How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,27
He groped on the floor for his discarded jeans, pulled out his wallet, and pulled a condom from it. Thank God he carried one, because if I even had a condom, it was probably expired. He dropped his jeans again and ripped the package open while I just stared.
I’d seen his cock before. I remembered it very, very well. But I watched it, hypnotized. It was freaking gorgeous. It was massive, and beautiful, and hard as marble. My body reacted to just the sight of it, my muscles relaxing, my knees falling open.
Jason rolled the condom on, then braced himself over me on the cushions again. “My eyes are up here, you know,” he said, tilting my chin, looking down at me, grinning.
Oh, he was such an asshole. I reached up and pulled him down to me, one hand on the back of his neck. With the other hand I traced the perfect, flawless line of his lower lip. “Just shut up and fuck me with that thing,” I said.
“I live to serve,” he said, and leaned down and bit my lip as he tilted my hips with one hand and slid into me.
I arched my back beneath him. “Oh, my fucking God.”
He lifted one arm and grabbed the arm of the sofa, shoving into me harder, burying his face in my neck. “Perfect,” he said. “Fucking perfect.”
I reached down and dug my fingers into his amazing ass. “More,” I panted.
“All of it?”
“Yes. Yes.”
He flexed his hips and shoved into me harder, all the way. It was huge and hard and I was so drenched that it fit in me without a hitch. It stretched me, burned me a little, the slight pain only adding to the overwhelming pleasure. He paused for a second, taking stock of me, and then he started to move.
I had never felt anything so good in my life. Everything flew away from me—every worry, every stupid distraction, every self-defeating thought, it all disappeared and I did nothing but feel, nothing but be. I could feel his body on mine, the rasp of his stubble and his breath against my neck. I could see the perfect line of his bicep where he braced himself on the arm of the couch. I could smell his skin, mixed now with the sweat that was breaking out on his neck, on the slick skin of his chest. I could hear the couch creaking as he pounded into me.
“Don’t stop,” I begged him, digging my fingernails into his ass. I had no concern for my dignity anymore. “Don’t you dare stop.”
“Come,” he rasped in my ear. “I mean it. As hard as you fucking can.”
I didn’t have to tell him that I was already halfway there. “Jason—I can’t—I think I—Oh, God.”
His big hand was on my hip, digging into my flesh, and he held me hard, angling me as he stroked into me. “Like that,” he said. “Just like that. Fuck. Fuck.”
I flexed up into him, and he hit that perfect spot, and then I was coming, my body riding his as every part of me sparked with pleasure, as my muscles squeezed and my head dropped back and I gasped, inhaling. He rode me through it, and then he came with the hottest, most incredible sound in his throat, every muscle of his perfect body tensing on mine, his hand holding me still, his other hand bracing himself above me. My reaction was instinctive and possessive, my legs twining over the backs of his thighs, my palms gripping him hard. Mine.
Slowly he relaxed, exhaling, the muscles loosening in his arm where he braced himself above me. He moved his other hand from my hip and propped himself on his elbows, looking down at me, his brown eyes clearing, sweat in his tousled hair.
I was boneless, my knees flung open, my head sinking back into the cushions, catching my breath. He was still inside me, and though he’d lifted his upper half off of me, his hips were still on mine, pressing me down like hot wax.
It was a minute before I realized a smile had touched the corners of his lips.
“What?” I said. My voice sounded breathy and hot, like a nightclub singer’s.
Jason dipped his head down and brushed his lips over mine. “Your hands are still on my ass,” he said.
He was right; I was still grabbing him like my life depended on it, and I didn’t even know it. I loosened my grip and dropped my hands,