Page 123 of Just My Type of wrong guy

A.J.’s lips seek mine with hunger and sweetness. He kisses me like it’s the only thing he’s ever learned to do right in his life. His hands glide over my body with the skill of a seasoned guitarist, and every inch of my skin burns, leaving a trail only he will recognize.

Without rushing, A.J. touches my face, caresses my hair, and supports himself on his elbows to watch me. I take a deep breath under his dark, intense gaze, and he brings his lips closer to mine again, savoring my taste, sucking my mouth, and I let out a moan, with no other possible reaction, as his lips travel down the line of my jaw to my neck.

The moment his hot tongue touches my skin, I shiver, and he laughs against the curve of my neck before marking me again.

“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice low and wicked. “Better keep those moans quiet, Miss Petulant… we don’t want to disturb the other guests, right?”

Before I can even form a response, A.J. settles between my legs with such care it disarms me. The weight of his body is almost imperceptible, but the weight of desire is not. With a sudden push, I shove his chest and flip him onto the bed. His breath catches with surprise, and I take advantage of the moment to climb on top of him, locking his legs with mine, as if I had any chance of controlling a man twice my size.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t make it so hard to stay quiet.” I say, my mouth brushing against his.

“If our house were a prison, more specifically your bed, I wouldn’t mind being sentenced,” he says, sliding his hand from the base of my breasts up to my neck.

“Oh, really?” I tease, almost forgetting that I don’t sleep with guys I’m not dating, and I grind against him before lowering my body onto his. “I think we can arrange that on Monday.”

I assure and finally kiss him, as if I want him to shout over the loudspeakers, put it on billboards, and announce to the whole world that he kissed me. A.J. lets out a grunt, and my hands slide down the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it up.

His body is hot, his eyes glazed over with desire, and when the shirt is halfway up, he stops me.

“We’re not doing this,” he says simply

“What ‘this’ Anthony?” I ask, irritated and embarrassed. “I’m not trying to take your innocence, just feel your skin.”

“Great.” He tries to pull me into a kiss, but I keep staring at him

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, just that we’re not having sex,” the guy I’ve seen kiss dozens of people in the last few months says, like he’s telling me the time

I pull away from his chest, sitting back on top of him.

“Is there something wrong with me?” I ask because, even though I wasn’t thinking about it, it doesn’t make any sense for this man to say that when I canfeelhow badly he wants me.

“Wrong? No. I just don’t think it’s worth taking such a step this quickly.

At any other time, I’d agree. But today, I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips as I slide off him and sit on the bed.

“Let me see if I got this…” I start, watching him sit up and slowly make his way toward me. “You’ve stuck your dick in every hole there is, and when it’s my turn, you want to get married?”

A.J. closes his eyes and stops for a moment, holding back a laugh, but I’m dead serious.

“You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met in my entire life,” he growls, pulling me by the thighs and lying me down on the mattress.

“I’m serious, Anthony,” I shout indignantly.

“I’ve missed hearing you call me that, right beneath me.”

I try to open my mouth to argue, but he’s already kissing me like he wants to burn me with his tongue. That’s it. He’s really not going to have sex with me.

He’s just going to torture me.

But, if the torture is having to kiss him for hours, I think I can endure it.

***

The weak sunlight invades the room before the alarm clock goes off, and I watch Anthony Fortin sleep like a baby. His serene face, long breaths, and his bare ass, but still inside his white boxer briefs.

I smile thinking about last night. How I love everything about him, and how the two of us, here, together, felt so right. I lean back, grab my phone from the bedside table, and open thenotes app where, suddenly, the song I started drafting when we were in Europe takes on new contours.

---