EWB (Enemies With Benefits)

The Melbourne integration was moving fast and there were a few crinkles that needed ironing out. Nothing major, but the paperwork and legalities were tedious and time consuming, and it was good to have someone from senior management, being me, on the ground to oversee it. My father had been right sending me.

I could have spent my nights with old hook-ups or at discreet bars like I’d used to. I’d spent years here, moving in hidden circles to try and scratch an insatiable itch.

But I didn’t need to do that anymore.

I yearned for nothing.

Every need I had was met, and it was met very well.

Marshall fulfilled every sexual desire, every sexual need, every sexual craving I could ever have.

He was also filling another vacancy in my life. It wasn’t something I thought I’d ever want, but the non-sexual interactions were nice. I’d very deliberately avoided any such thing. I didn’t deal well with emotional attachment, and I’d never needed the company of others.

But his texts every night while I was in Melbourne were the absolute highlight of each day.

I found myself smiling long after they’d ended.

I couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, and I was hesitant to admit it, but it was beginning to feel a lot like happiness.

All my life I’d settled for being no more than contented. In my experience, disappointment accompanied hope, so settling for no-strings relationships was the safest option.

Until Marshall.

And now he was picking me up from the airport.

Granted, he was bringing Enzo back, but there was the promise of sex afterwards. How could I say no?

I didn’t want to say no.

I wanted to see Marshall. To deny that would be a straight out lie. Though as I walked through the terminal to the pickup zone where he’d said he’d be, I felt giddy.

I had butterflies.

Which was ridiculous. I could lie and say it was in anticipation of getting railed so thoroughly. But the way he grinned at me when I got into his ute made my heart thump and stomach swoop. I had to bite the inside of my lip so I didn’t smile right back at him.

It wasn’t the promise of sex.

It was him.

“Melbourne okay?” he asked as he pulled out into traffic. “Did you get everything sorted?”

I nodded. “Yes. Thank you for coming to get me. I didn’t expect you to.”

“’S no problem. Me and the kid had a road trip. He likes my taste in music.”

Enzo meowed from the backseat.

“See?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Pretty sure that was a cry for help.”

Marshall grinned as he drove. “We’ve had a boys’ week. Hanging out, watching TV. It’s been fun. He likes my mum’s lasagne, just so you know.”

I stared at him. “You fed him lasagne?”

“It wasn’t so much as fed him as it was him trying to eat off my plate or off my fork.” He shrugged. “He went a bit crazy for it, not gonna lie.”

Oh dear god.

“I’m going to have to retrain him. He had manners when I left him.”

He laughed. “Nah. Pretty sure he just knows he could walk all over me.”

Enzo meowed again.

“It’s all right, little guy,” Marshall said. “We’ll be home soon.”

God, the way he talked to him . . . I hated that I liked it so much.

“Want me to go through drive-through somewhere?” he asked me. “Or do you want to go home and take care of business first and order takeout later?”

“Take care of business?”

“Sounds better than fucking.” He shrugged. “Unless you’d prefer me to ask if you want orgasms or food first? Or want me to drill you first? Or—”

“I get the point.”

“So? What’s your answer?”

“No food through a drive-through will ever appeal to me, sorry.”

“Not even Maccas?”

“Especially not.”

He looked in the rear-vision mirror. “It’s all right, Enzo. I’ll get you some chicken nuggets.”

“He’s not eating chicken nuggets.”

He shot me a quick look and made a face.

Oh, good heavens.

“You fed him chicken nuggets?”

He shifted in his seat. “See, here’s the thing. I—”

“You’re never looking after him again.”

He gasped. “That’s not fair. I already told him he can stay with me next time you’re out of town. And he said he’d like that.”

This was, by far, the most ridiculous conversation I’d ever had.

Why was I smiling?

“Okay, no drive-through food,” Marshall said. “Orgasms, drilling, and fucking first. Food after.”

The promise curled warm and low in my belly. “Good.”

I carried Enzo into my apartment and Marshall took my bag, my messenger bag, and another smaller bag from his car. I opened the carrier and scooped Enzo out. He gave my face a welcome nudge and was purring.

“Oh, who’s the traitor now?” Marshall asked. He dumped my bags near the door and put his smaller bag on the dining table. “I see how it is.”

I gave him a smug smile and gently let Enzo to the floor. “What’s in the bag?”

He pulled out my shirt and held it up. “Buttons sewn on by yours truly.”

I looked closer at the shirt, then at him. “With red thread.”

He grinned. “Yep.” He pointed to the top button of his own shirt, which I now realised was also sewn on with red cotton. “We match. And the red matches the red Polo logo on yours, so it looks deliberate.” Then he shrugged and chewed on the inside of his lip. “And if you wear this shirt, it’s like you’re saying Marshall did this, and no one but us will know.”

What the hell?

I had no idea what to make of that.

“You want me to wear something that identifies me as yours,” I asked, my voice quiet.

He made a face, his cheeks pink. “Sounds weird when you say it like that. And to be honest, it was just the cotton that Mum had, but I thought about it later. Seeing you wear it would kinda be like my stamp on you.” He cringed again.

I let out a long breath, as steady as I could make it. “It actually sounds kinda hot.”

His eyes flashed to mine. “You like the sound of that?”

“I like it when you mark me,” I admitted. “Hickeys, bite marks.”

His hand went to his dick and he rearranged himself. His very impressive bulge. That I wanted, needed, to feel inside me.

Enzo meowed at his empty bowl, and I shook my head. “I’ll just feed him first,” I mumbled.

In the kitchen, I put the bowl on the counter and took a can from the pantry and was opening it when Marshall stepped in behind me. His hands raked up my back and gently massaged my shoulders.

I resisted leaning back into him.

Barely.

Then he snaked his hands around my waist, up to my shirt, and slowly unbuttoned the top button. Then the second, slow and torturous, then the third.

I’d forgotten all about feeding Enzo.

With one slow finger, Marshall gently pushed the shirt off my shoulder. He kissed the skin; his warm lips and hot breath sent a shiver through me. Then he pulled the shirt down and I knew what he was looking for.

The hickey and bite mark I’d shown him in the photo I’d sent him.

“They’re faded,” he murmured. “I need to do them again.”

I groaned. “Yes, you do.”

He ran his hand down over my arse and groaned. “I’ll feed the cat. You go get ready. However you want me to do you,” he murmured, nuzzling the back of my neck. “Your wish, my command.”

My knees felt so wobbly, I don’t know how I managed to walk away. I took my bag into my bathroom and took the quickest shower of my life but needing to get the airport grime off me and wash away the stress of the last four days.

I dried off and put my robe on because he’d said he’d like to fuck me in it, and I wanted to see his face when I walked out and he saw me wearing it.

I wasn’t disappointed.

He stopped, stunned. His lips parted and he blinked, and his breath came out in a rush. “Jesus,” he whispered.

I smiled far too smugly, but damn. I felt desired, wanted. Sexy.

He walked up to me, his eyes looking me up and down, but he stopped short of touching me. He studied my neck, and with a gentle finger, the barest of touches, he dragged his finger down my neck, under the collar of the robe, and he gasped.

“Your skin is so warm,” he murmured.

“Scalding hot shower,” I breathed. “Hot skin, cold silk.”

He gently revealed one collarbone and kissed it, soft lips skimming up the column of my throat. His warm hands raked down my body, sliding the silk under his touch, and he undid the sash. The robe fell open and he looked down, inspecting me, my body, my half-hard dick.

He groaned. “You’re fucking killing me.” He put his finger under my chin and kissed me softly. “Where and how do you want it?”

“I don’t care, as long as you give it to me.”

He pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed me again. But this time he opened my mouth with his own, plunging his tongue in, and walked me backwards to my room. “Get on the bed,” he ordered. “On your knees and put your arse up for me.”

Oh, hell yes.

I did as he asked, moving slow and relishing the swish and slide of the silk on my skin with every movement. He was stripping off behind me and I saw the bottle of lube land on the bed beside me, but I made no move to grab it.

My arse was hidden under the robe and I made no move to pull it up either. I wanted him to do everything. I wanted him to take complete control, to do whatever he wanted to me. To use my body however he saw fit.

Handing over that control was my favourite part.

In that moment, I never felt freer. Especially with Marshall, because I trusted him so completely.

It was total surrender.

He kneeled on the bed behind me, and I smiled as I raised my arse higher and let my arms fall loose by my sides, the tension already melting away.

His warm hand found the small of my back, sliding down my arse to the back of my thigh, sliding the silk over my skin. He drew it up, exposing my arse, and he let out a low breath.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He rubbed the silk over my skin, then draped it, skimming it over my arse and balls, back and forth, swishing, tickling, soft.

The sensation was exquisite and torturous, and I groaned.

“I was gonna try and take it slow,” he said, his voice thick. “But I want you too much. Need to fuck you hard and fast.”

The lube bottle lid popped and, a second later, cool liquid poured down my arse crack, his thumb smearing it, rough and probing.

“Need to put a load in you now,” he said, replacing his thumb with the blunt head of his cock.

God, yes. “Do it.”

But he didn’t ram into me, he pushed and teased, he tapped my hole, and he groaned as he pushed the tip in a little before pulling back.

I shot up onto my knees and growled at him. “Stop fucking teasing me and do it. I swear to fucking god, Marshall.”

He grinned at me, a sly feral look in his eyes as he gripped the back of my neck and pushed my head back down to the mattress. “Stay the fuck down,” he bit out. He let go of my neck and kept his palm pressed flat to my spine, pushed his cock against my hole, and drove into me.

I should have kept my mouth shut.

I’d forgotten how big he was, how much of him there was to take.

I tried to squirm away and he pushed me down harder. “You wanted it,” he grunted. “You fucking take it.”

I gasped back sharp breaths, trying to find that place in my mind. That place that found me peace.

Then he pulled me back. He was on his haunches, caging me in his arms so I was all but sitting on his cock. His chest pressed against my back, his ragged breath hot in my ear. “Relax, and breathe for me,” he murmured. “Just breathe. I know you can take it. You can take every inch of me. You’re a slut for my cock,” he whispered, kissing my neck. “You fucking love it.”

God, he knew what to say. He knew just how to say it to make me relax. To make me melt. With his strong arms around me, one hand holding my robe to my chest, the other hand around the base of my throat.

His cock buried inside me.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he said. Then he groaned out a frustrated sound, as if he was trying not to come already.

I let my head fall back and he began to raise his hips up, hitting deeper inside. His fingers started to bite into my skin, and he pressed his face into the silk on my back, kissing my spine. “Fuck yes,” he ground out. “Oh god.” Then his grip on me tightened, he pulled the robe down, scraped his teeth up to my shoulder blade, and nipped the skin.

I’d be riddled with hickeys and bite marks tomorrow.

I couldn’t wait.

Letting go of my throat, Marshall pressed his hand down my chest and stomach to my cock, and I let out a cry as soon as he wrapped his fingers around me.

I was overstimulated, every nerve on fire as he stroked my oversensitive shaft. He pistoned into me, slow and deep, as he held me in place, jerking me off in time with his thrusts.

I was unable to move, pinned and caged by his body, impaled and at the mercy of his hand. I wanted to fuck his fist, but he had full control.

I was in heaven.

“I’m gonna come inside you,” he bit out, panting. “Can’t hold it anymore.”

I groaned. “Give it to me,” I begged. “Please. Let me have it.”

He let out a roar and drove up into me, holding my hips and ramming his thick cock in as deep as he could go.

I felt every pulse, every shot, every jolt of his body.

It was surreal and divine. That he could own me like this. Make me his, to do with me as he pleased. He rocked me, moaning and gasping, his hands sliding the silk robe against my skin.

And when I thought he might be done, he drove us forward, my face in the mattress and his hand on my shoulder, my arse still impaled on his cock. He pinned me like that, still buried inside me.

He kept fucking rough, hard, without mercy.

Just how he knew I needed it. He took me to that place only he knew. Where pain and pleasure became one.

“Yeah, you love it,” he said as he slammed into me over and over. “Your arse full of my come, full of my cock, and it’s still not enough.”

I came with a cry, and he held me down harder, his hand, his hips, his cock.

My orgasm danced the line between pain and pleasure, intense and overwhelming. My whole body jerked under his hold, an orgasm so powerful I saw stars, and he kept fucking.

When my mind came back online, I couldn’t tell if he was coming again or if it was my body twitching so much. I was breathless and gasping, torn between needing him to stop and never letting him go.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, he collapsed on me, his weight heavy on my back, his breaths hot behind my ear. I was still racked with uncontrollable convulsions, and when he pulled out of me, it made it worse.

“Fuck,” I cried, my whole body recoiling, trembling. “The fuck did you do to me?”

He chuckled, kissing my shoulder. He pulled my robe down as best he could and nuzzled his nose into the back of my head until our bodies quietened. I was floating in that blissful place where nothing else mattered.

I was going to be sore tomorrow.

Hell, I was beginning to feel it now.

“I’m going to run you a bath,” Marshall murmured as he kissed the back of my head. “Then order us some dinner.”

“Mm.” I wasn’t capable of anything else.

He chuckled again and kissed behind my ear. “Stay right here.”

“Mm.”

I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted to.

He peeled himself off me, leaving a shock of cold air in his place. I tried to protest, but then he folded back the blankets to cover me. I hid my face to hide my smile.

I was so spent, so used and sore. I was also the happiest I could ever recall being.

I didn’t try and make sense of it. I didn’t try to pull it apart and examine the pieces. I didn’t want to inspect the glue that was currently holding me together.

I was too scared of what I’d find.

I knew it was only a temporary fix. It was only ever supposed to be a temporary fix. After all, there was no way Marshall would want to play this fucked-up game forever. No matter how much I wished he would.

I startled when something warm touched my face. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep . . .

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he whispered. He gently stroked my cheek again. “Your bath’s ready.”

“Mm-mm,” I mumbled. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to face reality. I didn’t want this floating feeling to end.

“I’ve ordered dinner. It should be here by the time you get out of the bath.” He slowly pulled the blankets off me and all but lifted me to my feet. The robe, now crinkled and warm, fell open.

Marshall groaned as he took my hand—he actually held my hand—and walked me to the main bathroom. He was dressed in his jeans and T-shirt, and I might have been disappointed if he didn’t look sexy as hell. Those jeans were made just for him, his thighs, his arse, and the delectable ever-present bulge at the front.

The bathroom was warm, the tub was two-thirds full, and the dancing plumes of steam like fingers inviting me in.

Marshall stood behind me, and without a word, he slid the robe off my shoulders, revealing each sliver of skin like a prize. He let it slide down my back, catching it before it fell to the floor, and he pressed his lips to a tender spot on my shoulder blade.

Where he’d bitten me.

“Does it hurt?” he murmured.

“In a good way,” I whispered. “It’s tender and soft, and it reminds me of where you’ve been.”

He put his forehead to my shoulder. “Valentine,” he whispered, then he drew his nose up to my nape and pressed a warm kiss to the back of my neck.

It was such an intimate thing to do. Such a personal, sweet thing to do. How he could be so rough when I needed it and then be so gentle when I needed . . .

And I’d never needed softness before.

Not before him.

I’d taken care of myself and got through just fine. I was resilient and self-sufficient. I’d anchored myself to withstand any storm.

Until him.

He took my hand and helped me step into the tub, and he kept hold of me until I lowered myself in and leaned against the back of the tub, my head on the headrest. The water was hot, maybe a little too hot, but it brought to the surface every ache, every twinge.

Even the scars no one could see felt raw and ragged. Exposed.

As if my anchor was losing purchase and I was being set adrift. It was frightening and overwhelming all at once.

He let go of my hand and I quickly grabbed his fingers, fighting the sudden urge to cry. I suddenly felt as if I was drowning and he was my only lifeline. “Stay.”

I hadn’t meant to say that. I had no idea what pulled those words from me, but I had to swallow down the lump in my throat. I closed my eyes as if that somehow helped to hide my tears.

Why the hell was I crying?

Jesus, help me, what had he done to me? Maybe he’d think it was the steam or sweat from the hot water . . .

He wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t blind.

Marshall pulled his hand free, and I thought for sure he was going to bail. Why was I so emotional tonight? Emotions weren’t something I struggled with. I normally just shoved them down until I couldn’t feel anything . . .

But he pulled his shirt over his head and whipped his jeans off, then decided to climb in behind me. “Holy shit,” he said, lowering himself down, his legs on either side of me. “Fuck, this is like lava. Why didn’t you say I made it too hot?”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed and he pulled me back against him, his arm around my chest, and he held me like that until I felt better. Until the muscle aches were gone and the ache in my chest had subsided too.

Until dinner arrived, when he had to go down to the lobby and get it. I got out and dried off, opting for long lounge pants and a long-sleeve shirt. Marshall came back wearing his jeans and T-shirt and no shoes.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked.

“No, my internal body temperature is now forty-three degrees thanks to that bath.”

He’d ordered pasta, which was absolutely divine, and as if he knew it was exactly what I needed. A hot bath, a belly full of carbs, and sleep.

I didn’t even object when he pulled me to the couch and had me all wrapped up with my head on his chest. He chose some stupid show on TV, and I didn’t even mind, because the circles he drew on my back and his fingers in my hair—his warmth, his strength—was sublime.

It was intimate and sweet and like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

Gentle physical touch without any prelude to sex.

Huh. Weird.

But oh, so nice.

I felt safe and cherished. I knew there was no emotional connection on his behalf, and I told my heart not to get too excited.

Just enjoy it for what it is. Enjoy this moment while it lasts.

I wanted to stay awake and enjoy it for as long as I could, but my eyes kept betraying me. And I knew that meant he’d be leaving. I didn’t know why that hurt so much. I didn’t want to be alone.

God, emotions were fucking terrible.

“I’m so tired,” I mumbled. “Can’t keep my eyes open.”

And as he knew exactly what I needed even if I didn’t know it myself, he grabbed Enzo and flicked the lights off. “Then let’s go to bed.”

I stared at him. “What . . . what do you think you’re doing?”

His gaze met mine in the half-lit room. “I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

My heart almost stopped before it kicked into high gear, and my nose burned and my eyes watered.

Christ. Why was I such a mess tonight?

“I was talking about Enzo,” I managed to say. We both knew I wasn’t talking about Enzo.

He put his arm around my shoulder and led me to my room. “He’s coming to bed with us.”

“I don’t allow him on my bed.”

“But I do.” He gave Enzo a big smooch, then gently put him on the bed. “And I’m staying tonight, so it’s a package deal.”

But Enzo jumped right off the bed. Marshall deflated and I smiled.

When we climbed under the covers, Marshall quickly pulled me into his arms. He wrapped me up tight, my head on his shoulder, his leg over my thigh. I’d never been an affectionate person, never been one to cuddle.

But oh boy, this was nice.

“I can’t believe Enzo let me down,” he mumbled. “We had a deal. He spent every night on my bed with me, on my head, basically, purring his little motor out. And now I’m not good enough.”

“I told you he was a traitor.”

“I’m not buying him any more chicken nuggets.”

I laughed. “Good.”

Then there was a muted thud on the side of the bed and gentle cat pawsteps up to Marshall. “Yes,” he said. “I knew you liked me, my little guy. I didn’t mean it about the nuggets. Of course I’ll get you some.”

Christ.

Enzo started to purr as he made himself comfortable, and I was too tired, and too happy, to care.

Marshall tightened his arm around me and kissed the side of my head. I was warm and protected in his arms; no monsters would find me in my dreams tonight.

I smiled into the dark, wishing I knew what this was or why I wanted this to be real and not just some stupid agreement. Why I wanted it to be like this every night, and why the Marshall in my mind didn’t glower at me anymore. He didn’t shoot lasers at me with loathing and contempt.

Instead, he smiled.

Why didn’t that bother me? Why did it make me happy?

Why did he make me happy?

Stop overthinking, Valentine. Enjoy whatever the hell this is while it lasts.

“What was that?” Marshall asked, half asleep.

It took a second for me to catch up. “What?”

“You mumbled something.” He gave me a squeeze and snuggled in closer, his arms and hands holding me tight. “’S okay. I gotchu.”

And it was that—that, right there—that scared the shit out of me. Because he did have me. He had me in ways I wasn’t prepared for.

I was so good at pretending I didn’t feel anything. All my life, I’d put a lid on my emotions and locked it tight. But this felt too big to contain, too big to ignore.

And maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want to ignore it anymore.