Page 91 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“You know what, A.J.? Maybe I should tell you that the first time I wanted to kiss you, we were at my apartment, the second at yours, the third on the street, and since then, I catch myself staring at your mouth longer than friends should stare at each other’s lips,” I confess, my eyes locked on his, and I slide my hand down his arm. “Sometimes I think about how it would be if we played Seven Minutes in Heaven. If we locked ourselves in a room and spent seven minutes in there. Me and you, no light, your arms around me and my legs around your waist.” I moisten my lips in front of a panting A.J. and scratch his skin until I reach the back of his neck, where I tangle my fingers in his hair. “Then I think it’s only fair to ask you to kiss me, to tell you how much I need this, how much you’ve taken over my thoughts more than I can stand… and if you don’t do it now, maybe I’ll explode from so much…”

I don’t finish the sentence. Because in seconds I realize my legs are giving out, still kneeling, but each of them is on one of A.J.’s thighs.

I just need this. A kiss and nothing more.

I shouldn’t, but maybe a kiss is the only way to get this man out of my head. So, this should be the moment when I pull away, smile with disdain, and say that the worst part of teasing an actress is not knowing when the act ends.

But A.J.’s hands slide to my neck, firm. He pulls me to him, takes my lips, and I simply moan against the softness of his mouth and fit myself over him, letting his big, demanding hands guide me however they want.

I should stop, but kissing A.J. is different.

Different from any other kiss, because this man doesn’t kiss me just with his lips, A.J. kisses me with his whole body. From the way his hands trace my skin, unhurried, memorizing every curve, to the tongue exploring my mouth, claiming me.

He pulls me closer, the fingers of his right hand firm in my hair, while his left slides down as if he knows my body, and it makes me shiver. When A.J. grabs my hair and pulls lightly to deepen the kiss, a gasp escapes me.

I bite his bottom lip, tangling my fingers in his hair, and capture his lips to bury the urge to look at him, to see in his eyes if this kiss does to him what it’s doing to me. But I can’t. I can’t. If I stop now, I won’t be able to come back. So, I pull him closer, crossing my legs around him, erasing any space between us.

A.J.’s response is instant, he squeezes my thighs, lets out a hoarse groan against my mouth, and at that moment, I know: It was better to pretend I was acting and leave.

Oh, gosh… you’re like a dream.” A.J. pulls away from the kiss, panting. “You’re everything I imagined—and more. I needed this so badly.

“I hate how well you kiss,” I whimper, getting a quick peck after. “But we need to stop.” I push my hands against his chest.

“What you talking about?” he asks, pulling me into a hug and pressing his lips to my neck.

“I don’t want this to make things weird.”

“We just don’t let it.” He shrugs like it’s simple.

And I decide to believe it is.

“You have no idea how much I wanted this, how much I want you,” A.J. whispers against my lips, sending chills down my body as he lays me on the couch, and I pull him on top of me.

Then he kisses me again.

And again.

And again.

Until his hand slides down my body, and a groan escapes against my neck.

“There’s a room upstairs,” he says, surprised by his own reaction. “We can be more comfortable there.”

“I’m not having sex with you, A.J.” I set a boundary; this madness we’re doing is enough.

“You’re the one who mentioned sex…”, The bastard nibbles my lips, teasing me. “Again.”

I hold his gaze for a few seconds, but this time I don’t want to argue back, I just want this night to never end.

“I think it’s disrespectful to Dani,” I admit, and his eyes dim. Leaning in, I trail my fingers along his jaw before pressing my lips to his ear, voice dropping: “Take me to the basement couch, Anthony.”

“You’re gonna drive me crazy, Miss Petulant.” He brushes a thumb over my cheek, then leans forward to nibble my earlobe and I slip a hand through his hair, tugging him closer.

“I always knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Oh, Alexandra, I tried my best,” A.J. says my name in a slow, hoarse voice that makes me surrender.

Then he pulls me onto his lap, stands, and carries me toward the stairs as if I weigh nothing, pausing only to turn off the TV. As he descends, I realize that driving him crazy is fair, since I’m already completely out of control.

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