How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,38

real one, with another person. I didn’t make friends. My boyfriends had been losers, nobodies, easy to leave. They were around, and then they weren’t. No big deal. I kept my walls up with everyone.

Sex was supposed to be where you let the walls down—but I never had. I had controlled it, kept it conventional and expected. I’d never dated a guy with a very high sex drive. I’d told myself I had bad luck, but deep down I knew the truth. I didn’t pick guys who were passionate and wild. I didn’t pick guys who wanted to see me naked, wanted to make me come, wanted to fuck me senseless, and then do it again. And again. Guys who wanted to break me down into pieces until I didn’t know who I was anymore.

Jason was about to do that to me. I was about to let him. And it was fucking terrifying.

I slid my knees up toward my body and raised my ass into the air. The light in the room was dim, but still I was completely exposed to him, and in this position I couldn’t see him at all.

The bed sagged just a little, as if he’d put a knee on the mattress behind me. “Spread your knees,” he said softly.

I did, moving them apart. I should have been embarrassed, and part of me was, but part of me wasn’t at all. I had asked him for this. I had asked Jason, of all people. Because he was the only man I’d ever met who made me throw my pride away and beg—that was one reason. But the other reason was because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. When he took me apart, he wouldn’t break the pieces.

The mattress moved again, and I knew he was on the bed now. A big, warm, powerful hand cupped my ass, moving up the back of my thigh and over the curve of it, gently gripping and pulling the flesh, making it move.

“God, this is fucking gorgeous,” he said.

I squirmed under his touch, but he gripped me harder.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Do not move. Close your eyes.”

I did. Now I was in the darkness, just me and his hand on me. His touch sent skitters of electricity through my skin, just like it always did. My body always felt different when Jason touched me.

His other hand joined the first on the other side of my ass, and now he was gripping me in both of his big hands, his palms moving over me. Spreading me.

It should have felt strange. But then his fingers slid into me, over my pussy and my clit, and there was nothing but sensation behind my eyelids, nothing but the feel of him touching me, the heavy sound of my own breath.

He touched me as if he knew my body better than I did, as if he knew every curve. He rubbed me slowly and sensuously, over and over. He’d touched me this way even when he’d had me pressed to the grass in the park, as if he knew exactly what my body liked. How hard, how fast. He knew exactly what would make me come.

I was starting to feel the flying feeling that meant I was nearly there when his hand left me. He adjusted himself on the bed behind me. And then I felt his breath on me, and his tongue.

I gasped and my hands twisted in the pillowcase. He had lowered himself to the bed and put his head between my legs—my eyes were closed, but just the picture of it in my mind made me throb. He closed his mouth over me and I rocked on him, moving myself on his mouth as his hands cupped me again.

“Jason,” I begged him, my voice muffled by the pillow.

He lifted his mouth off me to speak, his breath on my swollen flesh. “I love watching you come,” he said. Then he slid two fingers into me, pressing with his thumb.

I went over the edge, my body convulsing as I squirmed. He held me hard, his fingers still inside me, and then he moved out from between my legs and loomed over my back. I was still coming, shaking with aftershocks, when I heard the crinkle of him putting on a condom.

His arm came around my body, holding me as his hand cupped my breast. “That was number one,” he said in my ear. “Put your hips down.”

I slid my knees out from under