How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,39

me, feeling the cool sheets against my thighs. He held me tight against him, his big, muscled arm holding me easily, his chest hot against my back. I felt his teeth graze the back of my neck.

“Spread your legs wider,” he said against my skin.

I slid my knees further apart. “Fuck,” I panted. And then I sucked in a breath as he slid into me from behind.

My skin was already oversensitive, my body still thrumming from the orgasm, and I felt every inch of him. I already knew what he felt like; I’d gotten myself off on the memory twice, to be honest. But the real thing was better. The real thing was amazing.

He moved all the way in me, slow, and then slowly moved out again. His muscles were tense where he held me, and I could hear his breath. I could smell his skin, that sexy Jason smell, and I opened my eyes and moved back against him as he slid in a second time, making him grunt with pleasure.

His weight on me, and the way he held me, made my clit press against the cool sheets. I was so raw from coming that it was rough, almost painful. And at the same time, as he stretched me and filled me, I knew it would make me come a second time, so hard I might never recover. I would scream, or cry, or embarrass myself. But still I moved with him, coaxing him to go faster.

He didn’t. He kept the pace torturously slow, pushing all the way into me, then all the way out again. He was perfect, controlled. His breath was harsh in my ear.

I made a sound, a whimper of frustration, and he paused, his lips brushing the back of my neck again. “What do you want?” he asked me.

It never crossed my mind not to tell him the truth. “I want you deeper,” I said.

His mouth moved to my ear and he grazed my earlobe. “Fuck,” he said. “I’m already balls deep in you, Megan. I can feel you breathe.”

He was. He was. It was the most perfect, incredible sensation, but I wanted more. “I want to see you,” I said.

He pulled out of me and turned me over, bracing himself over me. His hair was mussed, his eyes dark and intense. He leaned down and kissed me, pulling my tongue into his mouth. I kissed him back, hard, drawing my knees up, desperate for him to come back. He wound one long, muscled arm around the back of my knee, the back of my thigh, and hiked my leg up until my ankle was almost on his shoulder. Then he thrust into me again.

I moaned into his mouth. He was deeper in this angle, and the feeling was pleasure on the thin edge of pain. Balancing on that edge shook something loose in me, and I slid my hands up his back, digging my nails into his skin. He broke the kiss and thrust into me harder.

“Okay?” he said when I gasped.

“It’s so good,” I said. “It’s so good.”

He braced himself, his strong body in one perfect line, and pounded into me. The bed creaked, the headboard tapped the wall. I dug my fingernails deeper into him and held on.

He brushed a thumb over my clit, and I bucked, close to coming. He did it again, and again, still pounding me, and I came, the second orgasm sharper than the first, the edges harder like diamonds, the sensation exploding through me almost in clenching pain. He gripped my knee with one big hand and came, making that sound I recognized, that deep growl in the back of his throat that I’d heard in my fantasies when I’d imagined him over and over.

We were quiet for a minute, both of us panting, our bodies twisted like pretzels. I unlatched my fingernails from his back. He let go of my knee and moved his hand appreciatively up my leg.

“Jesus, you’re bossy,” he said.

I looked up at him, watched languidly as he slowly detangled himself from my leg, which was practically strangling him. I had no idea I was capable of being so flexible. “Deal with it,” I said.

He laughed, a low rumble, and the sight of it did something dangerous to my insides. “I like it,” he said, leaning down and kissing me, surprisingly softly for a man who had just about banged me into oblivion. “I like learning what you like.”

I should have said something.