Dear Enemy, You're My Mate

Chapter 16 **

Patricia

I wet my lips, too aware of the squeezing in my chest, begging me to forget and forgive the older Dior before me. He is currently taking up all the space in the room, slowly invading my senses.

Seriously, the man must have witchcraft in his veins because his words have already rendered me weak. He has taken over my mind, infiltrated my heart, and I absorb the man: the more than six feet of Dior and his granite pecs and dark hair.

Fucking hell—Dior is sex materialized with eyes that leave me a little more breathless whenever he throws me a glance. He is a natural disaster, a wave waiting to crash, and after he has broken down my walls, I'm afraid there will be nothing left of me. I will be lost and ruined, unable to function without his touch.

That thought frightens me more than anything because this Dior doesn't belong in my world. He could go up in smoke at any second like he did the last time we met.

I force myself to speak, hoping to sound cold and not like a girl about to fall in love with a man. "You're smooth with your words, quite the sweet talker himself."

"Well, I've had about fourteen years to think about all the things I never told you."

Once again, I drown in Dior's eyes and wanting way too much from him—my heart is a greedy little thing.

"Is that right?"

"Yes," Dior smiles. "For example, I should have told you I love the fierceness in your eyes whenever you face a challenge. Your voice goes louder, and it's a freaking sex voice."

I burst out laughing. "A sex voice?"

"Uh-huh!" Dior laughs with me. "It's the kind that wraps around a guy's dick and tugs."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, trust me—whenever we fought in the past, my dick always responded. You're sexy, Patricia, and your voice is relentless for such a tiny little woman."

The right thing to do here would be to call Dior disgusting and steer the conversation in another direction, but I can't do that. Instead, I'm left smiling at him without knowing what to do. Flirting is alien to me, something I've never done.

"Your silence is killing me."

A nervous laugh slips out through my lips. "I just don't know what to say."

"Share what's inside that pretty head of yours."

"Oh..." I inhale, overwhelmed by the situation. "I'm trying to triumph over the mate-bond and resist you... Shit, I don't know what I'm saying!"

Dior slowly reaches out his hand, lightly poking the side of my hand with his finger and sending flames down to the pit of my belly. All the fine hairs raise on my back at his simple touch.

"Why are you fighting it?"

I lift my head and decide to tell him the truth, despite my inner fear. Honesty is the key. "You said you don't belong in this timeline, and this whole situation is confusing to me. All I know is that you don't belong here."

"True." His lips curl. "Yet I also believe it would be a waste not to make the most of this night. I realize you belong to the version of me existing in this dimension, and I should respect him not to touch you, but hell—I'm fucking jealous of myself."

"That's pretty pathetic." I tease.

"What?" Dior dramatically presses his palm to his thick chest as if my words broke his heart. "You wound me, Patricia. Here I am, declaring my undying love for you, and you're calling me pathetic?!"

I understand Dior is joking around, yet the l-word got me pausing before finding my footing again.

"You're cute, but we both know this nightly reunion can't lead anywhere, Lavigne."

Dior chuckles and the sound confuses me. His grin makes him resemble an overgrown puppy, but not knowing what he is laughing at irks me. Call it an old instinct from all the bullying I've received from him.

"What is so funny?" I ask.

Dior grins at me. "I've never been called cute by another woman. You shocked me, that's all."

A blush heats my cheeks. Dior has a point—it's probably weird to call a muscle-packed guy over six feet tall cute. But there is no other word to describe that look he gets whenever he teases me. Dior is surprisingly funny too, and it's getting harder to resist him.

"Okay," I sigh. "I give up! What do you want?"

Dior's lips quirk into a wolfish smile, and horror immediately washes over like an ocean wave.

"I'm not sleeping with you!" I blurt out.

"That's fine."

I lift an eyebrow. "That's fine?"

"Yeah," Dior taps the empty area next to him, beckoning me with his eyes to lie next to him. "Come here."

I stare at him, entirely frozen.

Dior huffs out a laugh. "I will not beg."

My eyes narrow, and I lift my nose a little higher. A spike of irritation makes me see red, yet I force my legs to budge. I won't pass up on this opportunity to sleep next to my mate.

It's an innocent enough wish wanting to sleep next to my mate, yet I'm nervous as hell as I slide next to Dior. My feet brush against the hairs on his legs, and I'm one step closer to fainting. I'm stubbornly intent on not letting my nerves show and try to breathe even as I feel his breath tickle the back of my neck.

"You smell so nice."

Dior inhales me, causing an explosion of shudders to blast over my skin.

Shit, my head is already playing wedding songs. No-no-no! I try not to lean against Dior and leave some distance between our bodies—I won't give Dior the satisfaction of knowing how fast my heart is pounding. He wouldn't let me live it down.

My mate, however, got other plans.

A large arm travels from my waist up to my chest, and then I'm pulled into the firm expanse of Dior's chest. The warmth coming off his skin causes an explosion of fireworks to go off within me.

His lips grace my earlobe, and his voice comes out low and husky. "You can still say no and tell me this isn't what you want. Last chance, Patricia."

My eyes widen, and I stare at the wall. It's my decision. I have to decide if I wish to cuddle with Dior or pretend I don't want this as much as I crave oxygen to breathe.

I shift on the mattress, and Dior moves with me, helping me turn my body until we are face-to-face. I have done nothing this intimate with a guy before. My nerves are bouncing all over the place, and I'm breathless.

My leg is draped over Dior's waist, arms slowly moving for his shoulders until Dior takes things into his own hands. He playfully tugs me closer to him, then spins around until I lay on top of him while he is on his back.

Fuck, he is so big.

Every cell in my body is hyperaware of the man underneath me. His abs are hard like cobblestones and so many you can visually count them. And that knowledge got my head spinning. I'm not used to cuddling with hunky older men!

My legs slide down Dior's sides to flee the scene. I try to push myself up from his chest, but Dior pulls me down again. His eyes gaze into mine when I lift my chin. He is gorgeous, and my palms are cold and sweaty from touching his bare skin.

"I like this." Dior whispers. "Stay with me."

The need in his voice got me planting my cheek on his chest. His heart is thumping much like mine, causing me to smile. The confident guy is nervous too. I relax a bit and close my eyes when Dior uses his hand to brush my hair.

"Jesus, please don't stop doing that..." I mumble. "It feels so good."

Who would have thought I would end up spending the night in the arms of my enemy tonight? The sheer influence of Dior is immense. It's not his appearance but the intensity of his presence and what his slight touch does to my body.

Dior chuckles. "You're extremely catlike for a werewolf."

I'm too tired to give him a reply. His hand is doing magical things to my body, and I intend on enjoying every second. I draw in a long breath and drift to sleep, hoping the Dior I'm cuddling with won't ever return to his dimension. I like him.