“You’re so mean to me.”
“Someone needs to be.” I suck in an unsteady breath. My heart is beating way too fast, and damn it, why didn’t I wear underwear? I was trying to avoid the embarrassment of visible panty lines, but on the humiliation scale, I’m pretty sure a wet stain trumps panty lines.
“You weren’t mean to me in Toronto…”
No, I wasn’t. And look where that got me—bouncing on Blake’s dick like it was a pogo stick while my brother almost died in the other room.
Blake is more perceptive than I thought. Or maybe he’s just a mind-reader. “It wasn’t your fault J-Bomb’s fever came back that night. Wouldn’t have mattered if we were sitting there watching TV. He had pneumonia. Us keeping our clothes on wouldn’t have changed that.”
The rational part of my brain knows that. Actually, I think every part of my brain knows that. But if I don’t focus on the guilt, then I might start focusing on other things…like how good Blake’s muscular body had felt beneath mine. How full I felt when he was inside me.
He’s not my type. If anything, he’s the opposite of my type. He’s big and brash and…a jock. What do I need with a jock? I want someone who’s deep and artsy and who I can have a serious conversation with, not someone who says things like “Cheezus” and “samesies” and all the other frat-boy nonsense that leaves Blake Riley’s mouth.
A one-night stand, sure, I’ll take it. I had it. But there’s no point in going there again when I know there’s no future with this guy.
Blake, however, is nothing if not persistent. “We had fun that night, J-Babe. Let’s have fun again.”
“No thanks.”
“You always this stubborn?”
“You always this pushy?”
“Fucking duh.” He grins. “How ’bout this? We don’t have to bone tonight. I just want another kiss.”
I roll my eyes. “How ’bout…no?”
He pouts. He’s a grown man and he’s pouting and it should look ridiculous, but my gaze is drawn to the sexy curve of his lips and…gah! No. I’m not kissing him again.
“One kiss,” he presses.
One kiss, the devil inside me urges.
“And then what?” I ask suspiciously.
“And then we go back to the party and maybe you dance with me a couple times. Or not. I mean, you’re missing out if you don’t—I got moves, Jessie. But no presh.”
Duh. No presh. This man is about as deep as a puddle, all right.
I stare at his mouth again.
So why am I considering this?
“Fine. One more kiss,” I say in a grudging tone. “But only to get you off my back.” Ha. Right. I’m being so generous. Because it has nothing to do with the fact that my lips are tingling with anticipation.
He breaks out in a huge smile. Rubs his hands together and then cracks his knuckles as if he’s preparing for a throwdown rather than a kiss.
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t have all night, bud. You want a kiss, come and get it. Otherwise—” The words die in my throat when he sinks to his knees in front of me. “What are you doing?” I squeak.
Big, warm hands slide under the hem of my dress, slowly dragging the satin material upward. “What do you mean?” he asks innocently.
Surprise makes my pulse race. “Where’s my kiss?”
Ignoring me, he pushes my dress all the way up to my waist, then groans so loudly that I shoot a wary glance behind me. But everyone on the lawn is completely out of sight, which means Blake and I are out of sight to them. Which means nobody but Blake can see that I’m not wearing anything under my dress.
“No panties?” he croaks. “Seriously? We were walking down that aisle together and you weren’t wearing panties? Are you trying to kill me?”
I’m still too stunned by his presence between my legs to respond.
Blake lets out a ragged breath. His face is so close to my core that I feel the warm puff of air on my clit. I shiver in desire, then curse myself for feeling it.
“Get up, you perv,” I grumble, trying to shove my dress down.
He locks both my hands with one of his. “Not until I get my kiss.” A naughty gleam lights his eyes.
“My lips are up here, asshole.”
The curve of his mouth widens, his smile becoming filthier and filthier. “You said a kiss, honey. But you never specified where.”
And then that wicked mouth lands on my aching core, and an even wickeder tongue sweeps out for a long, lazy lick.
Oh. My. God.
A shockwave of pleasure darts from my clit to my breasts to…well, to everywhere. I feel that one lick in every inch of my body, and it’s so good I don’t have the strength to push him away. I do the opposite, actually—I grab the back of his head and pull him closer while my traitorous legs part even farther.
“Yeah, that’s what I want,” Blake mumbles against my sensitive flesh. “Open up for me, honey.”
I hate him.
I hate his warm lips and his wet, talented tongue.
I hate the sting of his fingers on my inner thigh and the blunt tip of his finger as he drags it toward my opening.