Hate To Love You

His hands glided and touched under my shirt, covering my breasts.

I shoved his hand away, but with a wicked grin, he bent down to start kissing my stomach. Whoa. I was a mess, panting, and feeling this flooding sensation all over. His lips were moving over my skin, raising a whole storm of pleasure, and I pawed at his shoulders. He raised up to find my mouth, and I was the one to put his hand on my breast. He didn’t undo my bra, but he slipped underneath it, cupping me fully, and his thumb rubbed over my nipple.

I cursed and moaned, tightening my legs around his back right over his waist. He was the one to break away and groan this time. I could feel him, resting so close to my entrance, but we weren’t going there.

If these sessions continued, maybe. If not, totally fine with that. And that was a big if. I didn’t like this guy. Remember?

I paused, pulling my lips away and frowning to myself. Was I trying to remind myself or him?

My head was filled with these dark and swirly feelings. Want. Desire. Lust. I wasn’t going to tell him about that. He’d say it was because of his primal animal sexiness, but I whimpered, his mouth capturing mine again. I had to admit there must’ve been some of that going on. It was infecting me, making me act all wanton, like a girl.

“Stop thinking.” He rose so he could whisper the words to my ear, and I melted again. That was a caress, reminding me of all the other times he’d spoken so only I could hear. Goddamn. That was intimate. Then his hands rested on the snap of my jeans, and I woke up. He was about to go to a whole other level of intimacy.

“No.” I caught his hand. “I’m not ready.”

“Okay.” His hand slid back under my shirt. I thought he was going back to my breast, which was a pleasant thought. She was missing him, but he didn’t. He lifted my shirt up, and I helped him tug it over my head.

I didn’t need that short-sleeved shirt. What a good idea. This was so much better, but no. He had to join me. I raised his shirt, and he lifted, grabbing the fabric and throwing it to the floor. I registered his wicked grin, his heated eyes, and then he was on me once more. Skin to skin. Bare chest to bare chest, except for my bra. He touched the clasp behind me and asked, “Yeah?”

I paused. Should I? Was that too much, too fast?

He waited, and skimmed his thumb over my nipple as he did, and I cursed at him. “That isn’t playing fair.”

His grin widened. His lips met mine, and he whispered against them, “I don’t play fair. Ever. You should know that about me.” His other hand began to undo my clasp, but he was going slowly, waiting for my approval, so I nodded. The bra felt like a restriction. It wasn’t natural. I was all about being natural at that moment, and then it was off, and the straps were slipped from my arms, and I wound them around his neck once again.

It was gone, and we really were bare chest to bare chest, then. We were exactly how we were supposed to be, and like that, with my jeans on, and his bulging, we made out until way past Gladiator was done and the credits had ended.

All the way until the door handle rattled.

“FUCK!”

That was me, but Shay almost levitated off me. He scooted back so he was sitting on the end of the bed.

“Kennedy?” Missy was knocking on the door. “Let me in!”

“Uh—”

My hair was a mess. My boobs felt like they’d been sanded and were incredibly smooth, and I could only gape at Shay. His hair was a mess like mine, but I trickled down his chest. He was so yummy. I bit my lip, and he tipped his head back, a soft groan coming from him. He bent over me, whispering, “That isn’t fair.”

“Yeah,” I whispered back, falling back on the bed. “I don’t play fair, either.”

“Yeah?” He was smiling, still talking quietly.

“Yeah.” I pulled him down. I was losing my mind. We were on a bed, and he didn’t have a shirt on, and I only wanted to feel him against me, but . . . was I going to do something?

“Kennedy!” Missy pounded harder on the door. “Let me in. I need to grab my keys.”

“Why?”

I stretched on my back, and Shay was on top of me. He fit between my legs, and his lips fell to my shoulder. He murmured, “Get rid of her. I’m not hiding in that damned closet again.”

Then his lips began kissing there. He was doing these circle things with his tongue, and I was struggling to remember whose dorm room I was even in.

Missy banged on the door once more. She raised her voice. “Come on. We’re going to a party.”

I frowned. They had party friends?

“I need my keys.” She added, punctuating her impatience with another twist of the doorknob.

I groaned. “Can I just give you your keys? Can you not come in?”

“Why?” Her voice was quieter, as if she took a step backward.

“Because I’m working out, naked.”

Shay started laughing, burying his head into my shoulder and neck.

“Naked?” She sounded disgusted. “Are you masturbating?”

His shoulders started shaking.

I was going to take one for the team.

I raised my voice. “Yes. This is a natural thing to do. I am taking control of my body, and that means masturbation. It’s healthy.”

“That’s disgusting.” She sighed. “Yeah, just give me the keys. I can get a different shirt from Holly and use her makeup. You owe me, Kennedy.”

She wasn’t the only one owing someone in this situation. I rolled my eyes and crawled out from under Shay. I tugged on a shirt. I didn’t know which one. I just grabbed one. It felt weird walking half-naked in the room even though I knew he’d pull it off as soon as I went back to him. Grabbing her keys, I padded barefoot and opened the door.

“You’re so gross.”

I shoved her keys out the door and grunted. “So are you.” I was going to shut the door hard, but paused. “Thank you.” It closed, and I locked it once more. I could hear her walking away as I rested my back against the door.

I took inventory.

I was wearing his shirt. No bra. No socks. No shoes. My jeans were unbuckled, but the zipper was still up. And I still had my underwear on.

Shay sat up, his eyes darkening. “You look good like that.”

I raised a hand to my hair. Still a mess. And my lips were swollen and tingly. I touched them, too. “Yeah.” He did, too, but I held that in. I stayed there, sober and clear-conscious thinking returning, and the questions were starting to form. What were we doing? What was I doing? With him? I hated him . . . right?

Didn’t I?

He rose lithely to his feet and started across the room. “Don’t start thinking. Don’t. Just—” I was still against the door but straightened to my fullest height and gazed up at him. I could feel his body heat. His chest was right in front of me. One inch away. He dropped his head, his eyes dreamy, and I could feel his breath like a soft whisper on my skin. His finger traced my lip as he added, “We don’t talk about it, remember?”

His hand skimmed down my arm, falling to my hand. “No talking.”