Page 77 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

She bit my palm in response, a sharp nip that sent a thrill of pain and pleasure through me. I increased the pace, my movements primal and frantic. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit again, and I started rubbing in tight, punishing strokes while I hammered into her from behind.

“Liam… oh, I’m⁠—”

“I know. Me too.”

I worked her clit relentlessly, my thumb a blur against her wet heat. She shattered first, her whole body tensing and vibrating as she screamed into my hand. The feeling of her pussy pulsing and milking my cock sent me over the edge instantly. I saw white-hot stars behind my eyelids as I came, burying myself as deep as I could go, spilling inside her with a roar that I couldn't even try to muffle.

We stayed like that for a long moment, the only sound our ragged, overlapping gasps and the slow slosh of the pool water. Then my legs almost gave out.

I hauled us both out of the water before we drowned, collapsing on the deck in a heap of wet limbs and racing hearts.

The tile was hard and freezing under my back, a sharp contrast to the furnace of our skin as water pooled around us. We were both naked, trembling from the sheer physical toll, and it was objectively the most uncomfortable place for a post-coital moment.

But I didn’t care.

I pulled her closer, her soft, curvy body molding to my side, and kissed her forehead.

She started giggling.

The sound made me smile as I looked down at her.

She had a soft flush on her cheeks, hair plastered to her face, making her look like a beautiful mess. How the hell does she become more beautiful each day?

“That was so stupid of us,” she whispered, her voice still breathless.

I nodded, the realization hitting me like a truck.

I could be stupid for her.

I want to be stupid for us.

Maybe I already was.

“Yeah,” I murmured, leaning down to claim her mouth one more time. “Really stupid.”

24

TALK TO HER

DEEPIKA

“Deepika,” Ananya Mehta said, standing up to shake my hand, her grip firm. “I’ve been watching you.”

Her office was minimalist, with white walls, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown LA, and a single orchid on her desk. She sat behind the desk in all black, silver hair cut in a sharp bob and dark eyes that missed nothing.

My heart hammered in my ears. “Thank you, th-that’s⁠—”

“Not a compliment yet. Please sit.”

I sat.

She pulled up a scene from my last film on her laptop where I had improvised the entire emotional breakdown because the script hadn’t felt authentic and watched it with me in silence.

When it ended, she closed the laptop.

“You’re wasted in supporting roles.”

I opened my mouth and closed it. What was I going to say? Agree with her and sound egoistic?