How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,43
I don’t need practice to know any of that about you.”
I could feel my nipples hard against his chest. “I know plenty about you, too,” I said. I thought about the sound he made when he came. The way he liked to start slow, until I came, then finish fast and hard. The way he liked to stroke me, his fingers in my pussy, like he was doing now. The way he liked to grab my ass.
“Good,” he said. “Now you’re going to learn what it feels like to come on my mouth.”
He moved down my body, and I wound my hands in his hair. “I’d like to learn that,” I admitted.
He pushed my knees apart and lowered his head between my legs. “Pay attention,” he said.
It didn’t even take ten minutes.
As it turned out, I was a fast learner.
Eighteen
Jason
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
She was rolled in the sheets, which were a mess. I could see a riot of brown curls on the pillow, one perfect thigh, and a foot. She moved, groaned softly.
I lifted a foot from where I sat in the hotel room’s chair and tapped her foot with my shoe. “Megan.”
She moved again, rolled over, raised her head and looked at me. Her gray-green eyes were only half open. “What? What is it?”
“Time to get up. We have a long way to go today to get to this wedding.”
She groaned and sat up further. The sheets drooped down her chest, and I caught the curve of her breast and the shadow of a nipple before she unselfconsciously put a hand to her chest and held the sheet there. She moved her legs, and more of the thigh showed up.
I was enjoying the show. She looked like a woman who had been well and truly fucked. Many times. By me. I wanted to climb back under the sheets with her and wake her up with my cock deep inside her, but instead I crossed one ankle over the other knee while my dick twitched in my jeans.
“You’re awake,” she said, blinking her eyes further open and looking me up and down. “You’re dressed. And showered.”
“I am,” I said, lifting my hands so she could see my jeans and t-shirt, which had a retro 1965 Ford Thunderbird logo on it. “You didn’t even wake up.” I dropped my hands and made my expression go dark and serious. “I’ve been sitting here for hours, watching you sleep.”
Her jaw dropped for a split second, and then she grabbed one of the pillows and threw it at me. “God, you creep.”
“You actually believed that for a second,” I said, laughing and throwing the pillow back at her. “Jesus. I went to get coffee. Want one?” I lifted one of the cups from the takeout holder.
“Yes. God, yes, I do.” She took the cup I handed her and sipped it. “You even remembered how I take my coffee.”
And there it was. It took a split second, the way lightning flashes, but the air grew tight. She was naked, and I knew how she took her coffee. It felt intimate. It was intimate.
We didn’t know what we were doing. There was no plan. Everything was backwards with us; we’d pretty much had a four-year breakup before we’d ever fucked or had a single date. We’d had a night of sex that wasn’t a one-night stand and wasn’t anything else, either. Not yet. And only after all of this were we going on our first date, to her ex’s wedding.
It should have made me crazy. It did, a little. But I knew what she looked like naked. All that smooth white skin. I knew what she felt like, what she tasted like. Fucking amazing. Those breasts in my hands. She was the sexiest woman I’d ever seen. She’d trusted me with her biggest problem, and she’d listened to mine.
And sometimes, when I was lucky, she laughed at my jokes.
At seven o’clock in the morning, I’d take it.
I stood up. “I already put my stuff in the car,” I said. “I’ll wait downstairs. Get ready.” I tapped my watch. “Twenty minutes.”
She licked a drop of coffee off her lip. “Okay.”
Oh, hell. I walked toward the door, but stopped and turned back.
She was watching me. “What is it?” she asked.
“Are we okay?” I asked her. “After last night? Because I don’t want us to be awkward.”
Something intense flashed across her expression, some deep emotion that she fought down hard. I thought maybe it was fear. “No,” she said. “We’re