Page 91 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

Then, the playfulness shifted into something much more predatory.

I spread her legs wide, the sight of her dark curls and her pink, dripping pussy making my mouth water. I dived between her thighs and ate her out with a ruthless, rhythmic devotion. I swirled my tongue around her clit, sucking the sensitive nub into my mouth until she was arching off the bed, her fingers tangling in my hair and pulling me closer.

The room smelled of salt, jasmine, and the heavy, musky scent of our shared climax. We had finally dragged our sweaty, tangled bodies to the shower. The bathroom was a wall of steam that smelled like the three different, overpriced hair masques she insisted I apply. I washed her hair with the focus of a man defusing a bomb, using every specific product she pointed at with a bossy finger.

Afterward, I sat her on the marble counter with her curvy body wrapped in a plush white towel that barely covered the tops of her thighs and diffused her hair gently. The heat from the dryer puffed out the dark, silken strands while she directed me like I was her personal stylist, her dark eyes tracking my every move in the mirror.

I even braided her hair before bed last night, my clumsy athlete's fingers working carefully to weave the thick, dark tresses into a neat plait. She talked animatedly the entire time about her upcoming role, her hands gesturing wildly, her brown eyes bright with an excitement that was more addictive than any drug I’d ever tried.

I’m so far gone for this woman, it’s not even funny.

But I didn’t care.

Now she was off for a meeting, and I was in my home gym, blasting Indian cooking videos on YouTube between sets. Maybe I’d try to make something for dinner and surprise her. Probably burn the house down in the process, but the thought counted, right?

My phone rang, and it was Xavier.

I hit the speaker, continuing my reps. “Yeah?”

“So, the engagement worked very well for us,” Xavier said, his voice filling the gym. “A lot of sponsors have renewed contracts, and your image has cleaned up well.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, switching to bicep curls.

“Are you ready to end it after the Indian wedding, like we planned?”

I paused mid-rep. “Yeah. Mission accomplished.”

The words felt wrong in my mouth because this wasn’t a mission anymore. This was my life and my future with the woman I loved.

“And Deepika?”

I set down the weights. “What about her?”

“Come on, man. Don’t tell me you actually fell for her. This was always just business.”

I laughed bitterly and rolled my eyes, answering him. “Relax, Xavier. I know exactly what this is.”

And I knew I loved her and that I was going to marry her. For real and not at all for cameras or sponsors or PR.

“Good. Because you can’t afford another scandal, so keep it clean until after San Diego, and then you’re free.”

“I said I know what I’m doing,” I snapped.

Free? As if Deepika was a prison sentence. I had thought of this agreement as before, but now I didn’t.

I hung up before he could respond and then sighed. I knew he was just doing his job, but Xavier didn’t get it. He couldn’t understand that what started as fake had become the most real thing in my life.

I grabbed my water bottle, planning my speech. Tonight, over dinner (burned or not) I’d tell Deepika I wanted to make this permanent and make it a proper engagement.

The thought made me smile.

Deepika

The meeting had ended early, so I’d driven home, planning to surprise Liam.

Home. The word felt right now. Our place with my vintage teacups on the shelves and my clothes mixed with his in the closet.

I walked in, expecting to find him in the living room or upstairs, but the house was quiet except for muffled sounds coming from the basement. He must be in his home gym.