Page 23 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

In Deepika fucking Sharma, of all people. The woman who had spent a decade sharpening her insults like knives, who made it her life’s mission to outshine me, to undermine me.

And now, here she was, sprawled beneath me like a goddamn feast. Her body still trembled from the last orgasm I had wrung out of her.

The dim lamplight painted her skin in liquid gold, every curve a taunt, every breath a challenge. My eyes traced the dark, blooming mark I had left on her throat which she would probably try to kill me for in the morning.

Her breasts rose and fell (no longer thirty-four-B) and they were definitely more than a handful, heavy and soft with dusky nipples that were pebbled hard, practically begging for my mouth to return.

I let my gaze drift lower, over the soft swell of her stomach, the plushness of her thighs, the glistening, swollen pink of her pussy, which was still dripping with the evidence of how much she wanted me.

The air between us was thick with her scent of jasmine and salt and the musk of her arousal as desperation and lust hovered in the surrounding air. I could still taste her on my tongue, sweet and metallic like honey and heat, and it was already a fucking addiction.

But it was her face that made my pulse thrum in my ears. She was glaring at me, her eyeliner smudged into a smoky mess that made her dark eyes look even more dangerous, her lips swollen from my kisses.

Fuck me, she’s stunning.

And I was in agony. Complete and utter agony.

My cock was straining so hard against the zipper of my pants that it felt like it might actually snap. It throbbed with a rhythmic, punishing heat, a heavy, aching weight that demanded to be buried in that wet heat between her legs.

I hissed, my hand working frantically as I fumbled for my wallet. I flipped it open, heart hammering against my ribs.

Fuck, it was empty. Panic clawed up my throat.

Shit.

I froze. I couldn’t let her know the truth that I hadn’t been with anyone in months because I was too busy obsessing over my lap times. The tabloids loved to paint me as some kind of insatiable playboy, but the truth was, I hadn’t even bothered to stock up. And now, with Deepika Sharma of all people, I was unprepared.

If I lost my edge now, she would eat me alive and never let me live it down.

“What happened?” Deepika asked, her voice low and sultry, sending a fresh jolt of electricity straight to my dick.

I couldn’t let her see me sweat.

“You’re on birth control, right?” I asked, forcing the words out and trying to sound bored instead of panicked, but my voice cracked like a fucking teenager’s.

Jesus Christ. I hadn’t even fumbled this much during my first time.

She frowned, but nodded. “Yes, why⁠—”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and crawled back over her, the heat of her body radiating against mine like a furnace. I spread her thighs wider with my knees, ignoring the way my muscles screamed. The taste of her still lingered on my lips, and I licked them, my body humming with the primal need to just bury myself into her.

“Good. Because I can’t⁠—”

She suddenly stiffened, trying to shimmy backward. “Are you stupid?” She snapped, her voice sharp and cutting through the haze of lust.

“What?” I replied, frustrated by the sudden halt. My balls were tight and aching so fucking bad.

“I’m not... what if you give me an STI or something?”

“How dare you!” I balked, reaching out to pinch her plush, soft thigh gently in mock outrage. “I’m clean, Sharma. Fucking pristine.”

She huffed, a lock of hair falling over her eye. “I’m sure you are, with the way you’ve been sleeping through your entire roster of dates.”

“My roster?!” I barked. “I don’t have a roster! And I never have sex without—” I stopped and took a deep breath. I have to come clean and tell her. Fuck it. “I don’t have a condom, okay? I don’t have one!”

The silence that followed was excruciating. It was the kind The silence that followed was excruciating. I could hear the hum of the mini-fridge and the sound of my blood rushing in my ears. It was so awkward that I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“What do you mean you don’t…”