Enemies With Benefits: Loveless Brothers, Book 1

by Noir, Roxie

  And, at the far end, a couple of couches, artfully arranged in a lounge shape, because they needed something to fill the space when the barn was converted. My heart pounds as I walk toward them, wondering exactly how stupid I am, wondering whether I should find the throw pillows and arrange them nicely or just take the dust covers off the couches.

  I settle for taking the dust covers off. Motes fly everywhere, caught in the moonlight, and my vision swirls again. I stare for too long.

  The door opens, shuts. I hear the bar slide over it and turn toward the sound, not moving.

  Soft footsteps on a wooden floor, a pattern I’ve come to recognize by heart. A dark shape saunters toward me and even though I can’t see the smile, I can feel it vibrate through the air.

  And then: Eli’s lips on mine. His thumb on my cheekbone, his fingers in my hair, his body against mine.

  There’s a moment of sweetness, tenderness. His hand skims along my waist. His tongue darts at my lower lip. There’s a moment where his fingers sift through my hair gently, where his touch is tentative, gentle.

  Then he pulls away. He traces his thumb under my lower lip.

  “I’ve had too much whiskey,” he murmurs.

  “For what?” I ask, suddenly alarmed.

  Eli laughs.

  “For kissing you like this,” he says, his other hand sliding down my arm, taking me by the wrist. “For all this sweet foreplay bullshit where we kiss like we’re lovers and not like we’re trying to destroy each other.”

  He plants my hand on his cock. It feels like steel beneath denim, and reflexively, I grab it through his jeans.

  “Don’t worry, Violet, I’m not too drunk to fuck,” he rasps, right into my ear.

  I slide my hand along his thick length. I’m already wet as fuck and getting wetter by the second.

  “Is this too much sweet foreplay bullshit?” I ask, the heel of my hand on his cock.

  “You could do better,” he growls.

  I kiss his neck, then bite it. He’s smoky from the grill, his skin salty beneath that, and I yank his pants unbuttoned, shove my hand inside without even unzipping him.

  He groans when I find his cock, hard and hot and thick in my hand.

  “Still too sweet?”

  “You’re getting there,” he says, and pulls my shirt off. My bra follows and then I reel backwards, onto the couch, where I fall, his zipper now undone as he leans over me and pumps himself into my grip.

  Eli kisses me hard. He pinches my nipples until I moan into his mouth, pushes my knees apart, kneels on the edge of the couch.

  I squeeze him harder, faster. Precum runs down his shaft now as he unbuttons and unzips me and I arch my back, our mouths still together roughly, his hand under my panties.

  There’s no teasing. Eli slides two fingers into me and I moan, biting his lip. His other hand pinches a nipple, my hips rising off the couch until I’m gasping and moaning in the same breath.

  He thrusts forward, his cock moving smoothly through my hand, its tip almost at my chest. His fingers move inside me and I grip him tighter.

  “You don’t even need foreplay,” he growls. “All I had to do was say let’s fuck in the barn and you’re soaking wet.”

  “I’ve also had plenty of whiskey,” I remind him.

  His fingers move again, crooking, stroking my sensitive inner wall, the heel of his hand against my clit.

  “That’s not the whiskey,” he says, that cocky smile on his face. “That’s the promise of getting bent over this couch with my cock buried in you.”

  He kisses me again, hard and rough, his hand still moving inside me while I moan into his mouth.

  “Told you I was drunk,” he murmurs. “There I go, telling you all my plans.”

  I pump his cock again. Eli groans.

  “Tell me your other plans,” I say.

  “You want me to talk dirty to you, Violet?”

  “I want to know what I’m in for,” I gasp.

  He shifts. I stroke his cock, and he slides a third finger into me. I whimper with pleasure.

  “I’m going to take you right to the edge and then I’m going to stop,” he murmurs. “I’m going to get those pants off of you, flip you over, and lick your pussy while you scream into the couch cushions so no one outside can hear you.”

  Heat pools inside me, desire and pressure swirling. I tremble with every motion of his fingers, my whole body tense and taut, ready to explode.

  “What else?” I whisper.

  “Then I’m going to fuck you as hard and deep as I possibly can,” he says.

  Every inch of my skin tingles.

  “And when you’re finally begging me to make you come, maybe I’ll let you,” he goes on.

  There’s that half-hitched smile, the cocky one, the I’m-in-control-here smile that drives me crazy in every single way.

  “Maybe,” he says.

  I draw his head down to mine, kiss him again, hard and slow as his fingers move inside me. I roll my hips, still stroking his length.

  “You want me to beg?” I murmur into his mouth.

  “I want you to at least say please,” he murmurs back.

  I bite his lip, sitting forward. Eli growls in response, his fingers sliding out of me.

  Then I lean forward and wrap my lips around the thick head of his cock.

  “Oh fuck,” Eli hisses.

  I grab his hips, dig my fingers in, slide my lips down until I can’t take any more of him. He grunts as he bumps the back of my throat and I flatten my tongue against the smooth underside of his cock.

  I move my head back. I go slow, teasing him, listening to his breathing quicken. His fingers work their way through my hair again, the ridge of his head under my lips as I swirl my tongue around him.

  He groans. I suck him in again, my hand wrapped around his root. Before I know it I’m off the couch, on my knees in front of him, sucking his cock as hard as I can.

  Eli’s fist closes in my hair. He pushes my head down on his shaft, until he hits the back of my throat. I swallow, my tongue moving against him. We do it again and again. I lose myself in the rhythm, in the pleasure of listening to him.

  Without meaning to, I reach down, between my legs. I find my own soft heat, so wet my thighs are sticky, my pants already unbuttoned but not off, and I circle my swollen clit the way I have a thousand times before.

  As I pull back, I moan into Eli’s cock.

  “More,” he murmurs, and I move my fingers faster, do it again.

  This time I moan louder, harder. Eli’s hand in my hair gets rougher, more insistent with each stroke. It’s not sweet and it’s not gentle, but my God, it’s satisfying.

  Suddenly he pulls me back until my lips are just barely touching him. I lick him slowly, ridge to tip, savoring the shudder that moves through his body.

  “You don’t like it?” I tease.

  “I can’t fuck you properly if I come in your mouth,” he says. “As much as I like doing that, too.”

  His other hand is on my face, his thumb on my chin. It still smells like me, and without thinking, I suck his thumb into my mouth, lick the pad with my tongue.

  Eli watches me, mesmerized. He pulls his thumb out and I take his finger, still sticky with my own juices, lick it clean.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.

  I pause for a moment, mid-lick. It’s not what I was expecting to hear.

  “And you’re getting yourself off,” he says, finally noticing what my other hand is doing. “Do you like sucking my cock that much?”

  I don’t answer, just lick his fingers while he watches me, his cock pulsing in my hand.

  “Maybe,” I finally say.

  Eli takes my wrist, and then he’s on his knees in front of me. He pulls his fingers from my mouth and licks them himself, eyes sparking, then pulls my other hand from where I’m pleasuring myself.

  “Can’t a girl have fun?” I tease.

  I pull at his shirt and instantly it’s off, his hard muscles shi
ning in the dim moonlight.

  “This isn’t fun?” he says, his voice low, playful with an edge. He finally pulls my jeans off with one motion, his hand instantly sliding up my thigh, finding my wetness, his thumb already on my clit.

  He kisses me. I have one hand on his back, one on his cock, his tongue in my mouth. I’m on the floor, leaning against the couch, and he’s on his knees in front of me.

  I want him. I want him like I’ve never wanted anything before: I want to be taken, ravished. I want him to open me up and write his name on the inside of my skin.

  “Enough sweet bullshit,” I whisper.

  “Is this too much foreplay for you, Violet?” he says, his mouth still on mine.

  He reaches behind himself, momentarily distracted. A soft thunk, the sound of something ripping. I put my hand on his just as he’s rolling the condom down his huge length.

  He grabs me, heaves me off the floor, my back still against the couch, pinning me there with his legs under mine, his jeans still on.

  Oops. I think I meant to get those off of him.

  Eli kisses me roughly. He grabs my hips, shoves me against the couch, and I grab onto his shoulders, dizzy with his raw power.

  His cock’s against my entrance. His lips are still on mine as he slides it along my pussy lips, circling my clit with the tip, drawing himself back down until he presses against my tightness.

  “I thought you said no sweet bullshit foreplay,” I whisper. I buck my hips against him, uselessly.

  I want him inside me. I want him there, as intimate as can be, past all my defenses.

  I want all the things no one else has ever made me feel.

  “This isn’t sweet bullshit,” he says.

  He captures my mouth with his, the head of his cock entering me, his fingers digging into my hips as he stops.

  “This is fucking you slowly,” he says. “Feel the difference?”

  I don’t answer, because he moves, sliding in further, just until he finds that sweet spot on my front wall. Then he pulls back as I rake my hands over his shoulders.

  “Don’t,” I whisper. “Just — oh, fuck…”

  He does it again, slow, just a little deeper. Then again, and again, each time deeper and harder. Finally he hilts himself, pulling me against him, our bodies melding.

  “I tried to talk myself out of this,” he whispers into my ear.

  I wrap my legs around him. He pulls back, pushes himself in, his arms tight around me.

  “Out of fucking me in a barn?”

  “Out of fucking you at all,” he goes on. “I know danger when I see it, and you’re nothing but.”

  Harder, deeper. I find his mouth with mine and he groans into me.

  Faster, harder.

  “I’m no such thing,” I whisper.

  “Then why are we fucking on the floor of a barn?”

  “A bed was too far,” I say.

  I bite my lip. Our bodies meet again and again, every thrust more urgent. I wrap myself around Eli, feeling like I might burst at the seams. I get higher and higher, closer, at the edge as we move together frantically, tangled and wordless.

  And he stops. He hilts himself and stops, pinning me against the couch. I pant for breath, and finally, I open my eyes and look at Eli.

  He doesn’t have to speak for me to know what he wants.

  “Please,” I say, the word coming out a hoarse whisper.

  He gives me the half-cocked smile. He kisses me roughly.

  Then he pulls out. We move as one, untangling, until I’m on my knees, on the floor, elbows on the couch and he’s behind me.

  He slides into me in one smooth thrust. My toes curl and I moan, clutching the couch fabric in my hands.

  We fuck. We don’t sleep together, we don’t bang, and we sure as hell don’t make love. We’re on the floor of a barn and this is fucking, pure and raw and simple.

  Eli wraps an arm around my chest, pulls me upright. He covers my mouth with one hand and finds my clit with the other while I moan onto his fingers.

  It doesn’t take long before I’m shaking and shuddering. Eli knows exactly what I need, how to touch me. He’s had weeks of near-constant practice, and he’s always been a quick study.

  But there’s something else. There’s the fact that Eli fits me like a glove. There’s the fact that he feels custom-made for me, the fact that what I need always seems to be exactly what he wants.

  I come so hard I see stars. Eli’s hand is still over my mouth, his other fingers strumming my clit, and he doesn’t stop for anything. I come in wave after wave, my climax rocking through me.

  Seconds later, Eli follows. His grip is like iron on my body, and he holds me there, using me as his cock strains and throbs, my pussy clenching again in answer.

  Finally, we relax. He doesn’t let me go but we relax, on our knees on the floor. He takes his hand from my mouth and I put mine over top of it, winding my fingers between his.

  “Violet, I have a confession,” he says, his lips next to my ear.

  “I don’t already know all your sins?”

  “At the moment, you are most of my sins.”

  “Then what have you got to confess?” I ask.

  He pauses, his thumb stroking my ribcage absentmindedly. I’m still on my knees, sandwiched between him and the couch, in this state of post-coital reverie where everything seems unreal except for the warmth of his body against mine.

  “Sometimes I wish we weren’t us,” he says.

  I lean my head back against his shoulder. I’m drunk and he’s drunk, my mind swirling, bits of words and feelings and things I should say crashing through my brain, presenting themselves and disappearing.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” he says after a while. He strokes my bare ribcage with one thumb.

  “You wish I wasn’t me and you weren’t you,” I say.

  “I wish I wanted someone who got along with me,” he murmurs into my hair. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  He finally pulls back. We unwind, tumbling to the floor. I’m still naked, my back against the couch. Eli puts an arm around me, his pants still on and undone. I lean my head against his shoulder.

  “I get along with you just fine,” I say. “You’re the one who doesn’t get along with me.”

  He just laughs.

  “How on earth could that be?” he muses. “You’re so damn agreeable, Violet.”

  “You’d hate it if I were.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” he says. “I like nice girls.”

  “I’m nice,” I say.

  Eli kisses the top of my head, his arm still around me.

  “You’re something,” he says.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Eli

  I should have kept my mouth shut. I don’t know why I think I have to say everything out loud that runs through my brain when I get drunk, but I do.

  I press my lips into her hair and try not to think, because that’s clearly no good right now. I’ll think tomorrow.

  Right now, I’m here and she’s here against me, wrapped together on the floor like lovers.

  “What time is it?” Violet asks.

  “You got a date?” I tease.

  She just laughs.

  “Yeah, my next barn sex appointment’s at eleven,” she says lazily, not moving. “Just tell me what time it is.”

  I know it’s a joke, but I don’t like it. I don’t like it the same way I didn’t like it when Seth said she was hot. Neither statement has any real significance, and yet.

  I pull out my phone.

  “Almost eleven,” I tell her. “You about to tell me that we should go?”

  “I’m about to tell you we should stagger our departure,” she says, even as she slides an arm around my waist.

  “I should buy you one of those fake glasses with the nose and the moustache,” I tell her. “That way we could sneak around all sorts of places and no one would ever know it was you.”

  “They’d just think you had a Groucho Marx
fetish.”

  “There are worse things,” I say.

  “Such as?”

  “Such as people thinking I’ve got a Harpo Marx fetish.”

  I find the camera on my phone and open it.

  “Which one was he, and what are you doing?” she asks. She pulls me closer.

  Times like this I don’t know what to make of Violet, of the way she tells me one thing with her mouth and something else with her body. I don’t know what to make of the fact that everyone knows what we’re doing, that we’re together in some kind of way, and she wouldn’t kiss me in public.

  I want that. I want her to kiss me in front of people, admit what we are, whatever that is.

  I didn’t even know I wanted that until she wouldn’t do it.

  “He was the boring one, and I’m taking a selfie,” I say. I reverse the camera, but it’s so dark that there’s nothing more than vague shapes on the screen.

  “I’ve never seen a Marx Brothers movie,” she says.

  I snap a picture, but it’s nothing.

  “You need the flash,” Violet points out like I don’t know.

  “My dad loved the Marx Brothers,” I say, flipping my phone around. “A Night at the Opera was his favorite movie.”

  Violet draws an arm across her breasts, but she doesn’t move.

  “Not Duck Soup?”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  I hit the button. The flash goes off, and Violet turns her head into my chest.

  “Ow. No, I’ve just heard of it. Why are you taking selfies?”

  I take another one. I’m sure they’re terrible — dark, shaky, my thumb probably in the frame somewhere — but I don’t really care. I just want to document this moment, because I have a feeling that someday I’ll want proof that it happened.

  “I need a new profile picture on Facebook,” I tell her.

  “Not funny,” she says.

  “Everyone already knows,” I point out, taking another one.

  “I don’t have anything worth blackmailing me for,” she says.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  “Kiss me,” I say.

  Her face turns upward. I can barely see the outline of it, flash-blind.

  “Don’t argue about it, just kiss me,” I say.

  She does. I take a picture. I take five, and then I put my phone down and just kiss her back.