Enemies With Benefits: Loveless Brothers, Book 1

by Noir, Roxie

  “You still in there?” I ask, locking my arms across my chest.

  The shower curtain jerks back partway, and Violet peeks out.

  “Do you have to leave?” she asks.

  All I can see is her face, her side, one hip. The rest is in shadow behind the shower curtain but I swear to God she’s teasing me, water running down her body in rivulets I want to lick.

  “No,” I say.

  She steps back into the shower. The curtain stays partly open.

  “I’ll be out in a sec,” she says.

  I’m pulled forward. I know that by now I should be used to seeing her naked, that something I see nearly every day shouldn’t hold this magnetic draw for me, but it does.

  I lean against the shower stall, push the curtain back further. Violet sees me, smiles, head back as she rinses her hair under the spray.

  “I hate waiting,” I say, and reach out to slide my thumb across one stiff, pink nipple.

  Violet’s eyelids flutter closed. I do it again, take it between my thumb and finger, roll it. She bites her lip.

  “C’mere,” I whisper.

  She comes to the edge of the shower stall, warm and wet and dripping, naked body slick. I can’t stop touching her as she kisses me, my hands gliding over her body, slippery and supple. She bunches my shirt in her hands, mouth open under mine, water dripping onto my belly.

  There’s no resisting.

  I shed my shirt, jeans, shoes in record time. I’m already rock hard as I step into her shower, my mouth on hers, pushing her against the cheap porcelain wall. It vibrates as her body hits it. A bottle of shampoo drops and clatters off a shelf, but we both ignore it.

  I take her by the hips, slide a hand between her legs. It’s even hotter and wetter than the rest of her, and Violet moans into my mouth as I skim my fingers between her soft, velvety lips.

  It feels right, electric, secret and safe and holy. I shouldn’t still get a charge from the way her hips buck against me when I brush my thumb across her clit, but I do.

  When I’m with her, like this, the world falls away and nothing else exists. Reality is the heat of the water on my back, her mouth under mine, the way her body begs me for more. Reality is her nails on my back, my lips against her ear, her hand finding my cock and stroking it.

  “I’m yours,” I murmur into her ear as I slide two fingers into her tight, hot entrance.

  She gasps, moans, her mouth open, her head back. Her hand tightens on me. I slide a third finger in, kissing her neck. Her pulse races and I nip at her neck. I move my mouth to her collarbone, lapping up the water that’s collected there.

  Her nipples are stiff but go soft in my mouth, between my teeth, her hand knotted in my hair. I stroke her inner wall with my fingers and her hips move with me, begging, pleading.

  I love her like this, her defenses gone, still soft but demanding, all angles and curves. I fall to my knees, lips on her belly. Her breathing gets faster. I move my fingers harder, feel the shudder that moves through her.

  I shift her weight, throw one knee over my shoulder and she grabs the curtain rod, steadies herself.

  I tongue her clit, slowly, my tongue broad and flat and rough.

  “Oh, fuck,” she gasps, like it’s surprise.

  I love her like this, too: foul-mouthed and rough, her hand too tight in my hair, her pussy clenches at my fingers, squeezing so hard it almost hurts. I love Violet when she wants everything I have to give her. I love her when she begs for it, no matter what. For her, I’d stay on my knees forever.

  I lap her, slowly. Carefully. I lick her hard, her body jolting with each pass, my fingers inside her stroke along with the rhythm. I don’t write my name with my tongue any more because I know what she likes. I know every shiver and nuance of her body.

  Besides, she knows my name by now. It’ll be on her lips soon enough.

  My cock throbs. A tremor moves through Violet’s body and in me it becomes an earthquake. I lick her faster, harder, want pounding through me. I push her harder against the wall, feeling the flimsy thing shake behind her. Something else clatters to the floor of the shower but I push myself deeper into her, drinking her in unceasingly.

  “Eli,” she gasps and there it is: three breathless letters shot straight to my core.

  “Make me come,” she whispers, and I’m helpless. Whatever I am in life right now, I’m her slave because I need this. I need her shaking and whispering my name, I need her trembling and coming and being utterly, completely mine.

  I lick her rougher, harder, and she moans. She whispers my name like it’s a prayer and she whispers it like it’s a curse, and I never did know which I prefer. She trembles and she quivers and grips my hair until my eyes water and then, she comes.

  And I love her like this. I love her undone and vulnerable, shaking against the wall of her shower. I love her in her pure animal state, thoughtless and wild. I love her when she’s mine like this, when she gives herself over to me and I give her this back.

  It fades. I pull my fingers out of her, take her knee off my shoulder, lean back into the slowly cooling water of the shower. I make sure she’s watching me and I lick her off my fingers, one by one, because I like the way she tastes and I like the look in her eyes as she watches me.

  I stand up. I tower over her. The water on my back is lukewarm at best and turning quickly, but I rest an arm over her head, teasing her lips with mine. She tastes herself in light, quick kisses, each one longer. Her hands wander over my body, leaving trails of fire all the way to my cock.

  She gives me long, hard strokes, her tongue in my mouth. I groan and lean into her, seeking out the warmth of her body for what feels like the first time and the millionth. The water is cool against my back but she strokes me again and bites my lip, drawing me toward her.

  Her other hand is on my back. It pauses.

  “We used all the hot water, didn’t we?” she murmurs.

  “We? You’re the one who was in here for twenty minutes,” I tell her.

  She gives me a slow stroke, tip to root, root to tip. There’s a noise in my chest that I don’t mean to make.

  “I was trying to wake up,” she says, and her hand leaves my back. She leans forward, turns the faucet and the water stops.

  I kiss her one more time. I’m tempted to fuck her right here, against the wall, but it’s not what I want. I don’t want to worry about balancing or about slipping.

  I want her hard and fast and deep. I want to make my body a part of hers and I want to never let go.

  So I take her in my arms, carefully step out of the shower, and carry her to the bedroom. Violet laughs. I toss her onto her bed, still wet, and she bounces once, sits on the edge, pulling me in.

  “I have legs,” she teases.

  “I know. They’re great for spreading,” I say, pushing her knees apart. She grabs my cock again and we kiss.

  We move onto the bed. It’s harder, rougher. She’s on her back under me and I’m over her, cock in her hands, the tip bumping against her slick wetness with every stroke.

  It takes all my self-control not to sink into that perfect tight channel, but I don’t.

  “Hold on,” I murmur, and reach for her nightstand.

  “Don’t,” she says.

  I look down at her.

  “I went on the pill a few weeks ago,” she says. “I was gonna surprise you, so… surprise?”

  “I’m surprised,” I say.

  I wander a hand down her body: shoulder, nipple, belly. I thumb her clit and watch her eyes go half-mast.

  “Fuck me bare,” she whispers. “Please?”

  The words take my breath away. My cock aches, throbs. I thumb her clit once more.

  “Say it again,” I growl.

  “Why?”

  “I like hearing you say it,” I tell her.

  “Fuck me bare, Eli,” Violet murmurs. “I want you inside me with nothing between us — oh, fuck.”

  I’m inside her with one thrust, her tight channel enveloping
me to the hilt, her legs locking around me. It’s beautiful, perfect, overwhelming. I have to stop for a moment, afraid I’ll embarrass myself.

  “Like that?” I whisper.

  “Yes,” she whispers back, her breath catching in her throat. “God, Eli, you feel so good.”

  She could say it a million times and I’d never get tired of hearing it. I fuck her again, slowly, gently. I feel her melt as I hit every sensitive spot inside her, her legs tightening, her hips moving and rolling.

  “Tell me I’m yours,” I tell her, sinking in.

  “You’re mine,” she says, stifling a moan.

  Her breath catches. I find her knee, maneuver it over my shoulder. She pulls me deeper.

  “Tell me I’m yours,” she says, eyes at half-mast.

  “You’re mine,” I answer.

  We move harder, faster. She pulls me and I push together, bodies hammering together like pistons in an engine, smooth perfect machinery.

  I want more. I need more. I know it will never be enough but I need more like I need air. I kiss her and she bites me, gasping, whispering fuck me, Eli into my mouth, and I know that’s the signal.

  I pull out and she rolls over as I hand her a pillow. She shoves it under her hips and I slide back inside her again, the rhythm barely interrupted. Violet arches her back, on her forearms, her ankles wrapped around my legs.

  I bury myself so deep I see stars, my head on her shoulder, her channel gripping me like a fist.

  “Eli,” she whispers.

  I slide my hand over hers, fingers tangling. I squeeze her until my knuckles are white and she squeezes right back, our bodies locked into a union.

  This is love. I’ve known it for a while but the understanding flashes through me again as I move inside her, as I feel her body underneath me and worship it with my own.

  It’s love. It’s dirty and rough, physical and tangible, but it’s love. The way I need her like this is love. The way I feel her in my soul is love. The way she says my name, the way she moves, the way she shudders and moans and says come inside me is love.

  It’s hard. It’s deep. It’s ruthless, raw, primal and needy, but it’s ours and it’s love. Violet shouts my name into her mattress and I have my face in her neck and I whisper I love the way you fuck me over and over again.

  She comes. It’s cosmic, her body shuddering and bending and drawing me in, her hand in my hair, pulling my face to her shoulder. Her body arches into me as she tightens, squeezes, pumps me until I explode inside her and can’t stop, draining myself in spasm after spasm.

  I kiss the back of her neck, rising. I let her hand go and I kiss that, too, roll off and land next to her. She takes the pillow out and puts her hand in mine.

  “I like this,” she says softly.

  “I like this too,” I say.

  “I like us,” she goes on. “I always did, even when I didn’t want to admit there was an us.”

  “You came around,” I say.

  “I slept at Adeline’s the last three nights because my bed felt awful without you in it,” she says, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I missed you so much, and I hated how much I missed you, but —”

  I wait, our fingers laced together.

  “I did miss you,” she says.

  I kiss her fingers. I open her hand and kiss her palm.

  There’s still something else. Something stupid and reckless, something that I never should have done but that I did anyway.

  “Stay there,” I tell her.

  “Where are you going?” she asks, going up on her elbows as I pull on pants and a shirt.

  “So many questions,” I tease, and walk out of her bedroom, through the living room, out of her house to the Bronco.

  On the backseat there’s a manila folder with a bunch of paperwork inside it. I glance through it one last time, standing barefoot on her driveway.

  Are you sure? I ask myself. You might scare her off again. Maybe you should wait.

  I glance back at the trailer, think of Violet inside, her admission that she missed me.

  I’m done pretending I feel casual about her. Fuck it.

  I’m sure.

  She’s sitting up in bed when I get back, and I hand it to her.

  “You got me paperwork,” she says. “I love paperwork.”

  “Open it, smartass,” I tell her, getting on the bed and curling around her, my chin on her shoulder.

  She opens it. I hold my breath.

  Violet freezes. She doesn’t speak, her fingers drifting over the first page, her shoulders suddenly rigid.

  I knew it.

  “No,” she says.

  I don’t answer her. I knew that would be the first thing, so I wait. She flips over the first page, the folder now lying in her lap.

  “Did you…?”

  “Yup.”

  “This is insane,” she says. “What? No. Eli.”

  She flips through the pages, then turns around and looks at me.

  I look back.

  “You bought the house by the lake?” she asks, her voice quiet and still.

  My heart thumps in my chest. I knew it was a lot. I knew that there was a big difference between be my girlfriend and I bought us a house, but it was reckless and impulsive, a late-night decision to write an offer letter and send it off.

  “Technically, I just have an accepted offer on the house,” I say, draping an arm over her shoulder. “I think there are like… ten more steps before it’s mine.”

  “Why?” she asks.

  “I need to move out of my mom’s house,” I say. It’s technically true, but I can tell Violet’s not buying it. “And I couldn’t think of a better way to spend twenty thousand dollars than on getting us a place.”

  Her eyes go even wider, her lips parted.

  “And because I love you and I want to live with you,” I say. “That’s pretty much it, actually.”

  She doesn’t answer me right away, just flips through the paperwork again, slowly this time, and stops on the last page, her fingers floating across my signature.

  “What’s the H stand for?” she asks suddenly, pointing at Elijah H. Loveless.

  “Hiram,” I say.

  “I never knew your middle name was Hiram.”

  “Well, I don’t really advertise it,” I say.

  “It’s a good name,” she says, her fingers still on the page.

  “Is it?”

  “I like it,” she says.

  Then she turns her head suddenly, looks right into my eyes.

  “I’m gonna say yes,” she says, her voice serious. “But if there’s something else you want to do with the money besides buying this house just because I like it —”

  “Nope,” I say. “This is what I want. I want it to be ours, and I want to live here with you, and I want you to wake up every morning knowing someone loves you.”

  She bites her lips together.

  “And not because you’re the best at anything. I love you for who you are. You’re determined, you’re smart, you’re funny. You’re never boring. I went around the world looking for someone like you and you were here all along.”

  “Michelle.”

  I just blink.

  “My middle name’s Michelle. It seemed like you should know if we’re moving in together,” she says.

  “Violet Michelle,” I muse, mostly to myself.

  It feels strange, like turning the lights on in a room I’d never looked into before. It feels strange that all this time I thought I knew her, but I didn’t even know this one basic thing.

  “I love you, too,” she says softly.

  I hold her closer, nuzzling my nose into her neck, and kiss her softly below her ear.

  “I already like being yours,” I say.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Violet

  One Month Later

  “And finally, if you’ll initial there and there, and sign there, we’re finished,” Karen says.

  Eli initials, signs, slides the paperwork over to
me. I do the same.

  “Fantastic!” she says, flashing her too-bright smile one more time. “Congratulations on becoming homeowners, y’all two! And don’t forget, if you know anyone in the market, just point ‘em my way. Lovely to work with you!”

  She grabs her enormous purse, then holds one one perfectly manicured hand. We both shake it, saying our own thanks and goodbyes, and then Karen is out the front door, in her Mercedes, and driving away.

  We’re alone in the house.

  Correction: we’re alone in our house. We’re both on the mortgage paperwork and we’ll both be on the title, because once his grand gesture making was over, Eli did manage to see reason. There was no way I was letting him be entirely on the hook for this place if something went wrong.

  Also, it’s insane to give someone a house. I stand firmly by that. It might also be insane to buy a house with the guy who’s only been your boyfriend for a few months, but I’m choosing to ignore that.

  Eli slides his hand into mine, and we look around the house.

  Our house.

  It’s small. The bed is in a loft, which is sort-of-but-not-technically a second story. There’s one bathroom. The washer and dryer are in the kitchen. The kitchen and dining room / living room are all open plan.

  But the main floor has big windows that look out over the lake. The loft is tall enough to stand in and cozy at the same time. The kitchen is way nicer than the one in my trailer, and the bathroom has a real tub and not just a shower. The previous owner replaced the HVAC system just last year.

  And it’s ours. His and mine.

  “Where should we put the couch?” he asks, looking around the space, taking my hand in his.

  “Do we have a couch?” I ask, leaning my head on his shoulder.

  “You’ve got one.”

  “I hate that couch,” I say. “I’ve been meaning to replace it for years, but then I figured, what’s the point of getting a new couch when the whole house is so crappy, you know?”

  “All right, so we’ll put the couch nowhere,” he says. “What furniture do we have?”

  “A bed,” I say. “That horrible kitchen table at my place. Some dressers.”

  “At least moving won’t be too hard,” he says. “All I’ve got at my mom’s place is that bookshelf. Everything else is hers.”