When We Lose (Love Your Enemy #9) Read Online Shayne Ford

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Love Your Enemy Series by Shayne Ford
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Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 47017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
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RAVEN

I have a new life, and it’s nothing like I envisioned.
It is fast–paced, at times consuming, and often confusing.
I learn fast. And fall hard.
Harder than I thought.
But things don’t exactly go my way.
However, I’m still in the race, and I won’t give up.
No matter what happens, I will win this game.
Who will cross the finish line with me?
Remains to be seen.
Someone will lose. And I hope it’s not me.

FULL BOOK START HERE:

1

RAVEN

Kai’s apartment in Miami.

The glow is a mix of golden light from the lit candles, soft pink from the bar ceiling, and blue light from the bathroom floor.

The sound system plays a nostalgic song.

It drifts through the air, the open doors ushering in the ocean view and balmy evening.

The water is dark with no separation from the starry sky, yet, even so, I can feel its magic, and the secrets buried in its depths.

Like the secrets buried in his eyes.

Sprawled in the tub, with the water barely reaching his chest, his arms lining the porcelain edge, his skin glistening and his lips slightly arched into a smile, he observes me in silence.

Rose petals float in the water, tiny love letters written in bright yellow, surrounding our naked bodies.

Sitting on my knees between his legs, I pick a small candle from the side and tilt it slightly before watching the drops of melted wax dripping to his chest, landing on his skin, and producing no reaction.

“How…?” I murmur, smiling, watching another bead of melted wax rolling down and leaving a red mark on his skin.

“It doesn’t hurt?” I ask, before trying it myself.

I lift my arm and let the melted wax drip.

The bead of heat unsettles my nerve endings, sending a shudder through my frame.

I wince.

“It hurts,” I say, looking at him.

He observes me through his lashes, a secret smile tilting his lips.

“It has to…” he says.

I lower myself, still sitting on my knees between his legs, the water covering my body up to my chest.

I clean the hardened wax from his torso and let more drops drip on his skin. He stifles his reaction, his pleasure coming purely from my eyes observing the process.

I imagine he likes pain.

I imagine he’d say yes to harsher pain.

I can’t help myself, and while inflicting pain, I gather my hair and lower my head to kiss his neck.

He relaxes and even slips lower in the tub, tilting his head back. His skin is warm and smells like him and me and flowers.

I set the candle down and run my nails across his branded skin.

How much ache can he take?

A lot, it seems.

I tip my eyes and watch his face. His eyelids are lowered and his lips are parted.

I touch them with my fingertips before teasing them with my lips. He responds quickly, moving his hand from the edge of the bathtub to my waist under the water.

His fingers fan over my skin while I wind my arms around his neck, and tilt my head down, so my mouth connects to his.

I don’t care that my hair cascades over my back, and the tips are getting wet. All I want is to taste his mouth, have his breath in my lungs and his pulse against my skin.

He pushes up a little, deepening the kiss, and moving his hand into my hair, creating a swarm of goosebumps across my shoulders.

That’s when my teasing game ends and he takes over.

Heat spreads across my skin while he kisses me hungrily, a need for him growing in my body.

I brush my hair away from my face while he rises from the water, carrying me with him.

Petals fall from my chest and also from his body.

He steps out, sets me down, and hands me a towel before grabbing one himself.

He’s rock hard, when he takes my hand and walks me to the bedroom where a wide bed covered in petals waits for us.

If it wasn’t for the reality of our lives, this could pass as a nuptial bed. The entire place seems designed and styled for romantic moments.

He shows me to the bed and nudges me to my stomach before tying my wrists together and attaching them to the headboard.

“Let me show you how it’s done…” he says, standing by the bed, and picking up a small lit candle from the nightstand.

I shoot my eyes up, my gaze grazing his turgescent shaft pointing forward. It messes with my focus when I lock eyes with him, flashing a playful smile.

“You’re not doing this…” I say incredulously.

He nods in disagreement.

“I have a low threshold for pain,” I murmur, no longer looking at him, all tensed up.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand going to the back of my legs first.

His touch relaxes me.

“Can we do only this, please? You touching me like that?” I ask.

He says nothing.

The first drop of melted wax feels like a bee sting. An area not bigger than a nickel burns on the back of my calf.


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