Smut Stories Collection

The Enemy Inside My Bed

I hated him. I hated everything about him—the way he walked into a room like he owned it, the smug curl of his lips when he closed a deal I'd been working on for months, the way his voice dropped low and condescending whenever he spoke to me. Marcus Kane. Corporate shark. My nemesis. The man who had stolen three promotions from me and made my life a living hell.

Tonight was no different. We were at the annual company gala, a glittering affair of champagne and forced smiles. I'd worn a red dress that hugged every curve, hoping to feel powerful. Instead, I felt like a cornered animal the moment I saw him across the ballroom. He was tall, dark-haired, with eyes the color of whiskey and a jaw that could cut glass. And he was staring right at me.

I turned away, but he was already moving. The crowd parted for him like he was Moses. A few minutes later, I felt his hand on my lower back, warm and possessive.

"Enjoying yourself, Riley?" His voice was silk over gravel, the kind of voice that made your knees weak even when you wanted to punch him.

"Not anymore," I said, stepping out of his touch. "What do you want, Marcus?"

He smiled that infuriating smile. "Just to talk. You've been avoiding me."

"Why would I want to talk to a backstabbing snake who stole my project?"

His eyes flickered. "You mean the Henderson account? I didn't steal it. I won it."

"By undercutting my proposal at the last minute."

"You had a weak proposal."

I saw red. "f**k you, Marcus."

He laughed, low and dark. "Tempting offer, but I was thinking more along the lines of a drink. Come on. We have things to discuss." He took my elbow, and I let him steer me out of the ballroom, down a quiet hallway, into a private lounge. The door clicked shut behind us.

"Discuss what?" I snapped, pulling free.

He poured two glasses of whiskey from a decanter, handed one to me. I didn't take it.

"Relax, Riley. I'm not going to poison you."

"Wouldn't put it past you."

He sighed, set the glass down. "I wanted to apologize."

That stopped me cold. "What?"

"Apologize. For the Henderson account. I played dirty, and I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost—vulnerable? "The truth is, I've been trying to get your attention for months, and I didn't know how else to do it."

I stared at him. "You tried to get my attention by sabotaging my career?"

"I told you, I didn't know how else." He stepped closer, and I felt the heat radiating off his body. "Every time I see you, I want to tear your clothes off. Every time you argue with me, I get hard. You're the only person who doesn't grovel at my feet, and it drives me insane."

My heart pounded. "That's not an apology. That's a confession."

"It's both." His hand came up, fingers brushing my cheek. I should have slapped it away. Instead, I froze. "I want you, Riley. I've wanted you since the day you walked into that boardroom and told me my quarterly projections were garbage."

I remembered that day. I'd been so angry, so confident. He'd just smiled at me then too.

"You're an asshole," I whispered.

"I know."

"I hate you."

"I know that too." His thumb traced my lower lip. "But I also know you're standing here, letting me touch you. You could've walked out. You didn't."

Because he was right. Because beneath the hatred, there was something else—a spark that ignited every time we fought, a heat that made my skin prickle and my cunt ache. I hated him. But I also wanted him.

"Show me," I heard myself say. "If you want me so badly, show me."

His eyes darkened. He didn't hesitate. His mouth crashed into mine, hard and demanding. His tongue pushed past my lips, and I tasted whiskey and desire. I moaned despite myself, my hands fisting in his jacket. He grabbed my ass, pulling me against his erection, and I ground into him.

"f**k, Riley," he growled against my mouth. "I've wanted to do this for so long."

"Shut up and f**k me."

He laughed, but it wasn't smug. It was raw. He spun me around, pressing my chest against the leather sofa, my hands braced on the armrest. His fingers found the zipper of my dress and yanked it down. The fabric pooled at my waist, leaving me in just a black thong and heels.

"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice rough. "And I'm going to f**k you like I mean it."

I felt his hand between my legs, pushing my thong aside. His fingers found me soaked, slick, ready. He cursed under his breath.

"You're wet for the man you hate."

"Don't flatter yourself." But my voice was shaky.

He didn't waste time. I heard the rustle of his belt, the zipper of his pants. Then the blunt head of his c**k pressing against my entrance. He pushed in without warning, and I cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure. He was thick, filling me completely, stretching me in a way that made my toes curl.

"f**k, yes," he hissed.

He started moving, hard and fast, f*****g me like he wanted to punish me. Each thrust drove me into the sofa, the leather cool against my heated skin. I gripped the armrest, taking it, taking him. The anger I'd felt earlier had transformed into raw need, a hunger that only he could satisfy.

"You feel that?" he grunted, slamming into me. "Feel how much I want you?"

"Yes, f**k, yes—"

He reached around and found my c**t, rubbing brutal circles. The dual sensations—him buried inside me, his fingers on my sensitive nub—pushed me to the edge. I came with a scream, my body shuddering, my walls clenching around his c**k.

He didn't stop. He kept f*****g me through my orgasm, chasing his own. I heard his breathing hitch, felt his rhythm falter. He buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, his hot seed flooding me.

We collapsed onto the sofa, him still inside me, both of us panting. The silence stretched, filled only by our ragged breaths.

Finally, he pulled out and turned me around to face him. His eyes were softer now, his usual arrogance gone.

"Riley..." He started, then stopped.

"I still hate you," I said, but there was no venom in it.

"I know." He kissed my forehead. "But maybe I can change your mind."

"Maybe." I looked at him, and for the first time, I saw beyond the rival. I saw the man who had wanted me so badly he'd sabotaged my career just to get my attention. It was f****d up. But so was I.

"Come home with me," he said. "Not for s*x. Just to talk. To see if there's something here."

I should have said no. I should have walked out and left him in that lounge. But instead, I nodded.

"Fine. But you're buying me dinner first."

He smiled, a real smile, and my stomach fluttered. Maybe enemies could become lovers. Maybe hatred was just love twisted out of shape. Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something more.