How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,71

and a pair of black panties, her dark hair tumbled over the pillow. When I walked into the room she stretched and turned my way. “You’re home,” she said sleepily.

“Shit,” I said. “I was trying to be quiet.”

She smiled. She was turned so that her shoulders twisted toward me but her hips twisted away, a pose that made her breasts press nicely against my shirt. “Nope,” she said. “It’s like there’s an elk in the apartment.”

“I’m not an elk,” I said. I crawled onto the bed fully clothed and wrapped my arm around her waist, curling myself around her and laying my head between her breasts. She was warm and soft and sexy and Megan. I felt my whole existence realign itself, all of the meaningless shit falling away, the way I always felt when I was with her, when I was touching her.

I felt her hands move gently in my hair. “Rough shift?” she asked.

“The usual,” I said. Bloody. Some shifts were bloody, but that was the job. I squeezed her tighter.

She lay quiet for a minute, letting the tension fall off me as she stroked my hair. “My hero,” she said.

“We went over this,” I said into her breasts.

“I know,” she said. “It’s just a job, so you’re not a hero. Except you are.”

“I worked on your birthday,” I pointed out. I wasn’t Perfect Jason anymore, if I ever had been. “And you had to take Holly as your date to that swanky fashion party you got invited to.”

“Holly liked all the dresses at the party,” Megan said calmly, moving her hands down to the back of my neck. “She had a blast. And you took me out the day after my birthday instead.”

“I didn’t get you a present.”

“I don’t care.” Her touch on the back of my neck was making my dick wake up. I wondered if she knew. “It doesn’t matter. You matter. I love you. That’s why I’m marrying you.”

I moved my cheek, sliding it along her breast through the fabric of her shirt. “You haven’t changed your mind? You still can, you know.”

“Since I’m not a fucking idiot,” she said calmly, “then no.”

That made me snort. I’d proposed to her last month—taken her for a walk through a local trail to a high lookout point, then surprised her with the ring I’d bought. She’d said yes, which was a relief, because there was no fucking way I was ever going to be with anyone else, and any other guy who thought he was going to marry her was going to find his nuts in a sack. So it really was the only option.

“You can’t change your mind either,” Megan said. “I know exactly how to make you hurt, Jason Carsleigh. Maximum physical pain.”

I pushed her shirt up. “Fuck, you’re making me horny, woman,” I said, kissing her stomach, sliding my hands over her breasts. “Black panties are my kryptonite.”

“You are my kryptonite,” she said, and she slid the panties off.

I pulled my clothes off and dropped them in a heap on the floor. I licked every line of her body, her stomach and the curve of her hip, the dip of her spine, the soft, firm flesh of her ass. I pulled her knees up and curled up behind her, spooning her, and she rolled back into me just right, and I slid into her while she gave a little moan.

I went slow at first, savoring it, feeling the pull on my dick and the slick wetness of her. I pulled her dark curls back and kissed her neck, her shoulder, talked dirty to her. “God, I love to fuck you,” I said. “I could die doing this. I could just fuck you and not stop.”

“Harder,” she said. “Fuck me harder, Jason.”

I pressed her forward and changed the angle and pounded into her harder, deep powerful thrusts that pinned her to the bed as she gasped in pleasure. “God,” she said. “Oh, God.” I slowed down and pulled her thighs apart and, still inside her, I rubbed my fingers over her, slick and wet. She twisted the sheets in her hands. “God, oh God.”

“I fucking love it when you come on me,” I said, moving inside her again as I rubbed her. “It makes me want to do anything for you. It makes me fucking insane.”

“Jason.”

“Do it,” I said. “Do it.”

She twisted against me, crying out, coming on me. I rode her through it, feeling the squeeze of it, fucking her hard, and then I came too, sweat beading on my chest and my forehead. It was always like this with us. Always.

I curled up behind her again, spooning her, holding her tight, smelling her skin. I kissed her shoulder. “Do you think there’s a baby yet?” I asked into the quiet of our breathing.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t feel any different.”

She’d gone off the pill two weeks ago. We’d agreed. It had only been two weeks, but still.

We weren’t even married yet, but we’d decided to start on this part. Because when had Megan and I done anything in order?

“I like this part about having kids,” I said. “The making part.”

I felt her laugh. “I think we can safely say this is the easy part.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said. “I’m worn out. I have to fuck you all the time.”

“You were doing that anyway.”

“True,” I admitted, “but now it’s like an Olympic sport.”

She rolled back and looked up at me. “Okay, fine, Jason Carsleigh,” she said. “You win a gold medal at baby-making.”

“Thank you,” I said, which made us both laugh.

Maybe she wasn’t pregnant yet. Maybe she was. Maybe I’d get her pregnant tomorrow. Or the day after that.

Whatever happened, whenever it was, it was going to be good.

That much, I already knew.