Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(76)

“Fuck, I have no idea what you’re about to do, but I hope you keep in mind that I just made you come on my tongue.”

“Oh, trust me,” I say and move my body down his, my lips pressing soft kisses over his rippled abs and prominent V, and I don’t stop until I grip his arousal in my hand and my mouth hovers around the tip. “I remember. Hell, I’m already getting wet again just thinking about it.”

“I knew you’d be wild.” His cock jerks in my hand in response. “I fucking knew it.”

“You like wild, Andrew?” I ask, and he groans.

“I like you.”

His words spur a shiver up my spine, and I wrap my lips around the tip of his sheathed cock and suck on him for a good thirty seconds before I pull away.

“You still like me, Andrew?”

“Fucking hell, Birdie, you’re my favorite now.”

I grin at that and proceed to lick my tongue along the length of him.

Goddamn, playing with a naked Andrew just might be the most fun I’ve ever had.

I take my teasing time, alternating licking and sucking until his cock turns rigid and the muscles of his abdomen tighten.

And then, I climb back up his body, kneel above his hips, take his arousal in my hand, and push him inside me in one swift, deep, delicious movement until his cock is pressed to the hilt.

Andrew opens his eyes, and the heat and desire and passion I find within their gray-blue depths is enough to make me moan.

I move up and down his length, selfishly taking my own pleasure, and he watches with rapt attention. His tongue sneaks out to lick his lips as his gaze moves between my eyes and my mouth and my bare breasts and the spot where we’re so intimately connected.

“This might be the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life,” he says through a panting breath. “But, fuck, I want to touch you, Birdie.”

I reach down and grip his hands in mine and lift them until his palms are pressed against my breasts. “So, touch me.”

I don’t have to tell him twice.

He does more than just touch me. He takes complete control, wrapping his arms around my waist and flipping us over so I’m on my back and he’s hovering over my body, his cock still pressed deep inside me.

His lips caressing my ear, he whispers, “I’m not going to stop fucking you until I feel that perfect pussy of yours come hard around my cock.”

I moan, and he thrusts in and out of me in steady, deep movements until my thighs begin to shake and my fingers claw at the skin of his back and my lips and tongue steal erratic, desperate kisses from his mouth.

And let me tell you, he keeps his word.

I come hard. From my head all the way to the tips of my toes, my climax consumes my entire body. And it doesn’t take long before Andrew follows, finishing himself inside me through deep, sexy, raspy groans.

Holy bad decisions.

I just had sex with the one man I wasn’t supposed to have sex with.

Yeah, and you’d be lying if you tried to act like you regretted even a single second of it.





Andrew



If God is an artist, then this woman is his masterpiece.

Birdie is still asleep beside me, her naked form peeking out from beneath the sheets.

The clock has barely struck five in the morning, and the sun is still resting well below the horizon. We need to be back on set by seven, and I should probably make my way down to the hotel gym, fit in a quick workout, and then head back to my room for a shower, but I’m enjoying this view far too much.

I gaze upon her naked form, taking in every inch of visible skin that’s resting above the sheets. One long leg, the curve of her hip, her slender arm, and her breasts that rise and fall with each soft, steady breath. My eyes are drawn to the golden river that gently caresses its way down her back and fans out across her pillow.

The first moment I met Birdie, she outright loathed me. My normally charming ways nothing more than a deterrent for her. Which only made me want to step up to the challenge that was her.

And I’ve spent the past several weeks savoring the thrill of the chase. But that chase has moved in mysterious ways, ways I couldn’t have ever predicted.

Last night, all my Birdie Harris fantasies came to fruition, and truthfully, I’m almost disappointed how lackluster they were compared to the real thing.

This woman is a goddess.

A playful mix of teasing and seductive. Once she lets go, once she’s in the moment and chasing her pleasure, she is a force to be reckoned with.

I smirk to myself. Yeah, I knew she’d be wild.

You can’t have that much attitude and sass stuffed into a pint-sized frame and not be capable of hot, addictive, wild sex.

And truth be told, I’m not even close to being finished with her yet.

When she begins to stir in her sleep and her eyes blink open, I brace myself for the unknown.

Is she going to freak out?

Is she going to be pissed?

Will Birdie turn angry over the fact that we engaged in some of the hottest sex I’ve ever experienced in my life?

For the briefest of seconds, I hold my breath, silently hoping she’ll simply wake up reenergized and ready to sneak in another quick round of delicious sex before we have to leave for set.

When sleepy brown eyes find their way to mine, a soft groan slips from her lungs.

“What time is it?”