How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,68

into the apartment, his hands were cold on my back.

“No talking,” he said, and kissed me.

Finally. Finally. His mouth was deep and hungry on mine. I felt pure pleasure spread through my body and I leaned into him, grabbing his jacket. I was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of black sleep shorts, and I realized belatedly that I could have done better.

I pulled away from the kiss and unzipped his jacket. “I should have worn—”

“Forget it,” Jason said. “It’s coming off.” He pulled my shirt up and off, and I pushed his jacket down over his shoulders, dropping it on the floor. He was wearing a black t-shirt underneath. I could smell him, the hot scent of his skin, and I was greedy and impatient for him, my bare breasts against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Take me to the bed,” I said, kissing up the side of his neck, along the skin of his jaw, dragging my teeth over his stubble.

He lifted me without a word and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, my nipples pressed against him. I kissed him, my hands in his hair, while he ran one hand up my bare back, his other hand gripping my ass. Every part of us moved together in perfect sync, just as it always had. We fit.

He carried me to the bedroom and dropped me lightly on the bed, leaning over me, kissing me again. I pulled back to shuck off the sleep shorts while he kicked off his shoes. He’d barely gotten them off before I climbed onto him and pushed him down on the bed, kissing him again.

“Fuck,” he said when he came up for air. He pulled off his t-shirt and threw it away, and I bent to his chest, kissing and licking every delicious ridge of his skin. “Don’t stop what you’re doing,” he said, tangling his fingers in my hair. “Don’t ever fucking stop.”

“How many showers have you had in the last three weeks?” I asked, my mouth against his skin.

I felt him laugh. “A lot,” he said. “I’m the cleanest guy ever right now.” He groaned as I dragged the flat of my tongue across his nipple.

I kissed my way down his stomach—oh, those ridges of hair I loved so much—and licked down his happy trail to where it disappeared in his waistband. I unbuckled his belt and unfastened his jeans, sliding my hand inside.

He let out a breath and his hips pulsed up, against my hand. I rubbed him through his boxers—he was big and hard and ready. I kissed his stomach again as I hooked my hands in the waist of his jeans and boxers and slid them down. Then I bent and licked his cock, slow and savoring, from base to tip, taking in the taste of him. “God, you are so sexy,” I said.

His voice was hoarse. “Megan, you’re fucking killing me.”

I smiled and licked him again, swirling my tongue over the tip. This was like before—it was so easy and so fucking hot to have sex with Jason—but it was different. I was wildly turned on, but I was so happy to have him here, in my bed. To be touching him. I wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he. He was mine.

I slid my mouth over him, taking him deep, and his hips flexed up again. He loved this; I loved it. We would be doing this lots of times. I swirled my tongue over him inside my mouth, then took him deep again. I squeezed him lightly with my hand while I licked the head, then pumped downward and cupped his balls while I took him in my mouth again. He matched my rhythm, his hips moving, his hand twisted lightly in my hair. I was straddling his legs, and I could feel the cool fabric of his jeans against my skin—we hadn’t even managed to get his pants all the way off.

I popped him out of my mouth and kissed my way up his stomach again, his chest, his neck. I’d never explored Jason’s body slowly like this, and it made me crazy. I needed him inside me.

He ran his hands down my back, cupped my ass, his fingers lightly brushing me. He could feel how soaked I was. His heart was pounding beneath my hand. “I’m on the pill,” I told him, “and I’m clean. I got tested after my last boyfriend.”

“I’m clean, too,” he said softly.