How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,42
party.
Jason was my weakness. The knowledge that he’d been sex-deprived for four years, that his life with Charlotte was nothing like I’d pictured, only made it worse. It made me possessive, like I wanted every piece of him. Like I had a chance of having it.
Just the sight of him sitting there, giving me that little half smile, made me want to climb him like a tree. I wanted to wrap myself around that big body, feel the flush of his hard parts against my soft parts, feel the way he touched me and maneuvered me and fucked me until I stopped thinking. I didn’t care about who he’d been with or when, not really. I wanted him, and I didn’t care about anything else. Except for maybe one thing.
I swallowed. “Did you love her?” I made myself ask.
Jason scratched his chin again and stared at the ceiling, thinking. “I don’t think that’s exactly the right question.”
My heart did a nervous flop in my chest. “That doesn’t sound like a yes,” I said.
He thought about it some more. “I don’t think I knew her very well,” he said.
“Still not a yes.”
“She’s not a bad person. I think she’s just screwed up.” He looked at me. “God, listen to me. That means no, doesn’t it?”
“I think so,” I managed. I tried to keep my voice calm. “Has there… been anyone since?”
“What do you think?” he replied, his gaze on me. “Seriously?”
Everything inside me was shifting, changing. I felt like people do when they first put on a pair of glasses, and suddenly they can see. I’d thought so many wrong things. I’d let my anger, the sting of my own screw-ups and insecurities, paint the picture of who he was. Because it was easier. It was easier to just be mad at him, to stay mad at him, and to pretend it was his fault. It was the coward’s way out. The way that refused to see him as he was.
But I saw him now. Even though I’d seen him naked, even though I’d fucked him spectacularly, now I saw something different. He wasn’t a golden boy or Mr. Perfect. He was a guy who doubted himself. Who got jerked around and screwed over. Everyone always assumed I was a mess—but everyone assumed Jason Carsleigh was just fine. I wondered which was worse.
I let my blanket fall a little, just enough to show my shoulders and the tops of my breasts. His gaze dropped.
“You know what I like?” I said.
His eyes were dark, fixed on the shadow between my breasts. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” he said.
I dropped the blanket the rest of the way and slid back on the bed, leaning back on my elbows. “I like the feeling that you’re not doing me a favor by having sex with me.”
He blinked, and then he turned and crawled onto the bed, moving over me as I moved back toward the pillows. “Megan, that’s insane,” he said. Then some of the cocky humor came back into his expression. “Though I am pretty good.”
I had reached the pillows, and when he was close enough I slid his boxers down off his hips, freeing his cock. “Maybe,” I said sweetly, “considering how little practice it turns out you’ve had.”
It was a good shot, one of my better ones, but he just shook his head. “I’m a natural,” he said, leaning in and dragging his lips gently up my neck, making my entire body shiver. “Some guys are just born with talent.”
“So you’re a prodigy,” I said. He kicked the boxers all the way off and ran his hand along the inside of my thigh. I tried not to moan.
“Something like that.” He felt my body’s response, my breath picking up, and he traced his fingertips lightly over me, as if measuring what I would do. He leaned in and kissed below my ear. “I know how to fuck you,” he said softly. “I knew how from the first. I know how to do it so you come so hard you can barely move. You think I can’t tell?” He kissed me again as I gasped for breath. “I know how to make you wet. I know how to make you go all boneless like you do when you come. I know what you look like with your legs spread and the sounds you make when you want me inside you. I know how to make you come on me.