Page 86 of Don't Date Your Nemesis
“Move,” I demanded, my nails digging into the muscles of his arms.
He did. He angled his hips, catching my sweet spot with a precision that made my toes curl. Each thrust sent pleasure sparking through my body. The world narrowed to the rough bark, the distant bass, and the way he filled me.
“You’re insufferable,” I gasped, my head lolling back.
“You’re impossible,” he shot back, his pace becoming frantic.
“Fuck, yes… right there—”
“Still bossy even when you’re coming,” he gasped.
“Shut up and fuck me properly!”
I felt his wicked grin against my neck. “Yes, ma’am.”
He doubled his efforts, his thrusts becoming short and shallow, focusing entirely on the entrance where my clit was being crushed between us.
We were slick with sweat, our breaths mingling in the cool night air. I could feel the orgasm building, a tightening coil in my lower belly that was about to snap.
“Deepika, I’m gonna—”
“I-I know,” I gasped, my walls clamping down on him in frantic pulses. “Me too!”
He kissed me hard, tongue deep, as we came together. He swallowed my high-pitched moan as his body shuddered violently against mine, his release hitting me in hot, thick pulses. I felt the orgasm everywhere. The release, the relief, and the terrifying realization that this wasn’t just sex anymore.
This was everything.
We stayed like that for a long moment, the only sound our ragged breathing. He stayed buried inside me, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us starting to giggle into each other’s necks like teenagers who had just gotten away with doing something sneaky.
“We just had sex at a wedding,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of shock and giddiness.
“My best friend’s wedding,” he whispered back, pecking my nose, his lips curving into that familiar, arrogant smirk.
“We’re terrible people.”
“The worst.”
I kissed him again, feeling his smile against my mouth. He helped me down carefully, my legs feeling like overcooked noodles. He fixed my dress, smoothing the silk over my hips and adjusting my straps with surprisingly gentle hands.
“Oopsie,” he said, his voice teasing.
I frowned. “What?”
He pointed at his own neck, right where the collar meets the jaw.
I fumbled for my phone to use the screen as a mirror and gasped. A huge hickey bloomed on the side of my neck, dark purple and vivid. A neon sign that said ‘Liam James was here.’
I smacked his arm. “You’re an animal!”
He pouted, rubbing the spot. “Not my fault you smell like sin and taste like heaven.”
“An animal,” I repeated, trying and failing to look annoyed.
He shrugged off his expensive suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. The silk lining was still warm from his body, the scent of his cologne enveloping me. “Better?”
“Barely.”
We walked back toward the reception, the grass crunching under our feet. His hand was firm and warm in mine, and I was about to say something serious when voices drifted from the shadows of the villa.
