In Bed With the Enemy
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Nothing had ever felt as amazing as him driving into her with such magnificent masculinity. Nothing could ever surpass this moment. He lifted her higher and higher with his ferocious force, filling her with power and strength and pure, sweet joy.
Her scream cracked as it became too much to bear. He reared up, grinding forward in one last, fierce long thrust, roaring his own satisfaction, tossing her body once more into convulsions of rapture and her mind into blank bliss.
Even though she could see again, she kept her eyes shut, flinging her arm over her eyes to hide awhile longer. He was close by, still half on top of her, but he’d tumbled slightly to the side so he didn’t crush her. So she could breathe.
But she couldn’t. Her heart galloped. She felt the vibrations of his heart thudding too, and his harsh breathing as they both fought to recover as fast as possible.
She didn’t think she’d ever recover. Her whole body throbbed. Sweat slid. Her lips were so well used she was almost bruised.
An aftershock made her tremble uncontrollably. She felt his body flinch in response—and hold for a moment. But his tension didn’t ease. And hers grew all the more.
Silently he took his weight on his hands and withdrew from her body.
‘Excuse me a minute,’ he muttered.
She didn’t answer, didn’t move as she listened to his footsteps recede. Then she peeped past her elbow. Empty room. Quickly she sat up and reached for her tee shirt, slipped it down as best she could. Her panties were wet and cold. Most of her was wet and cold—all heat sucked away by some giant invisible vacuum cleaner the moment he’d left the room.
Yeah, whoever it was who reckoned that sex dispelled tension was wrong. Because it was so much worse now. And not just tension—terror. What the hell had she been thinking? Rising panic sent her pulse frantic, threatening to burst her eardrums.
She struggled to her feet, stuffed her knickers into a rollerblade boot and tried to descrunch her leggings enough to be able to pull them back on. Hell, she had to get out of there as fast as possible—no way could she hold herself together if she got close to him some more. No wonder those woman wanted to warn others—he was unbelievable, and all she wanted was every bit of him, every star in the whole fantasy dream.
‘Regretting it already?’
She looked up, Ethan was on the edge of the room, watching her uncoordinated movements with a towel slung round his hips and a frown on his face.
‘You know you were the one grinding on my hand in the middle of a public park.’ He stepped closer.
Her pulse went supersonic. She was shocked by his bluntness. She couldn’t bear to look at his darkened eyes, or his sculpted, glistening torso, so she looked at the floor and tried to get back to decent. ‘You put your hand in my pants in the first place.’
‘I was merely pointing out how vulnerable you are.’
‘You couldn’t resist touching.’
‘Because you were gagging for it.’
She stumbled as she tried to yank her leggings up, hopping on one foot with no dignity left whatsoever. She gave in. ‘Yes, you live up to your reputation Ethan. You must be feeling very satisfied.’
‘Absolutely not.’
Nonplussed, she shut up and sent him a wary glance. He looked grim.
‘Don’t you dare insinuate that I took advantage of you,’ he said, his temper clearly fraying as badly as hers.
But she had to play it very cool, very sophisticated, and hide the fact her heart was still beating louder than a jackhammer and about to burst out of her mouth. ‘I wasn’t going to. You know I wanted it, Ethan. And I enjoyed it.’ She shrugged as if it had all been nothing. ‘And now I should get going.’
‘Because you’ve had what you wanted?’ he said bitterly. ‘So what? You’re going to go home and write about it?’
She froze, abandoning the hunt for her bra. She’d hadn’t given a thought to the damn blogs and their little online war. This was nothing to do with that—this had been so much more to her than she’d realised even two hours ago.
The frown thundered across his brow as he obviously took her hesitation as affirmation of guilt.
‘Don’t write it,’ he said.
Nadia turned away from him and picked up her rollerblades, knowing she’d just found the way to end it with him. To escape completely. ‘But its popularity is skyrocketing.’
‘It’s that important to you?’
‘Yes, my website is very important to me. This was just a fling.’
‘You’re going to detail it, then?’
‘No.’
‘So you’re going to fabricate what you put on there?’
He thought she was going to embroider on all this? He had to be joking. She turned back to glare at him. ‘Are you setting me up?’
‘So little trust, Nadia,’ he said coolly. ‘When you just let me right inside you.’
Yeah, that had been utter madness. ‘I’m keeping on writing.’
‘Then so am I.’
She swallowed. ‘It’ll be my perspective. Honest.’ And with zero detail.
He leaned back on the arm of the chair, hands gripping the towel. ‘So you’re going to say you seduced me?’
‘Is that what you think happened?’
‘You made all the moves, honey.’
Well, not quite. But she knew what he meant. She’d given the green light. ‘Only because you goaded me into it.’
‘So you still don’t want to take responsibility? When are you going to be honest and admit that I don’t use women? That I have fun with women who are as up for it as I am. Women. Like. You.’
Yeah, she was one of the masses now, wasn’t she? And as pulled under his spell as they’d all been. ‘Not all women realise you’re only up for “fun”. That’s why they’ve all flocked to warn others about you.’
‘I don’t cheat, Nadia. I don’t ever offer them anything.’
‘You do. You just don’t realise it.’ He offered the sun and stars and the moon and all the excitement in the universe. And then he left a big black hole.
His eyes darkened. ‘So what? Unconsciously somehow I’m a jerk? Is it my fault they weave some kind of fantasy after one round of sex?’
That was a mistake she refused to make. And to avoid it she had to get out of here and away from him right now. She would not be thinking about him ever again. Not seeing him ever again. How had she ever thought she could get away with sleeping with him and come out unscathed? ‘It’s all about expectation. Do you make it clear from the beginning that it’s only three dates?’
‘I did with you.’
‘You know this situation is different. This is a total fabrication. You and I would never have met ordinarily.’
He stood and the towel dropped from his hips. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again his shorts were back on and she could breathe.
‘I bet you don’t usually say, Hey, let’s go out a couple of times, maybe fool around and then let it fizzle,’ she said rawly.
‘I don’t know it’s going to fizzle.’
‘And yet it always does.’ Like hell he was actually hunting for something more.
‘I make it clear I’m not looking for anything serious.’ He pulled his shirt on with vicious movements, trying to justify the unjustifiable. ‘I don’t like complications.’
‘Why is that, exactly?’
‘Because I don’t like scenes like this. Why are women always so complicated?’
‘All humans are complicated, Ethan. Even you.’
‘I’m not. I have very simple needs.’
‘All basic instinct?’ she asked. ‘You just haven’t grown up yet. You don’t want to deal with whatever it is that makes you such a commitment-phobe.’ She tried to stuff her foot into a boot and realised something was in the way. She put her hand in instead and pulled out her damn knickers. She looped her hand through one leg of them and bent to pull the boot on.
He swore. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘What does it look like?’
‘You’re not going to skate home,’ he spat. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Fine.’ She ditched the boot effort and stood upright again. ‘I’ll get a cab.’
‘I’m driving you.’ As barefoot as she, he snatched up his keys from the floor and stomped to the door.
Silently she followed.
He had a car as flash as his apartment and didn’t need directions, so the trip was fast, the conversation nil.
‘We have one more date.’ Scathingly he broke the pulsing atmosphere as he pulled in front of her house. ‘Friday suit you?’
Never in a million years. As far as she was concerned this whole mess was over. She was getting out of it now. ‘I can’t do Friday,’ she said, just as snappily. ‘I have another date.’
‘Oh, you do?’
‘Well, this isn’t exclusive or anything, Ethan,’ she lied, cauterising her heart with her burning, words. ‘Do we really have to suffer through another date?’
‘Oh, yeah, those screams were real sufferance, Nadia.’
He’d gone sceptical and she didn’t blame him. But she wanted this to be over. She didn’t want to have three dates and be out. It would be two and she was through. No more. Kicking him to the kerb now was the only way to ensure he’d never want to hear from her again. And then she could get over this massive, massive mistake. So, with a calculated, completely fabricated indifference, she got out of the car and walked. She clutched her blades to her chest to hold in her huge hurt heart.
‘So you’ve had all you wanted? It was just curiosity driving you?’ Ethan called after her from the open car window.
She could hear the sarcasm—and the scorn. She kept walking, hating herself more than he hated her.
‘Hey, Nadia, who just used who?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
ETHAN shoved his foot on the accelerator and the wheels screeched as he shot away from the kerb. He hated complicated, and this was beyond that. This was a mess. And why? Ordinarily he wouldn’t mind at all about a date coming to its conclusion. But this hadn’t been the usual flirty goodbye—this had been cold, sudden and frankly vicious.
Yes, he liked sex. He liked it and he’d had a lot of it. But he’d never had sex like that before. Not so intense and angry and hot and funny all at the same time. He’d never before been so hot he almost hadn’t made it. Not so on the edge and up in the stratosphere—so good his guts were still twisted. And all he wanted right now was more. With her.
He’d not intended it to happen. Before the date this afternoon he’d been determined to play it easy—tease but don’t take. That was the whole point of this damn deal anyway. Oh, of course he’d wanted to—but he’d thought he had a little more self-control. Clearly he didn’t.
He got back to his flat and stalked to the shower to cool off. He was confronted by his massive bath, overflowing with bursting bubbles, and water all over the floor. Yeah—he’d turned the taps on before, gone back out to the lounge to scoop her up and put her in it with him so they could have lazy, floating, spa sex to recover. Only she’d been back in her tee and desperate to get away from him, spitting insults. Her fury completely unjustified when he had not scorned her. Quite the reverse.
Furiously he mopped up the mess and took a shower. Stewed over the last hour. So she’d had what she wanted and apparently she didn’t want it again. Didn’t want anything else. Didn’t give a damn. Hell, she couldn’t have spelt it out more clearly—all she’d wanted was a quick shag on the floor.
By rights that should be nothing for him to get upset about—wasn’t that exactly the uncomplicated kind of hook-up he enjoyed? So why the hell was he feeling so bitter and twisted?
Because he wanted more. He wanted her again—now. But he also wanted to spar some more, and alternately laugh with it. He totally got off on the challenges she threw his way. He liked just being near her almost as much as he liked being in her. He shivered, his skin going goosefleshy despite the fact he was now standing under a jet of hot water. He crashed out of the shower, shrugged into some clothes and went to make coffee, still feeling cold despite the warmth of the late afternoon. Sick. That was the problem. Summer flu or something. That was the reason for the whole body ache.
Nadia hid in her house—blinds down like a bat avoiding the last of the sunlight. She dreaded Ethan’s next blog post. How honest was he going to be? And how honest was she going to be? She couldn’t regret having sex with him, but it had been reckless and no way could she do it again—despite the itch already spreading in her veins.
She clicked “refresh” on his blog for the forty thousandth time. It was official. She now had OCD. But still there was nothing. Blog silence. She showered and slipped into one of the “limited edition”—five hundred had been the minimum order—WomanBWarned tee shirts she’d had printed, and that were now stacked in a box tower in the corner of her room. She’d sold four. But that was a start, right?
Ugh. She turned her back on them and hurried back to the lounge to check his blog again. Then, when there was nothing, her e-mail. There were several posts to the forum that she should respond to. Later.
She opened a message from Megan, which included a picture of her sailing around some idyllic Greek isle with Sam.
OMG, we (and the rest of the planet) are so ablog over your war with the Ethan guy—too funny. You’ve so got to put him in his place. He sounds hot, tho—he’s a possible if it weren’t for the ego, right? So who cares about the ego? Just have some fun!
Um, yeah, she’d tried that. Succeeded too—until the doubts had needled in only seconds after her multiple-orgasmic warmth had started to fade. As for putting him in his place—yeah, right. She was going to. But the wish to do that had receded—there were other things she wanted now. Like to know more about him.
She curled her feet up beneath her in her big, comfy swivel chair and stared at the font he’d chosen for his GuysGetWise banner. It, like the rest of him, told her nothing. What more did she know of him after two dates? Even now she’d had sex with him did she really know him any better? Oh, sure, she knew he was quick-witted, that he had a wickedly infectious laugh, and that when he looked at her she felt like the most captivating woman on the planet—but beyond that?
Frowning, she leaned over her keyboard. She clicked into her own blog and started typing.
The Day Date
Okay, I admit it, as I did on the first date—I broke a couple of my own rules. Last time it worked against me. This time I hoped it would help me get one up on him. But it didn’t—if anything it backfired completely. So take heed of those tips, girls. They’re there for good reason.
In fairness—and I am trying to be fair here—Ethan is a nice guy. He makes an effort, he’s generous and, yes, he knows how to make a woman feel good. He’s courteous, he’s chivalrous, he’s protective. Oh, and he can talk flirt’n’dirt like no one else on earth.
Yet there’s so much that you just don’t get to know. He’ll get intimate physically, if that’s something you want. But emotionally?
That’s a total no-go. I know as little of anything meaningful about him as I did before date one.
In my last post I questioned whether there was anything beneath that charming, handsome surface of his. But now I ask why is he so determined to hide whatever there may be?
Is it his way of maintaining his “mystery”? Because, if so, then hats off to him—because curiosity is a thing that will hook a woman. Yeah, his tease and trap plan works. But then he still doesn’t share anything about himself, his family, what he cares about. And for most women sharing bodies isn’t enough.
So what is it he’s afraid to reveal? Maybe it’s just that there really is nothing there. He’s simply superficial. So he limits the length of the game because he knows his own limitations—and that if you go for anything more than three dates, you’re going to know it too.
Ethan stared at her blog, the churning lava of his temper boiling ever closer to eruption. A reaction that he knew was more extreme than her words warranted—for had she fabricated? Had she kissed and told?
No. That was honesty he was reading, and she’d been honest and open in a surprisingly discreet way. Some hints that really only he would pick up. There was no denial of what had happened, but no blow-by-blow account either. He guessed she’d neither confirm nor deny when her blog followers asked the inevitable “did you do him?” question. Which was exactly how he’d respond when his readers asked him.
She’d done okay with her write-up. But still he hated every word. Most especially that “Ethan is a nice guy” bit. Ugh—nice. What kind of a word was nice? It was ironic that he’d always tried to be nice and now he was it seemed as flavoursome as dishwater. He didn’t want to be so average, as if he was some loser she had to be kind to. He didn’t need her generous, not-particularly-moved judgement, thanks.
And, while she admitted a smidgeon of responsibility, she still laid too much at his door. What was the crap about not knowing anything more about him? She couldn’t blame that on him. Date one she’d been too busy talking about herself—which admittedly he’d engineered. Date two she hadn’t asked. She’d just got out of there as fast as she could. She hadn’t so much as glanced round his apartment, hadn’t asked about his work or life or anything. She’d screwed, then scarpered. So how was her not getting to know him more a result of him “hiding”? What was it she wanted to know, exactly? Should he draw up a list of his favourite things? His most happy memory? It was rubbish. If she’d wanted to get to know him then she should have stuck around and spent more time with him.
He knocked back his coffee in one gulp—and got the bitter bits at the bottom. Grimacing, he stabbed the keyboard.
Was Date Number 2 Nailed?
With that pathetic start, he stopped. He really didn’t want to answer it. Didn’t know how he could without admitting what had happened—which he really didn’t want to do. He didn’t kiss and tell. Right to his bones he now regretted the whole online blog thing. It was such a stupid idea, and it had dumped him into something he didn’t quite know how to climb out of. But he couldn’t just delete the thing because he refused to let it be over with her. And the three dates deal was the one way he could catch her again. Yes, he wanted to catch her one more time. Catch her and blow her mind. So he had to respond now.
Tease and trap—mission accomplished.
A surprisingly honest OlderNWiser even says it herself: the technique works. But she also points out the major flaw—it’s only successful for a limited time.
Sure, I accept that. But it begs the question for how long do you want to trap? Catch and release is the aim of the game for many men. And, let’s face it, lots of women love the chase and to be caught too, and are happy to go onto another game with another guy after. Therein is the excitement, the thrill. It all depends on what you’re looking for, and so long as you’re looking for the same things then no problem, right? It’s pretty obvious with most guys.
Guess it’s up to the ladies to be honest about what they’re looking for. In my experience they’re often not, and then the guy gets the blame for the broken heart when in fact it was the girl who decided to play with the matches in the first place. Think on that, all you sweethearts out there.
Ms OlderNWiser debates my level of superficiality vs. depth. I’d challenge her definition of superficiality—’cos, honey, I’m not going to sit around pontificating about politics or religion on a date. Where’s the fun in that?
But we have one more date to go, so let’s see what that brings. Clearly it’s time to put her in touch with my “sensitive” side. But I’m not giving away any secrets pre-date. We’ll do it first and then I’ll report back. I can tell you it’s my choice for the date, and it is going to be nothing like what she expects.
Ethan watched the cursor flash, unhappy with what he’d written but unable to come up with anything better. He was still too steamed. She wanted to know more about him? He’d let her learn a few things, for sure, and he knew exactly how to throw her into it. He laughed at the evilness of his idea—but she’d asked for it, after all. The almighty great pain in the neck was that it couldn’t happen for a week. He pressed “publish” then shoved away from his desk, suddenly furious that it was so many damn days away. Still, maybe that gave him a chance to get his hot-for-her hormones back under control. Damn it, maybe he’d go out on another date himself on Friday night. She’d said this wasn’t exclusive. He could go and have some real fun with someone less trouble. He’d head to his favourite bar with the boys and see what action he could chase out.
His guts twisted painfully again, and the bitter coffee taste still burnt his tongue. Yeah, he was definitely suffering some sort of flu when the thought of hitting the scene made him feel sick.
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were the longest days Nadia had ever lived through. Nothing had rattled her nerves, sleep and appetite like this. Not even discovering her perfect boyfriend actually made a hobby of conning the virginity out of as many young uni students as he could—as he had her. Nope, not even that had had her as distracted or on edge as this.
She was awake more than half each night, watching the comments coming in to the blogs. It was horrific. She was so, so glad of her anonymity, and hated the fact his name was out there—even though most of the comments on his blog were bigging him up as “the man”. The speculation was rife—and also right—and several comments were crass. Interestingly there hadn’t been a word from the women who’d posted on the original thread. It surprised her—she’d have thought they’d be interested and amused by the challenge.
She even surreptitiously checked at work—totally fixated. She struggled to stop herself refreshing both their blogs every other minute. Most of the time she managed, but one in ten she didn’t. Nothing more appeared online directly from Ethan. He didn’t comment on the comments. Nor did she any more. But she was waiting. Nothing, she now knew, was as bad as waiting. He’d said they were going to do date three, yet he hadn’t contacted her about it. So she was waiting, waiting, waiting. Jumping every time the phone went or her e-mail pinged, sitting on her hands to stop herself calling him. So much for never seeing him again, for getting over her fatal attraction to him. Instead she wanted to apologise for being such a cow when he’d dropped her home—wanted to suck back that bitter end to the afternoon. Only she really didn’t think he’d care all that much. He just wanted to win. It was still all a game to him.
And then it happened—her mobile rang, with his number on the display. Sweat bubbled from every pore and she gulped a breath which didn’t help. Her lungs and brain still shut down as excitement overrode everything. All she had in her head was the stupid hope that her voice wouldn’t hit squeak territory when she said hi. Of course it did.
Panic shot high as she waited to hear what he had to say—except she could only hear her pounding heart.
‘About our next date,’ he said slowly.
‘You still want to do another?’ she blurted.
There was a pause. Nadia closed her eyes and winced at her unintentional entendre. She really had to learn not to jump in on him.
‘Did you think I’d let you off that easily, Nadia? A deal is a deal. Or are you backing out?’
‘No. We can do the last date.’ She spelt it out, giving him no cause to think she meant something else.
‘I know you’re already seeing someone on Friday, but can you do Saturday?’