Besotted: An Enemies-to-Lovers Small-town Romance (Carmel Cove Book 3)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Eve

  Kissing replaced breathing as my back pressed against the side of Miles’ Jeep. His hands claimed the flesh of my ass, holding me up, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

  I’d missed the middle moments—the ones that came after his mouth crashed back down onto mine, after his hands clamped on to my hips and hoisted me against him, and the ones that came before I felt the cool metal of his car on my skin while the heat of him burned against my front. Those middle moments had been incinerated by how much I needed him.

  “Miles…” I moaned loudly against his mouth, wanting everyone and no one to hear.

  Forever had always mattered except in the moments I touched him.

  In those moments, everything was timeless. No past. No future. No present. Only us.

  The only thing that mattered.

  I dragged in air—desperate breaths filled with the scent of him—of shooting stars. Unbridled hope attached to the bittersweet musk of something that would be gone before I could even believe it was there.

  There was the faintest hint of whiskey on his tongue, a shadow of the tart burn that dissolved against my lips.

  My hips rolled against his in harmony with the distant ebb and crash of the nighttime waves. The ache was back—the one his tongue had freed me from—only this time, I didn’t want his tongue. I wanted the hard ridge that was trapped between us. I wanted his flesh. I wanted all of him.

  “Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so damn long, Evie,” he growled, his teeth nipping along my jaw and settling in the corner between my neck and my ear. “And I’ve wanted you so bad, nothing and no one else made it better.”

  I whimpered, needing more of those words and more of his touch at the same time.

  I’d never wanted anyone like this, and trying to escape it was like trying to blot out the sun. No matter what I could hold up in front of the burning center to block it out, no matter where I looked, it still shone all around me.

  His growl quaked through me, his head pulling back. Looking down, I saw Kona running circles around Miles’ feet, wondering why he wasn’t getting any attention.

  “Kona, bed.” The direction was met with the very definition of puppy-dog eyes before Kona reluctantly trotted back over to his bed laid out on the sand, filled with enough bones and toys to prove that, even though he would never admit to it, Miles was spoiling him.

  And then those eyes were on me.

  “Last chance, Evie,” he warned. “I’m not goin’ to fuck you against the side of my Jeep, but if you climb up that ladder, you won’t climb back down a virgin.”

  I hiccupped a breath, running my tongue over the seam of my lips before I unlocked my legs from behind him, my toes searching out sand.

  His face hardened, unsure if I was about to walk away.

  I hated how he didn’t trust that I wanted him—that I wanted this.

  He would learn.

  Grasping the handle, one foot flattened on a rung and then the next. Miles’ heavy breaths followed me up the ladder like a wild animal cornering his willing prey.

  I gasped slightly when my hands and knees sank into the soft mattress base of the tent. There was enough room inside for probably four people, but there was only one pillow and only a few of Miles’ things scattered into the corners of the space.

  Two of the windows were zipped closed, but the ocean-side flap was drawn completely open, letting in the panoramic view of the vibrant horizon. There were no stars tonight; only the moon gleamed through the cloud cover and flickered off the ocean surface.

  Slowly, I sat back on my heels, waiting with shallow breaths as the foam floor shifted when Miles joined me.

  My body responded to him like water in the presence of electricity—sparks and shocks flying everywhere. But my eyes… I couldn’t tear them away from the view.

  “This view is beautiful,” I whispered. From this vantage point, it was no wonder he’d claimed the cove as his own; the most beautiful corner of the world was his front yard.

  “Yeah… it is.” His hoarse rumble next to me drew my attention, but he wasn’t looking out the window at all. He was looking at me.

  His hand reached out and cupped my cheek, a warm anchor to ground the frantic energy running through my body, and tilted my lips back up to his.

  His tongue was a hot velvet key over the seam of my mouth, begging for entrance even though he belonged inside. Within seconds, whatever ethereal calm the scenery evoked abandoned me to the unhinged desire flooding from his touch.

  I wound my arms around his neck, letting him tip me back onto the mattress, my shirt and bra disappearing in the process.

  My nipples dragged against the fabric of his shirt, and I shuddered at the goose bumps it sent rocketing up my spine.

  Off.

  It needed to come off.

  Gripping the fabric on his back, I gathered it up in my hands until, with a chuckle, he pulled back and yanked the offending material off.

  My mouth went dry, the moonlight illuminating all the flat planes and hard edges that were cut into this man. Like the day I’d argued with him in the ocean, only now I could appreciate it instead of fighting its effect.

  I reached for him until firm grips locked around my forearms, pinning them down on either side of my head.

  Whatever words I was about to say were traded for a gasp—the kind you take before going under water. The kind you take to expand your lungs to the absolute fullest in order to keep you alive for the longest. Because, as his head dipped down toward my swollen and upturned breasts, I knew I would need it.

  And I hoped it was enough air to survive.

  All hopes fled when the firm warmth of his lips—lips that had both kissed and cursed me—closed over my nipple, sucking the hard peak into his mouth. My back arched off the bed and distantly, I heard my small cry of pleasure. Every nerve ending, every electrical conduction in my body, felt like they all spontaneously burst into flame with each roll of his tongue.

  For minutes, I whimpered as his mouth tortured me, marking every inch of my breast as his, while his other hand, having released my arm, moved to plump and ready the other.

  Moonlight glinted off the pearly white of his teeth when they clamped steadily on my nipple, holding it for his tongue to tease until pain and pleasure warred through every cell.

  His lips closed over it again, sucking hard before setting it free with a distinct pop. The delicious sound sent a new wave of moisture between my thighs where I was so hot and desperate to be bared for him.

  “Forbidden fruit,” he grunted, turning his attention to my other breast. “Feels like I’m eating forbidden fruit.”

  I shuddered, wondering if I would make it through this when his mouth claimed my other breast.

  “N-Not forbidden,” I managed to stammer breathlessly. “J-Just for you.”

  The growl I received as a response was feral as he teased me all over again. But this time, my restraint had worn too thin to stay still.

  My fingers speared through his hair, loosening it from the tie and gripping him hard against me. One leg hooked up over his waist and my hips bucked and rolled, searching for his leg… his cock… anything to grind against and stop the ache that felt like it was going to eat me alive.

  “Fuck, Evie.”

  He reared back, sliding his hands down my sides to hook into the waist of my pants, tugging them and my underwear down over the swell of my hips.

  The sound of the sea swallowed my sigh as the cool night air settled between my legs—a brief respite from the impossible burn.

  I drank in his stare, the way he looked at my body so intensely I thought his jaw my crack underneath the pressure. Like everything he ever wanted was right in front of him.

  And it was moments like this when I knew, deep down in the corners of my heart that saw through the mire to this man’s truth, that one night would never be enough.

  With a reverence that was nothing but pure torture, his hand slid down from my thigh to trace one
finger along the seam of my sex, the moonlight glistening off the tip when he pulled it away.

  “You know how many times I’ve been drunk before, Evie?” he rasped with a quick, strained chuckle. “A fucking lot.”

  My heart tripped with how fast it raced as his finger swiped through me again, deeper this time to caress firmly along my clit.

  “But I’ve never felt so fuckin’ drunk as the night when you let me taste this,” he confessed, staring at his finger before sucking it into his mouth again. “It’s like a drug and antidote all rolled into one.”

  “Miles…” I moaned as my hips shifted with unrestrained, unembarrassed need.

  As he sat back on his haunches, the front of his shorts tightened over the bulging swell of his arousal.

  His expression was pained when he unclasped the waist of his shorts, pulling them and his boxers down to free his erection.

  A long wave of desire rolled through me as the thick, hard length, crowned with a deep purple tip pointed right at me, like it was claiming ‘this is mine.’

  My core clenched violently. Hot. Dripping. Wanting.

  And Miles’ nostrils flared when he looked back down at me and saw it too.

  I pulled my lip between my teeth, my whole body taut like a rubber band about to snap—to break—with a fiery smack that would burn everything in its path.

  I had to wonder if this was because I’d never done this before, because any urges I’d had were satisfied by myself. But as his fingers began to brush over my sex again, I knew it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with him.

  “Miles,” I whimpered again, needing more and needing it now.

  He shushed me gently and as he began to move and my eyes locked on his pulsing cock. My body tightened and shivered in anticipation.

  It wanted to feel him. It wanted to suck him deep inside and let him make the first tracks over my untouched skin. It wanted him to mark the insides of me for him and only him.

  And I let out a strangled cry when, instead of feeling that blunt head against where I needed it most, his shoulders wedged between my thighs, and I felt his warm breath over my soaking folds.

  My muscles quaked with need and confusion.

  “Shh.” I felt, more than heard, the sound against the sensitive crease between my thigh and my sex.

  Biting even harder into my lip, I closed my eyes, willing myself to trust that no matter how high he was stringing me, he would never let me fall.

  Miles placed soft kisses in that spot and along my thigh, always close enough for me to feel the harsh pants against the slickness of my sex. But instead of using his mouth and tongue, it was only his fingers that touched me. His hand molded over my pussy, firm and certain as it explored my flesh.

  I purred his name as those fingers pushed ever so gently into my entrance, teasing me with what was to come.

  “I know, baby. I know,” he growled against my skin. “But I need to give you this first. I need to make it so it won’t hurt so bad.”

  I wanted to believe him, but it was hard to believe that anything could be more painful than the ache that was twisted tighter and tauter with every second he wasn’t pushing his cock inside me.

  His thumb began to roll over my clit, and it felt like I could breathe again—hard, erratic gasps, but still breath. It fed the ache, just enough to satisfy it, and at the same time, make it hunger for more.

  Seconds later, firm pressure blended with pleasure as his fingers began to penetrate me, sliding past my entrance with gradual determination.

  Suddenly, there were only three points where I was anchored to the world: his warm breath on my thigh, his finger on my clit, and his finger that invaded my pussy.

  The finger that worked inside me slid in and out for the length of one of his groans before I felt more pressure as he added a second to the onslaught, wedging into me and spreading me wider.

  And then I remembered this feeling: the beat of my heart hammering through my blood, the wildfire spreading over my skin. Everything felt so tight and urgent and desperate, and my body slowly began fracturing.

  I arched against his hand, begging for more pleasure from his fingers.

  “That’s it, Evie.” The low tones of his own need encouraged my body that it was okay to be greedy, that it was okay to grasp for more.

  I gasped as his teeth clamp on to the skin of my thigh and my eyes shot down to meet his gold-foiled gaze. The metallic flame in them consumed me, and there was no question what ran through his mind in that moment as his fingers claimed me in a way his cock soon would—Mine.

  And then with a slow and deliberate maneuver, he curled his two fingers against my front wall and pressed on my swollen clit. My hips bucked as my orgasm ripped through me, pleasure tearing through every cell, sending them shooting and spiraling out like stars, while I stayed grounded to his touch until the paralyzing waves of pleasure subsided.

  “So damn beautiful, Evie,” he muttered as he gently pulled back, leaving a void inside me that would soon be more than filled.

  I peeled open my eyelids and watched as he reached in one of the pockets attached to the side of the tent and pulled out a condom.

  For a moment, I was distracted by the big angry length of him, noticing the one pulsing vein that ran all the way from the base to the tip, that was all dusky and swollen.

  “Wait, Miles. I’m a virgin,” I gushed, feeling my cheeks burn bright as his eyes broke from his task and looked to mine. “I mean, I’ve never had sex before. I mean, I think you already know that but—”

  His lips quirked in a rough smile before he tore open the packet. “I know, Evie. Trust me, I know.”

  “Right,” I pressed on. “But what I mean is I’m also on the pill.” His eyes whipped to mine. “For… other reasons, obviously. You still can, you know, wrap it up, if you want, but you don’t have to. I just wanted—” I broke off with a gulp as his hands stopped moving.

  Wrap it up.

  Goodness, Eve, it’s not a sandwich. I swallowed a groan.

  “You’re on the pill?” he rasped with a dangerous tightness to his voice.

  I nodded with a single jerk.

  “And you’re sure?” The way he asked sounded like the answer was a matter of life and death.

  I’d never heard so much torture in his voice, the thought of being bare inside me doing things to him I would probably never understand. His eyes darkened to impossible depths, the sheen of sweat coating his body began to glisten, and the thick, jutting length of his arousal swelling even larger with a bead of moisture glistening at the tip.

  The last time this subject had been skirted around, the fact had angered him—proof that sex, for me, was serious. There was no trace of that now. Instead, his eyes brewed with a possessiveness that made me drunk.

  No one touches what is mine.

  And tonight, he was making me his.

  Growling, he tossed the opened condom to the side and slid up over my body, aligning his face with mine.

  “If you need me to stop—”

  “I won’t,” I assured him in the barest whisper.

  With a groan, he lowered his hips to mine, his arousal slipping right between my folds to lay along my clit that still buzzed from the last orgasm.

  I waited for the pressure—the push. But it didn’t come. Instead, he began to rub himself against my swollen sex, coating himself with my thick desire until the ache began to build again.

  Only when I pleaded, arching against him, did he pause. His hand cradled my cheek before sliding back into my hair while his cock worked down the length of my slit and nudged my entrance.

  I wanted to cry.

  Not because he was taking my virginity. I wanted to cry because he wasn’t doing it fast enough.

  My legs dropped wider, desperate and greedy to feel his length fill me. And I moaned when I felt him inch the blunt tip inside my wet walls.

  “Oh, fuck, Evie.” Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t for it to feel this good. “
Fucking fuck you’re so tight… so perfect.”

  His head dropped to my shoulder, and I felt him tremble with every ounce of restraint it took him to push slowly.

  I felt him pause. “I’m sorry.”

  My lips found his forehead, and I promised, “I’m not.”

  Pain ripped through me, brief but bold, as he speared through the wall of my virginity with a feral growl, burying his cock inside my body.

  Everything stopped, including the world and time as he lodged completely inside me. I felt every pulse of his erection against my straining walls, making them burn hotter with pain that was underscored with pleasure. Everything was too sensitive. Too much. Too beautiful.

  “Tell me you’re okay, Evie,” he begged, pressing the softest kisses against my neck. “Please, fucking tell me.”

  For once, I didn’t think I had the words. Everything about this moment was too much but not enough. So, instead, I rocked my hips against his, the bite of pain subsiding quicker this time.

  “Thank God.” His mouth moved to cover my lips, and I felt him begin to slide out of me. And even though being inside me also meant pain, the thought of him leaving me hurt so much worse. “You feel so good, Evie. So damn good.”

  His whispered praises dulled the hurt—a hurt that had already begun to quickly fade.

  Pulling almost completely out, he thrust back inside me with much less control than the first time, and with much less pain.

  “You’re the tightest, wettest, hottest fucking fairy tale,” he growled. “Like you’ve been saving all that sweet honey just for my cock. My fucking fairy tale.”

  I basked in the raw hunger of his words, knowing just how reserved he was with everything else except this—with this, he would tell me the truth in the very marrow of his bones. The truth that he wanted me like I wanted him.

  Small moans erupted into the space as he kept moving, retreating back only to stuff my soaking sex full of him again. At some point, my hips began to rise to meet his, all traces of pain entirely forgotten as the friction and stretch of my body pushed me to entire new heights of pleasure.