful.

  That’s all it takes.

  Every muscle in my abdomen pulls tight. “Oh, God,” I whisper. “I’m gonna come.”

  He buries his face between my legs and licks hard as I arch against him with my hands in his hair. Fireworks explode behind my eyes as I finally let go, crying out as the entire world falls away. He doesn’t let up for a moment until I reach down to wrap my hand around the one currently gripping his cock.

  “Come here,” I gasp, and he knows exactly what I mean, rising quickly, climbing over me to press his cock to my lips like he’ll die if he doesn’t get it there soon enough.

  “I’m close,” he hisses, as my tongue slides over him. “Oh, fuck, I’m so close.”