Enemy Beloved

38 | guilty man

★

V A U G H N

The bathroom door opens with a creak as I enter after knocking twice and getting no response. Claire is in the bathtub, covered in bubbles with her head tilted backward and her eyes closed. Her bare arms press on both sides of the tub, skin paler than usual.

I stalk towards her, untying my tie and throwing it on the floor. When I reach her, she doesn't react to my presence and her ignorance disturbs me. I have been trying to talk to her since last night but she has avoided me. She didn't even pick up my calls today, leaving me worried until I tracked her number to her college. I rest my arms around the edge of the tub as I crouch beside her.

"Claire?"

She opens her eyes and her sight turns to me. A slow tilt of her lips curves them into a smile.

"Hey, you..." she murmurs drowsily.

That smile widens, turning to something sly, different from what I have usually seen her with. Before I can say anything, her wet arms wrap around my neck and she kisses me.

Never have I been this uncomfortable by her kiss. This kiss is different, detached from feeling. It stirs something unfamiliar in me when she parts my mouth with her tongue and sucks in a breath. I remain stiff, my eyes wide open as she explores my mouth.

"Claire...wait..." I pull away from her, holding her arms and making her release me. The look on her face darkens. "Why are you kissing like that?"

"Like what?" she asks, supporting her hands on the edge of the tub and putting her chin on top of them.

"Like you want to kill me."

It might be my imagination but I see a corner of her lips twitch before it comes back to the resting bitch face.

"Sorry, Jackson." She stands on her knees in the tub so that she is face-to-face with me. Water drips down her naked body, making it hard to focus on her face instead of her tits which are close to my mouth. "But you really shouldn't expect much from your enemies, right?"

Enemies.

After all we have been through, she still thinks I am her enemy?

"You're not my enemy," I deadpan.

"Really?" She raises a brow, touching my forearm with a finger and drawing small circles. "What am I then, Jackson?"

Silence follows her question as I try to think of an answer. What is she to me anyway? She is my wife, the girl I have incredible sex with, the woman who I have been dreaming about for four years, and the woman who I can't imagine living without. The last one sounds a little problematic though. I hate being dependent on someone to survive.

"You're my wife..." I purse my lips, flicking my gaze away from her and to the bubble that is covering a tiny part of the dip between her chest. "...and I can't imagine living without you."

"C'mon, Jackson, don't lie to me now." Claire chuckles — an emotionless sound that pricks my heart. "You must have many girls falling at your feet. You're the Vaughn Jackson, after all."

Her expression is unreadable, something between snarky and painful.

"Claire, are you okay?"

"Of course, I am, Jackson. Why won't I be?" She laughs. "Now, did you come here to fuck me or should I continue with the bath alone? Rose will be mad if I'm late for The Devils' concert."

She comes closer, pressing her chest to mine and looking me straight in the eyes. Her blue irises glimmer with a strange glint. I don't know what to make of it but I don't want to have sex with her now. This feels wrong. She is hiding something from me.