How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,26

get the only thing I wanted, which was Jason Carsleigh’s huge, sexy body between my legs.

I pushed his sweater up over his chest and he pulled it off. I had stripped him at that party five years ago—he was right when he remembered that—and I drunkenly remembered it as good, but this was better. This was like unwrapping a present. I ran my hands down his chest, my palms touching the light dusting of dark hair that narrowed down his stomach and down again into the waistband of his jeans. His skin was warm and hard. I touched the lines of his stomach, his biceps, his shoulders as his hands slid over my bare waist. Then he gripped my hips and lifted me on to the counter, stepping forward between my knees.

He kissed me as his hands traveled up my back to unhook my bra. We were both breathing hard, and for once we weren’t talking. It was so easy—it wasn’t that he was so practiced, or that I was, but that we fit. There wasn’t a second in which my body was awkward with his. I gripped his shoulders, and I lifted my ass briefly off the counter as he slipped my panties down my hips.

He kissed down my neck, then my breastbone, bending his knees. My skin went hot, and I braced my hands on the counter, trying to stay upright. He took a nipple in his mouth, smiling as I moaned, and then the other. Then he left my breasts and trailed kisses further down my stomach.

The sight of his dark hair against my skin was making me crazy. “Jason—”

“Be quiet,” he said against my stomach. He hooked a finger into my panties where they were still looped over my knees and dragged them down. I pulled one foot out of them and he moved them slowly off the other foot, cupping my calf and my ankle before dropping the panties to the floor. I was fully naked now, my ass on the counter, my body leaned back on my elbows, my knees in his hands. He dropped lower, and then he pushed my legs apart and slid a finger over me as I gasped. He spread me, leaned in, and put his mouth on me.

We hadn’t done this five years ago. It was a gentle kiss, slowly exploring, his tongue moving over me in a long, slow sweep. My world narrowed into a single pinpoint of sensation, and I had no existence except the trembling between my legs, the hot slide of his tongue on me. I dropped my head back, closed my eyes, and gave in to it completely. My elbows ached and my ass was propped on the hard counter and I was completely, garishly spread open, but all I wanted was to feel that again and again until I came, until he made me scream.

He licked down, toward my entrance, and then up again, and my hips flexed, trying to lift off the counter and get more. He groaned against me, slid a finger over my skin, and licked over my clit in a tight circle.

His mouth came off me—I actually cried out in protest—and he leaned over me, pressing a kiss to my stomach, sucking so hard it would leave a mark. His arms were braced against the counter, his forearms flexed, his biceps like rocks, and I could see that he was working hard for his control. I reached down and wound my fingers in his hair, pulling it.

He lifted his head, and our gazes locked for one long, perfectly dirty moment. Then he stood as I pulled myself up off the counter. I put my arms around his neck as he gripped my hips, and he picked me up, wrapping my legs around him. He carried me like I was weightless, and we stayed locked together as he carried me to the sofa. When I kissed him I caught the tang of my own flavor on his tongue.

He put me on my back on the sofa, bracing himself over me. I dropped my hands impatiently to his jeans and began undoing them, and he let me as he kissed me again, his tongue stroking me. I didn’t even want to feel him through his boxers. I undid his jeans and pushed them down hard, hooking my fingers in his underwear, too.

He lifted off me to pull his clothes all the way off, and then he swore softly. “Wait a second.”