The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #5)(65)

Our tongues entwine. Wet. Hot. Kisses.

“Your turn,” he tells me. “Lie down.”

“Are you sure…” I feign protest.

His hands wrestle with my waist, taking me to the mattress. Give me a yank to position me, my head up near the headboard. Slowly, he eases his way down my body, arms braced on either side of me, raining kisses on my skin along the way.

Column of my neck. Kiss.

Collarbone. Kiss.

The valley between my breasts. Kiss.

My stomach. Kiss.

Belly button. Kiss.

His warm breath kisses my skin, too. Mouth opening when he’s down between my legs, the tingling I felt earlier intensifying to a satisfying burn. God, I want his mouth there so bad it aches.

Throbbing. Aching. Need.

If there was ever such a thing…

I gasp loudly—a half moan, half gasp—when his tongue dips into my slit.

“Your pussy tastes so fucking good.”

It does?

Thank God. I mean, how the hell does a girl even know what it tastes like? I did make sure not to eat anything gross today, like tuna fish salad or seafood or whatever, haha. Just loads of fresh fruit. In the event Abe decided to go down on me.

His tongue goes deeper. His lips suck harder. He uses a bit of teeth and I moan, unable to stop the loud sound from filling the bedroom.

I’m unable to keep my hips from gyrating, wanting it deeper and harder but unable to control him.

Abe spreads my legs, pushing them wider with his big, gorgeous, sexy hands. Keeping them spread with wide shoulders. The thumb on his right hand finding my clit and pressing down like it’s a hot button.

It feels incredible.

It feels like I never want it to stop, but I want to come so fucking bad. I don’t, though.

But I do, “Oh god Abe don’t stop.”

Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t ever, ever stop.

Abe growls like a caveman, bearing down and finishing me off as if his goddamn life depends on it. Leaving me lying there, lower half shuddering.

All is right with the world.



The first knock on Abe’s bedroom door comes around twelve-thirty in the morning, an unobtrusive rap that wakes us from a sex-dazed nap. Abe is sprawled out, flat on his back in the middle of his bed, and I lie sated, snuggled up next to him.

The second knock isn’t as tolerant. Full knuckled.

The third? Slightly aggressive.

Banging fist.

“What the hell?”

Abe and I both stir, stopping short when the doorknob rattles and his roommate’s voice booms through the wood.

“Dude. Why is your door locked? Are you cranking one out?” JB rattles the knob again, trying to jiggle it free.

I roll my eyes at his crude terminology for masturbating but otherwise lie perfectly still.

Waiting.

“What’s up?” Abe calls out, pulling the blanket over our naked bodies. What’s the point of getting dressed when you’re only going to have sex again?

“Fucker, open the door so I can tell you.”

“I’m naked.” It’s not a lie, and I snake my hand beneath the covers to gently grip his dick. Mmm, mine.

“So?” Jack’s voice is impatient on the other side of the door; I can almost hear him sigh. “I’ve seen your hairy balls before.”

Abe does not have hairy balls.

“What do you want, Jack?”

“I want you to open the fucking door. Duh.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait.”

“Why aren’t you opening the goddamn door?”

Abe’s patience frays. “What the fuck, JB. Lay off—I said we could talk in the morning.” He shoots me a frustrated nod. “I don’t know what his problem is.”

“Uh—he’s drunk. That’s what his problem is.” And according to my boyfriend, if he finds us in post-coital bliss, he’s likely to have a coronary.

JB continues to bang like a petulant child who’s been locked out of the bathroom while his mother tries to take a pee in private.

“I have to open the door.”

“Uh. No you don’t,” Abe replies.

He’s already half off the bed, pulling on his pants. To me he says, “You have to hide.”

“Oh my god, I am not hiding. This is ridiculous. If you wait patiently, he’ll go away.”

“No he won’t—it’s going to drive him crazy that I’m not unlocking my door.”

“It’s not like he’s going to come in the window.”

“The window! Great idea.” He starts gathering my clothes and tossing them at me, article by article until I’m frowning, bra hitting my chest. “Put that on.”

Instead, I throw it back down to the floor. “What the hell, Abe? I am not going out the window!”

“What about the closet?”

“Stop freaking out. Why don’t you just tell him?”

The pounding stops. “Dude, do you have a girl in there with you?”

We hold our breath, and I wait patiently for Abe to confirm it. “No.”

My shoulders sag—this would have been the perfect opportunity to tell JB we’re dating. What’s the worst thing that could happen? They fight for a bit? Surely this isn’t that big a deal. JB didn’t even like me.