EWB (Enemies With Benefits)

There was no way I was missing the stupid Monday morning meeting at head office, for no other reason than to see Valentine’s face. I wanted to smile at him the entire time, only the two of us knowing what I’d done to him, how I’d left him on Saturday night.

It’d been the hottest sex of my life.

I hadn’t come twice that close together since I was seventeen.

But holy hell, he did something to me.

Maybe he was onto something; maybe hate-fucking was my kink. He’d certainly known how good it could be and I had to admit, I agreed with him.

I’d also never had unprotected sex before, so that was new too. And so unbelievably good.

I’d never experienced anything like what I did with him.

Walking out of his apartment, knowing he was a quivering mess on the couch with two of my loads in him, like I owned him . . . Jesus Christ. That was the hottest thing ever.

And the way he’d smiled when I said he could expect the same on Wednesday night . . .

So yeah, excuse me for being a tad smug. But I was going to sit in on this waste-of-time meeting just so Valentine fucking Tye would be reminded of who owned his arse.

So he’d know I owned him.

He was a few minutes late to the meeting, but he rushed in, apologising and taking his spot at the head of the room. “Thank you for waiting,” he said, putting his iPad on the table. He looked around the room, his gaze falling to me for a beat too long, then on to the next person.

Yeah. He knew who owned him.

And damn if my dick didn’t want another go at him.

Christ. Think of something else. Do not get a hard-on here.

Because then who owned whom?

Goddammit.

“It was suggested to me last week that perhaps a breakfast meeting would be more appropriate,” Valentine began. “So I’ve arranged for fresh coffee and bacon and egg rolls, that kind of thing, to be served in the breakroom when we’re done.”

Everyone perked up immediately, moods lifted all around, and Valentine smiled. He didn’t look at me directly, and it was probably just as well. I’d have hated for him to see the shock on my face.

Because I’ll be damned. He actually did what I’d suggested.

“I’m open to any other ideas,” he added. “On efficiency and how we might better spend our time. Please feel free to see me after we’re done.” He clapped his hands and gestured to the smart board. “Okay, I know you’re all busy, so let’s get started . . .”

That meeting was done and dusted in twenty minutes.

Man, I hated that he actually listened to me. I hated that he implemented something so easily just because I’d told him he needed to do better. I hated that he could streamline a meeting so it didn’t actually suck.

What I hated most of all was that I hated him a little less.

What I didn’t hate was how he filled out those suit pants and how that white button-down shirt was tailored like a freaking piece of art. I hated his perfect hair, and I hated his pretty face.

But damn, I loved knowing how his cheeks flushed during sex, how he groaned and whined, and that I could make him come with just my dick in his arse and a hard tweak of his nipple.

“Great, so if no one has anything to add, please enjoy your refreshments in the breakroom.”

Okay, so I’d missed the last few minutes of the meeting. My mind had definitely gone down a very pleasant path instead of paying attention.

Damn.

I picked up my unopened notebook and pen and followed the others out. I caught up with Carl and Jaman while we ate our breakfast rolls and croissants, and I deliberately kept my back to Valentine.

I could feel him in the room though.

Like my Spidey-senses knew he was close. That little know-where-your-enemies-are radar in my head was pinging.

“So, who d’ya reckon told Tye to feed us?” Jaman asked quietly.

“Uh, it mighta been me,” I admitted, sipping my coffee. “I told him last week these things were a waste of time.”

Carl almost snorted his coffee. “You what?”

I shrugged. “It’s true. And I told him to feed us. Christ. If he wants builders to talk about shit, there’s gotta be food.”

Jaman knocked his coffee to mine. “Cheers to that.” He shoved the rest of his bacon and egg roll into his mouth and spoke around it. “It’s good too.”

The coffee was the expensive stuff.

I hated that he did this right.

But we talked about Carl’s work—there’d been nightmare soil-engineering issues in the beginning—and then Jaman told us of a funny story with the council inspector who’d been a total dick but then got bogged when he’d tried to leave.

I also heard Harris and Andrews discussing shipment issues and workarounds with Valentine.

Not that I was listening. Not that I cared.

But he wanted his people to talk to him, to open up about job-site issues and to have think-tank discussions, and he was getting that now.

He might know corporate bullshit, but I knew builders. I’d worked with these other site managers for years. Hell, old Robbie Harris had been my boss when I was an apprentice outta high school.

And I’m not gonna lie. Watching him laugh with Valentine kinda irked me.

I don’t know why, which pissed me off more. That Harris liked Valentine, or that Valentine was smiling for him.

Christ.

I downed the rest of my coffee. “Okay guys, I gotta go. Have a good week,” I said, clapping big Jaman on the arm as I left.

I didn’t turn around to see if Valentine was watching me leave. While I’d have liked to see him notice, I really didn’t want to see him not notice.

God, I hated him.

Getting to work and making myself busy was a great idea, and I trusted my team to get shit done when I wasn’t there. I could also trust that they’d rib me for bailing early on Saturday night.

“Oh, here’s the piker himself,” Taka said as I walked in.

“Yeah, the only time he ever bails on us after a game is when he gets a better offer,” Millsy added.

Taka grinned. “Must have been a real good offer, my friend.”

It didn’t take much for my mind to replay vivid scenes from Saturday night. “It was.” I held up two fingers. “Two offers, actually.”

Okay, so it wasn’t technically two offers, but I took him twice. It was kinda the same thing.

Millsy gave me a shove with a laugh. “Christ. I’d have bailed on us too.”

I snorted. “Okay, what are we up to with the specs?”

And just like that, I didn’t give Valentine Tye one more thought.

Well, until I was in the shower after work . . . and again when I was alone in bed.

Was I really gonna fuck him again on Wednesday like I’d said I would? Even though he’d said before he’d prefer anal sex to only happen on Saturdays? But then the way he’d smiled when I’d told him to expect it on Wednesday . . .

With his flushed cheeks and messed up hair, and that glazed-over look in his eyes.

I really hated that he was so fucking hot.

I hated that he was taking up so much room in my head.

And again all day at work on Tuesday. I wanted him to show up at my worksite. He didn’t, and I hated him for that. I wanted him to text me, and he didn’t.

I hated him for that too.

By the time Wednesday finally rolled around, my dick just wouldn’t quit. It knew it was having another taste of Valentine and, so help me god, I hated him for that as well.

Having a permanent semi was something I couldn’t easily hide in my work pants. They were long navy-blue cargos, kinda snug too, and wearing a tool belt only seemed to make the bulge more noticeable.

I considered taking care of it on my lunch break but, damn, I wanted to save it.

Maybe I could do him twice again tonight.

I had to wonder if he was suffering as much as me. I mean, his arse would be sore for a day or two, and that was suffering enough. But did he think of me as often as I thought of him?

And that’s when it occurred to me . . . was he doing this to fuck with my head?

Was this mind game his way of torturing me? Did he hate me that much that he’d do this just to mess with me?

I wouldn’t put it past him.

Because at the end of the day, Valentine Tye never did anything that wasn’t self-serving.

So, if he wanted to play mind games . . .

I took a photo of the bulge in my pants. It was very obvious what it was, but it was just a crotch-shot. No boots, no background. And I very carefully made sure it was in his messages.

I typed out a message.

You better be ready for this

And I hit Send.

It gave me a thrill, a buzz. This game of cat and mouse, tit for tat. I waited for a reply . . .

And waited.

By three o’clock, I could see he hadn’t opened it yet, and it stupidly bothered me that he was winning the mind game, and he wasn’t even playing.

God, I hated him.

I hated that I was letting him get to me.

But then at ten to five, when I was pissed off and packing up—and even when I knew my work team was avoiding me because of my mood—my phone beeped.

Seven o’clock

I grinned. He didn’t want to wait either.

“Oh, someone finally replied, huh?” Taka asked as he threw his toolbox into his ute. “You’ve been checking your phone all afternoon.”

I pocketed my phone. “Shut the fuck up.”

He laughed. “See ya tomorrow.”

Smiling, I gave him a nod.

I shouldn’t be this happy. I shouldn’t let Valentine fucking Tye consume me so much.

I shouldn’t have even agreed to this fucked-up arrangement. I shouldn’t actually like fucking him hard and telling him what a piece of shit he is.

I shouldn’t like that he craves it as much as I crave giving it to him.

I shouldn’t like knowing I’d be leaving him tonight with an arse full of my come.

But damn . . .

That’s what I liked the most.

I pressed his intercom at five to seven. Did I hate myself for being early?

Yes.

But I hated him more. For making me desperate. For making me so on edge, my balls were so full and my cock was so hard it was almost painful.

I’d never wanted sex so badly. Never like this.

It was his fault, and I hated him for it.

And I fully intended to make him pay.

He opened his door and turned around, walking over to his dining table. He still wore his work clothes: suit pants, fitted button-down shirt, and his tie was pulled loose at his open collar.

He looked like he’d had a rough day. A bad day, even.

And I might have asked him if he was okay, if he was up for tonight.

But that’s not what this arrangement was.

And I didn’t care about Valentine fucking Tye. I didn’t care if he’d had a shitty day.

With his back to me, he poured himself a scotch. “Want one?”

I closed the door behind me. “No.”

He downed a shot and poured himself another. “Thank you for coming earlier tonight.”

His voice was flat, detached. He really hadn’t had a good day.

“If you’re not up for tonight—”

He shot me a glare over his shoulder. Ice cold and lethal. “I need it tonight more than ever.” He downed his drink. “And from the photo you sent me today, I’d say you do too.”

I walked slowly to him, saw the cat was having his dinner on the floor in the kitchen, so I was fairly sure Valentine had been home for all of five minutes. He knew he’d be getting home just before seven, and he wanted me here at the same time. So yeah, he must have had a real bad day.

I took the glass out of his hand. I put it on the table and ran my hand up his back. “My cock’s been hard since I walked out of here on Saturday,” I murmured. He leaned into my touch, and I gave his shoulder a squeeze.

He was so tense, so stressed. He tried to roll his shoulders, tried to let go of the tension, but in the end, he growled and turned to face me. “Whatever you intend to do to me, make it good.”

Jesus.

“I think you should get on your knees and stop talking.”

His eyes flashed with black steel; his nostrils flared. “No. I don’t want to suck your dick. I want you to fuck me.”

Oh, I see how it’s gonna go . . .

I smiled at him and gently loosened his tie a bit more, and when I went to pull it over his head, I got to his mouth and slowly cinched the tie so tight, it gagged him.

“I said stop talking,” I murmured.

His nostrils flared again, but this time his eyes flashed with desire.

Then I pulled him by his tie and led him to his bedroom. His room was dark grey, his bed covers varying shades of charcoal, and a slab of dark grey granite covered the wall behind his bed. No two ways about it, he had expensive style.

I left him standing there while I took the lube from his bedside table and threw it on the bed. He made no attempt to move or to remove his tie from his mouth.

So I took my time unbuttoning his shirt. I left it open, running my palm up his ribs and squeezing his pec. His nipple hardened at my touch.

Christ, he was so responsive.

Then, holding his gaze, I unbuttoned his suit pants, and he moaned around the tie that gagged him.

“You’re such a whore,” I whispered.

His eyes closed and he breathed in deep, the set of his shoulders relaxing already.

God, he wanted this so bad.

Needed it.

I turned him to face the bed and, pushing him to bend over the edge of the mattress, I spread his legs with my foot.

He grunted and lifted his arse. Christ, he was desperate.

“You need it so bad, huh?” I asked. “You want me to prep you at all or just force my way in?”

He answered by fisting his bed covers and whining. His shirt rode up, exposing the small of his back, the pale skin, and the hint of his briefs.

God, he was teasing me. Like he knew every box to tick, every one of my kinks, my fantasies. I leaned against his arse, pressing my hard-on against his crack, and I took both his wrists, stretching his arms up above his head. “Keep them there.”

He fisted the bed covers right where I’d put his hands. “Good whore,” I murmured and kissed the back of his neck, biting down on his shoulder.

He arched his back at the sting of it and, of course, rocked against my cock.

I leaned back and pulled his pants and briefs down, exposing his perfect arse, and as much as I wanted to ram into him, I couldn’t do it. I’d literally tear him apart.

So I poured some lube down his crack and gave him a rough finger. He lifted his head, complaining around the tie in his mouth, so with my free hand, I shoved his head back down and continued to finger him. “Stay down,” I barked. “You’ll get my cock soon enough. You that fucking desperate for it?” I added a second finger, rough and without warning, just how he liked it, but it was still better than no prep at all.

He lifted his arse and moaned, clearly eager for more.

I hated that I was going to give him what he needed. I hated that I needed it too.

I pulled my hand free and undid my jeans and took out my aching erection. I smeared lube over it, slicking myself up real good, then adding more to his arse before smearing it over his hole with my cockhead.

“You want it this bad?” I bit out. “You want this as bad as I do?”

He lifted his head to mumble something around the tie still gagging him, and I pushed into him.

All the way in.

He screamed around the gag, white-knuckled fists in the bedcovers.

But my god, he took all of me.

So hot, and so fucking tight.

I was never going to last. I wanted it to last all night, I wanted this pleasure to never end, but he felt far too good.

“Fuck yes. That’s what you wanted,” I said with a strained groan. With my hands on his shoulder blades, I pushed him down and slammed into him a few times. “Take it like the piece of shit you are. You think you can make me think of nothing else every minute of every fucking day. How much I want to sink my cock into you, up to my balls like I am right now.”

I rolled my hips a few times to prove my point and slammed into him again. “All I think about is this,” I ground out. “So you’ll fucking take it like the whore you are.”

And he did. He took it all. Moaning and whining, holding onto the bedding while I fucked him hard, lifting his arse for more. He kept his head to the side, gag still in his mouth, while I pinned his shoulders down and gave it to him even harder.

And when he got that glazed-over look in his eyes, that serene look of when pain becomes pleasure, I put my hand on his head and held him down as I came inside him.

Fuuuuuuuck, he felt so good.

I wasn’t ready for this to be over.

Not even close.

I stayed inside him and pulled the tie off. He licked his lips, the corner of his mouth red.

I didn’t want to pull out. I wanted to stay right where I was until I was ready for another round. But I needed to think of him.

I pulled back, such an exquisite slide, and watched as his body released me. His beautiful arse, his pale white body, lean and strong, yet pliable. So very seductive.

Yeah, I was nowhere done yet.

“Stay right where you are,” I ordered. “Don’t move.”

I walked out to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He seemed the type to have bottled water on hand, and he was. I took a bottle, cracked the lid, and went back to his bedroom.

He hadn’t moved.

I knelt on the bed beside him and put the bottle to his lips. It was awkward and he spilled some, but he drank it, licking his lips again. “You can leave it on the bedside,” he said, his voice hoarse.

I put the bottle where he’d said, but I chuckled as I ran my hand up his back. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet,” I said, massaging his back, his shoulders.

It didn’t hurt that my dick was back between his arse cheeks as I leaned over him, kneading his tired muscles in my hands.

“And you didn’t come,” I whispered into his spine. Then I scraped my teeth along his shoulder blade and bit him again. Not enough to draw blood but enough to make him groan.

I massaged down his back to his arse, spreading his cheeks and, sure enough, he was beginning to leak my come.

It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

But I wanted to do things differently this time. So I pulled his suit pants and briefs all the way off, and I flipped him over. His shirt was open. He was almost naked before me, so fucking beautiful, but he immediately drew his arms in. A defensive move: he was vulnerable like this, facing me, exposed, and I could see every flicker of fear and panic in his eyes. But there was something else there too. Pleading, imploring, and honesty.

Even though my jeans were still on, I pulled off my sweater and shirt so I was as exposed as him.

I took his dick in my hand and began to stroke him. I ran my other hand up to his chest, rubbing over his nipple and pinching the nub hard enough to make him hiss.

“Is that the best you can do?” he bit out through his clenched teeth.

Was he trying to regain some control? Was he trying to goad me?

“I thought you’d be a better fuck than this,” he added, and he tried to push me with his knees.

Yeah. He wanted to push me, all right. Right over the fucking edge.

I gripped his thighs, holding him tight enough to leave bruises, and lifted them up towards his chest, and then I pushed my cock against his wet hole and drove all the way back in. “A better fuck than this?” I rasped.

His breath caught, his eyes rolled back, his neck corded as he groaned.

I rammed into him again and again. “You should be careful what you wish for. Think you can handle this? You think you’re so good?” I squeezed his nipple, and he cried out. “You’re good for nothing.”

I gripped his throat then, squeezing hard enough to make him gasp. His eyes widened and rolled back, a wicked smile on his lips. Still with my hand around his throat, I pulled his head forward, and crushed my lips to his, sinking my tongue into his mouth.

Then his body went rigid and he came, spilling come over his stomach and chest. His body milking mine, his pulse throbbing under my hand against his throat, his low groan vibrating under my touch.

Like his orgasm beckoned mine, like it sang for me, I came inside him again.

My forehead to his, my mouth against his. Our breaths hot and heavy, and when the room stopped spinning, when I remembered where I was, I opened my eyes and he was staring at me.

I pushed myself up and off him, slipping out of his body, and I stood there, panting, still dazed.

That orgasm had rocked me.

Valentine rolled over and slowly got to his feet, as if he had to reassemble himself. He walked to his ensuite with a slight limp and I was about to ask him if he was okay . . .

“Lock the front door on your way out,” he said, and the door closed behind him.

Right, then.

Mr Cold and Calculating was back.

I redressed, took another bottle of water from his fridge because he wouldn’t fucking miss it, stopped to give Enzo the cat a scratch—he was perched on the arm of the sofa watching me, so it’d have been rude not to say hello—and then I locked the front door behind me when I left.

I tried really hard not to think about what I’d done.

Not the rough, hard fuck, not the throat grabbing, not the two best orgasms of my life . . .

I’d kissed him.

I’d kissed Valentine Fucking Tye. Not that he’d specified kissing was not allowed, but I’d assumed it wasn’t something we’d be doing. Like crossing some forbidden line, because our agreement certainly wasn’t about intimacy.

And kissing was intimate, right?

And I tried really hard not to think about how he’d tasted of expensive scotch with hints of honey and malt. And I tried to forget how he’d kissed me back and how he’d come when I’d sucked on his tongue.

I shouldn’t have fucked him on his back. I should have just kept him face down, arse up, and shoved his face into the mattress in that fucked-up way he liked.

Christ, Marshall.

Stop overthinking it. Stop thinking about him at all.

Yeah right, like that’s gonna happen.

I showered when I got home and fell into bed with a very happy dick and a confused, heavy heart.

What have I done?