Page 82 of Dirty Like Me
He smoothed my hair off my cheek, his gaze drifting down over my chest, which was still heaving in my ruffled tank top as my breath worked its way back to normal.
“Kiss me,” I said. Maybe I just wanted to see if he would do it on demand.
He did.
His lips met mine and we came together in a slow burn, my hand running up his chest to grip his soft T-shirt. “I’m sorry about last night,” I breathed against his lips.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. Then he kissed me again, and he didn’t stop kissing me for like half an hour, so there wasn’t much else to say on the topic. I pretty much forgot whatever I was trying to apologize for anyway, or why, or anything else other than the feel of his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth and his hand on my thigh, up under my skirt. His thumb grazed my panties, sending a thrill of pleasure through my clit, and I squirmed.
“Jesse—”
“Katie.” He did it again, rubbing his thumb between my legs, and I parted my thighs just a little, wanting more. Then he leaned in to say something in my ear. “You see all these girls?”
I was panting with need by now and not particularly interested in looking at any girls, but we were definitely surrounded by them. “Uh-huh.”
He kissed my neck, then my ear, and said, “I know I could take my pick of who to screw tonight.” He withdrew his hand from my skirt, touched my chin and turned my face to his so we were nose-to-nose. “I’m not going to,” he said, brushing his lips over mine.
“I know,” I breathed. “We have a deal.”
“Fuck the deal,” he said, and kissed me again, deep.
I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but whatever it was my body really, really liked it. I let him kiss me, let him touch me, let him draw me closer and closer against him.
Then I started reciting the list in my head.
Night after night, as I’d lain in bed in the dark just inches from him, I’d made myself a list. A list of all the reasons I couldn’t even begin to fucking think about falling for Jesse Mayes.
There were many. Not the least of which was that he’dhiredme to be here—topretendto be in love with him. He had never once asked me to feel anything real.
But I did. I could feel it igniting in my chest like a tiny, uncomfortable spark. Every time he walked in the room. Every time he looked at me. Every time he kissed me like he was starving and I was his last meal.
I told myself it wasn’t his fault that he was a fabulous kisser, that his touch made my pulse race, my head spin and my toes curl. It wasn’t his fault that my vagina was sending mixed signals to my brain and I was reacting erratically. Sometimes I was all over him. Sometimes I was distant. Sometimes I overcorrected and got weirdly cheerful.
Tonight I was so relieved we weren’t fighting and so thrilled to be back in his arms that I was all over him, and I didn’t even try to hold back.
So I really shouldn’t have been surprised when, after the bar closed and we all piled back onto the buses, Jesse instantly corralled me in the back bedroom.
Butfuck.
He shut the door, locked it, and turned to me like a raging bull.
I could feel the heat rolling off him. There was a hungry gleam in his dark eyes that made me swallow, hard. He tore off his shirt like he was burning up, tossed it aside and stood there, heaving, like he’d just run a few miles. And if he kept looking at me like that, my panties were gonna drop in about three-point-five seconds.
We smashed together. We kissed like we wanted to devour one another. His chest was slippery with sweat, pulse slamming in his hands as he gripped my head. I held onto him as he walked us to the bed and threw us down on it.
He tore off my skirt and panties in seconds, groaning with lust. Then he knelt between my legs and spread my thighs with his big hands.
“Um! What about the bet?” I gasped.
Jesse lowered himself between my legs, giving me the most smoldering look I’d ever seen. “Fuck the bet,” he said, and went down on me.
At the first swipe of his tongue I sucked in a breath and collapsed back on the bed. My arms were shaking; I couldn’t even hold myself up if I tried. All thought of resistance ground to a halt.
Allthoughtground to a halt.
The man kissed me there the same way he kissed my face.
Like he was starving for it.
