Still Not Into You: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  He’s a monolith in human form. Without his clothing he’s a titan, all chiseled muscle with no give, a giant who makes me feel at once overwhelmed and completely safe and so very, very hot.

  I need you. Every part of my brain screams the same three words at once.

  How could this ever be wrong?

  The way he feels against me is so, so right.

  My body molds to his, my legs wrapping around his waist until my thighs strain and burn with the effort to span him. I’m open for him, demanding, twisting and writhing against him, finding that needy spot that fits just right and the full length of his cock lays against my folds, sliding slickly between that empty throb inside.

  Intensifying this animal need.

  “Fuck, Sky,” he growls, two harsh words that make me shudder.

  He groans, hands scouring my ass, digging in, pulling and spreading me open more as he pulls me into him, rocking into me. There's a desperate rhythm that makes us slide together again and again until I’m screaming inside at the mimicry of what I need, pushing me further and further and just short of fulfillment.

  “Gabe,” I gasp, snaring my fingers in his hair and pulling. I don’t need foreplay. I don’t need teasing. I just need him.

  He slows, that bestial shudder rolling through him again; I can feel his need pulsing in his cock, this violent throbbing heartbeat pressed against me.

  He ghosts his mouth over mine, lips trembling, breaths storming. “You sure, darlin’?” he breathes hoarse and ragged, husky and scorched.

  Everything masculine and irresistible.

  I could kill him, I want it so bad. I tighten my grip on his hair and roll my hips, teasing against him wetly, torturing us both.

  Biting his lower lip, I hiss, “Do I feel like I’m having second thoughts?”

  His eyes nearly roll back in his head, before he closes them, clutching harder at me, until I feel bruises forming in delicious burning points. He buries his face against my throat, shoulders heaving.

  “Fuck, Sky.”

  Then he hefts me up sharply with that easy strength that makes me feel light as a doll.

  Suddenly he’s not sliding against me, now his cock head is pushing against me, spreading my folds, nudging just on the verge of sensitive, trembling flesh that draws up tight in anticipation.

  “Gabe...please.”

  I brace myself, holding tight to him, trying not to beg even more when I want it so bad I feel hollow inside. But nothing – and I mean nothing – can brace me for the feeling as he begins to push slowly in.

  I’ve never been aware of how small I am before, but Gabe is every inch a behemoth in every aspect of his body. I can tell he’s trying to be gentle, but that doesn’t change the feeling of his cock head splitting me open, surging into me in one slow invading inch at a time, nearly breaking me in half.

  He's huge. Vast. Everywhere.

  My pussy bites down on his length and struggles to draw him in.

  I love it.

  It hurts, and the pleasure-pain is fucking glorious. This stretching, wonderful burn that rips into me one slow moment at a time, taking my mind off everything, taking me somewhere else.

  There, in his arms, I can’t do anything but feel and the deeper he slides, the more that pain turns into pleasure when he’s filling me just the way I need, scorching me raw inside with the sensation of hot, hard flesh sliding against my inner walls and reshaping me to fit him.

  I can’t breathe. I arch against the door, thighs clenching hard against his hips, nails clawing at his back; my vision goes nearly black as he lets out a deep, growling groan.

  Then he jerks forward, surging against me in a sudden last hard push, bringing our hips crashing together, locking. His cock ruts deep inside me.

  My blood whips wild and my body hurts and I’m seeing freaking stars, and this is everything I need to feel human again.

  To feel whole.

  He stops, shaking, only the door holding us both up as we cling to each other. I drag him up and kiss him, quick and feverish, and whisper against his mouth.

  “Don't do it.” It’s the only thing I can remember how to say when my senses are scattered to the four corners of the earth. “Don’t be gentle.”

  It’s like those words let a wild animal off its leash.

  He lets out another wordless groan, his body going tense under my fingers. He kisses me one more time.

  Deeply, slowly, deliriously. And when his tongue plunges into my mouth, it makes my entire body go tight, a hiss escaping as I clench around his cock.

  A second later, I feel the biting tension of muscle under my palms, the tension, the straining, the only warning I get before he shatters me apart.

  It’s raw. Primal. Hungry.

  Slow, anything but gentle.

  He tortures me with brutal force, with all the power caged in that gorgeously thick, muscular body, giving me all his strength with every thrust. Filling me again and again and – oh, yes – again.

  Goliath doesn’t treat me like I’m small or delicate, doesn’t hold back. This man who moves like mountains fucks so hard he nearly punishes me with the roughness of every shuddering, sharp, engulfing thrust that slams me up against the door in rhythm.

  It’s so damn good, I feel like he’s breaking me inside.

  Every time his body crushes to mine, I arch to meet him, angling my hips to take him deeper and deeper until he hits the spot that turns the world to fireworks and makes every hair on my body stand on end.

  Wildness surges through me, and I squirm and twist in his grip, almost fighting him to take it deeper, fuck me harder, until he moves with a madness and desperation that matches the frantic, searching need inside me.

  It’s all fire and friction, this heat that not even my slick and pouring wetness can extinguish, and I don’t even realize his name is on my tongue until I hear my own voice rising to the rafters.

  I feel dirty and sweet all at once, as he loses control and ruts into me like a wild animal, tearing us both to pieces. I can’t even remember if he put a condom on, and I don’t care.

  I want that feeling of raw, wonderful heat inside me.

  Want the fire and pleasure and the deep, deep shock that goes through me like a current every time he slams himself home. Every time he makes my body explode with sensations I never knew existed.

  I’m losing it, falling apart, swamped in pleasure. It’s like he’s owning every space in my body, filling me until there's nothing left to conquer.

  And then I light up, clenching tight, teeth rattling against my jaw. The whirlwind called Gabe freaking Barin takes me in full.

  It’s him I’m screaming for as every muscle in my body contracts, locks, and bursts apart in crashes and jitters of sheer, raw heat. My body goes slick with it and my heart pounds an aching strangeness.

  Pleasure’s never felt like this. Release has never felt so sublime. Nothing’s ever felt like this.

  Nothing’s ever felt like Gabe.

  Nothing can ever feel as wonderful again.

  12

  Don't Say Never (Gabe)

  Lord Almighty, I think I might need a stretcher. Plus a medic.

  I’m not quite sure how I’m waking up with my back on fire, when at first all I’m aware of is that I’m naked and there are multiple parallel lines of burning raked from my shoulder blades all the way down to my ass.

  Then I remember me and Skylar up against the door. Then on the floor. Then a twenty-minute break to catch our breath before we finally had a wheezing, hoarse conversation about the fact that she’s on the pill.

  Then how my dick came to instant attention again, knowing I could fuck her raw.

  Then somehow rolling into bed with her legs still wrapped around me and my cock still pounding inside her and our bodies clinging together with sweat while I moved over her again and again, fucking her like a beast in a rut I just can’t resist.

  Holy goddamn.

  She’s out cold, too – exhausted – and of course
she’s predictably gorgeous.

  I push myself up on one elbow and let myself get a good, long look at the body I’ve learned by touch over and over again for the past few hours.

  Sky’s taut and compact, well-honed sinew hidden under delicacy and grace, with slim, girlish thighs and a shy little gap between them that drives me crazy. Plus there's those small, high, but still so full tits that felt so firm, yet so yielding and perfect when I gently bit into them just to have their texture, their taste.

  They’d made me fucking crazy in her soft, lacy underthings, swelling up out of the taunting cups of her bra and peeking past the scalloped edges until I practically ripped the thing off with my teeth. Too damn eager to taste the luscious pink texture of her nipples.

  Except for those soft pink buds and the richer pink of the sweet pussy between her thighs, she’s all shades of earth, from that dark brown hair to the soft sienna California tan of her skin. She's a treasure I want like mad to keep since the second I laid eyes on her full, bare glory. I just want to take root in her and grow deeper and deeper.

  I want to fucking own her. Again and again and again.

  I want forever.

  Fuck me guilty, I’m a sentimental bastard.

  A sound from the living room catches my attention, and I realize that’s what’s woken me up. My phone ringing in the jeans I left scattered on the living room floor.

  I let it ring a while longer, lingering on Skylar and the peaceful, calm expression on her sleeping face. Don’t know how we ended up like this, how one question about where we stand landed us naked and wild and spent, but I’m not complaining.

  I lean down, kiss her shoulder, and taste the salt of sweat on her skin.

  Then I make myself let her go and roll carefully out of bed to pad naked into the living room and find my phone.

  I’ve got over two dozen missed calls. That’d be alarming as fuck if they weren’t mostly from different numbers – except the half dozen from Landon.

  “Shit,” I mutter, settling on the couch to listen to my voicemails.

  They're all about Harmon, all of them dead ends, no info, no smoking guns. Everything checks out, and it pisses me off.

  Sighing, I tap Landon’s number next, then wait for him to pick up.

  “Yo,” he answers gruffly, sounding a little out of breath.

  “Hey,” I say. “This a bad time? You don’t sound too good.”

  “I’m fine.” That’s when I catch a plaintive mewl on the other side of the line, and my heart melts. I know that sound. “Kenna just dropped a spoiled rotten cat on my stomach, and this little furball’s too big to be used as a cannonball.”

  Kenna’s voice drifts over the line. “You love it. Admit it.”

  “I’d love it more if you hadn’t dropped him on my bladder,” Landon retorts with a snorting laugh. “Only thing worse is when you do it. You’ve got elbows like knives, woman.” Then he directs his attention back to me. “What can I do for you, Gabe?”

  I hesitate. Listening in on his happy life feels awkward.

  Hell, even talking to him feels awkward right now, when I’m still stinging over the accusations he made and the strain in our friendship. Accusations that incredibly just became true, dammit.

  But we are still friends. He’s doing everything he can to help Sky – and to help me help her.

  I find my voice and say, “I got your messages. Just wanted to see if there was anything new since then.”

  He sighs. “Not a damn thing.” Then he breaks off with a hiss. “Ow! Mews, claws! What have I told you about them, you sneaky little –”

  “Nice try. You don’t mean it,” Kenna says close by, cutting him off. “You treat those cats like they’re your kids, claws and all.”

  “Do not,” Landon mumbles sullenly, but there’s a warmth and affection in his voice that tells me it’s a lie, and after a moment, I hear a gentle, loud purr over the line. Landon’s as good to those cats as anyone would be to their kids.

  Don't know why but it makes me think of the missing kid.

  Fuck, little Joannie deserves a father like that, wherever she is. Not the human scum, Harmon, whose only contributions to her life were a quick spurt and a sneer.

  “Anyway, where were we?” Landon asks.

  I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Can't rightly say. I don't know, boss. I just don’t want to accept that...fuck, it’s really this hopeless, isn’t it? No leads. And our best suspect ain't the asshole who did it.”

  “I wouldn’t say hopeless, but...it’s tough. I’ll keep an ear out, Gabe. But right now, I got nothing. All Ketchum's job contacts check out. His alibis are solid, as incredible as it seems. Police checked the property and found drugs and money, but no sign of the girl.”

  “Fuck,” I exhale wearily, running a frustrated palm over my face. “Guess I’ll let you get back to things, then. Call me if you hear anything new?”

  “First thing,” he says. “Later, man.”

  “Later.”

  I hang up the phone and just sit there for a while, thinking, before I get up and put my clothes back on almost as an afterthought. This time, when I sit down to scribble in my book, it’s as much to organize my thoughts as to mark down a memory. I just need to lay everything out clearly. Maybe then I’ll see the clue I missed somewhere.

  Maybe.

  I go at it hard. No flowery languages or shit I want to burn into my brain.

  Just the cold, hard truth about the last time with Harmon. Every word that bastard said. Every lead he gave us, backing up his story.

  I’m still writing, scratching things down, when the whisper of Sky’s footsteps alert me that she’s up. I look up to see her leaning in the doorway, dressed in a pair of tiny running shorts and a tank top so small, all they’re doing is teasing me with glimpses of what I can’t see but remember the taste and touch of very well.

  She offers me a faint smile, then pads over and drapes on the couch next to me, tucking against my side, hugging my arm to her chest. The little gesture nearly splits my heart in two with how it swells. I’m just opening more and more wounds inside myself, things that let her into my veins like poison.

  But if she’s poison, I think I’d gladly die of her. I'd give old Socrates a run for his money, swallowing up every bit of the irresistible hemlock that's Skylar Szabo.

  “Hi,” she says simply, and I grin.

  “Hiya. Sleep well, Sunbeam?”

  “Almost too well. Didn’t want to wake up.” She yawns, rubbing her cheek to my arm. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Phone just woke me up.”

  “Anything important?”

  “Nah. Just that damn robo-dialer that likes to scream ‘Congratulations!’ and something about a bullshit phantom cruise at the top of her fuckin’ lungs.”

  Skylar laughs softly. “Oh, God, I know just the one.” Then she glances down at my lap, and the book. “Okay...so...I gotta ask. You’re always writing in that thing. What’s the deal? Writing the great American novel?”

  I laugh sheepishly. “Not quite. It's...kind of a record, I guess?”

  “A record of what?”

  I hesitate. Can I really tell her this? About my old man and the terror his breakdown left behind?

  After that heat and wonderfulness between us, I don’t want to break it with the heaviness inside me and all the dark shit riding my shoulders, especially when she looks so lazy and relaxed right now. Especially when she’s draped against me so trustingly, instead of bristling with all those porcupine spikes and sticking me everywhere.

  Fuck.

  It's too soon.

  Then again, is it so wrong that I ache for this prickly goddamn woman to see me, to know me, to understand me? That faint feeling I got when we first met, that we’re alike...it’s so strong now, and I want that again. I want her to know she's not alone in all her sheltered secrets she's pressed into my hands.

  And maybe, deep down, I don't want to be alone either.

  Maybe if I open up to her, sh
e’ll open up to me more, and we can be not alone together.

  “It’s a record of my life,” I say, fixing my eyes on hers. “Impressions. Important shit. The good, the bad, the ugly. I write so if what happened to my old man ever happens to me, I won’t forget like he did.”

  Her brows knit together, puzzled. “Your father forgot? I don't follow. What'd he forget?”

  “Me. Mama. Everything. He forgot everything.” I take a deep breath, but it only binds the knot of pain in my chest tighter. “He had Alzheimer’s. And there’s a genetic predisposition for it. I’m worried maybe it’s gonna hit me too one day, so I’m writing down what counts. All the little reminders I can so that when I’m not me anymore, I’m still not completely lost. Long as I can read, I can remember part of who I am.”

  “Oh, Gabe.” Her hand is soft on my arm, the warmth and sympathy in her eyes real. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Where is he now?”

  “Dead,” I say it bluntly. “Been gone a few years. We didn’t realize how bad off he was till it was too damn late. One day, he just wandered off, and we didn’t find him again for three fucking years. By then, he’d turned into this drunk, fucked up mess, and it killed him a few short months later. Dad fell in with the wrong people because he didn't know no better. Those assholes helped kill him faster.”

  Those words scorch my throat, angry and truthful. They still feel like a lie.

  I want to say I killed him, because I wasn’t smart enough or good enough or fast enough to save him.

  But I know that's a cop out. I know there's no cure for shit that hits the brain, but damn if I don't regret not doing everything to make Dad's last years on earth comfortable, peaceful, at home with Mama and me.

  But I can’t get the words out. I've told her enough.

  Sensing the same thing, Sky just lays her head on my shoulder without a sound. I’m supposed to be her comfort. Her rock. Her shield.

  Except now, she’s comforting me, loaning me her warmth and that wordless empathy that makes her feel everything so strongly, so wildly, wild enough to make her fierce and formidable for the people she cares about.