Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,71

me, though it’s not much of a barrier. The longer he stares, the wetter I feel myself getting, and I spread my legs wider, dying for him to touch me.

As if he knows just how badly I want it, Carter takes his time. He runs his hands along my legs, his fingers tickling my inner thighs. He kisses my shins. Behind one knee, then the other. His lips are soft against my fiery skin. Damp. His gaze is hooded, his eyes dark, the look on his face a mixture of arrogance, assuredness and total awe.

Three great A words, I suppose.

He barely brushes his fingers between my legs, and a shuddery breath escapes me. I can’t stop watching him, waiting in breathless anticipation for what he’s going to do next, and when he stretches out between my spread legs on his stomach, sprawled upon the mattress, I know exactly what he’s going to do.

And I can’t wait.

“Want to make a deal?” He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine.

I’m literally panting, I’m so turned on. What the hell did he just say? Oh God, I think he just breathed on my pussy. I could probably come like this. Just from a few exhalations. And did he just ask me a question? “Wh-what d-did you say?”

“Do you want.” He reaches out, tracing a single finger over the lace, pushing it against my sensitive pink skin. “To make.” He then slips that finger beneath the lace, lightly circling. “A deal?”

“What sort of deal?” I’m confused. I don’t know what he’s talking about. Oh, and I never want him to stop touching me.

“I’ll give you what you want. But you’ll have to give me what I want too. And my request is—unusual.”

My mind is racing, immediately full of all kinds of dirty thoughts. I’ve been rather experimental in my sexual encounters, especially when I was younger. Late teens/early twenties Stella was pretty game for anything. Want to try anal? Sure! Tie me up? Why not! Have a threesome?

Okay, that last one I didn’t do. I was asked once, but it fell through because the other woman freaked out.

Probably best, because I was freaking out a little too.

“Whatever you want, I’ll give you,” I say immediately. I am that desperate to feel his mouth on my clit. He knows just what to do with it too.

His brows shoot up. “Damn, woman. You didn’t even try to negotiate. I’m disappointed in you.”

A hissing breath escapes me. “Seriously, Carter. Whatever you want, I’m up for it. Just…please.”

“Please what?”

“Oh my God, you’re being so annoying right now.” The sexual frustration is pulsing through me in a heavy rhythm, making me almost angry. And now I’m taking it out on the man who’s about to put his mouth on the spot where I want it really, really…

Bad.

He laughs, the bastard. “Fine. Are you ready to hear what I want?”

“Yesssss.” I thrash my head about on the pillow like I’m deranged. Which I am. I’m deranged with need.

This is what he does to me.

“Okay. Here I go.” He takes a deep breath.

Twenty-Four

Carter

“I want…” My voice drifts and Stella seriously looks ready to strangle me right now, propped up on her elbows and staring me down. It’s kind of funny.

It’s also taking everything I’ve got to not just attack her with my mouth, but I’m drawing this out on purpose.

Having a little fun.

It’s so easy, having fun with Stella. Who knew sex could be…funny? I always took it so damn seriously.

“Carter.” She says my name from between clenched teeth.

“For dinner…”

She’s frowning. Blinking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“A barbecue chicken pizza,” I finish with a giant grin.

“Oh my fucking God, are you for real right now?” She collapses on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with her quickening breaths. Her nipples are hard, poking against the thin lace of the obscenely beautiful lingerie she’s wearing, and fuck me, she’s hot.

“I am one hundred percent for real,” I say with all the seriousness I can muster. “Let me order that pizza and then I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

She starts laughing, her chest shaking, and when she finally lifts her head, she’s glaring at me. “I hate you.”

I slip my fingers beneath the lace and trace her slit, making her jolt. “No, you really don’t.”

“I hate barbecue chicken pizza.”

“Have you ever eaten it before?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then how do you know?”

“You’re infuriating.” She actually growls, and I’m tempted to laugh, but that might piss