Page 53 of That Kind of Guy

Before I could finish nodding, his hands came to my hips and I gasped when he hoisted me onto the counter, facing him. He pushed my knees apart and my eyes widened at the look on his face.

Motivated. His eyes were dark but focused. His gaze skimmed over me, not sure whether to look in my eyes or at my lips or along the neckline of my dress. His hands rested on the bare skin of my knees, and I could feel my underwear getting wet.

Holy shit, what was happening?

Andwhywas I enjoying this so much?

His hands came back to my hips, he pulled me toward him, put his mouth on mine, and I melted.

Half of the tension inside me settled, and half only wound tighter. This was what I wanted, but I always wantedmore. Making out on the kitchen counter like teenagers was all I needed, but the next second, I wanted more, faster, harder, less clothes, more skin. One of my hands fisted into his hair and he groaned and slid his tongue over mine. My other hand pulled his shirt tails out so I could skim my hand up what I thought might be—yes it was!—a ridged six-pack.

He pulled me to him harder, flush against him, and his hard length pushed against me.

“Oh, my god,” I breathed into his mouth, and his erection pulsed against me.

He let out another groan. “Jesus Christ, Avery.”

There was something about how his hand was firmly in my hair, holding my mouth to his with no chance of escape that made me very, very wet. His other hand came back to my knee, sliding up my inner thigh, closer to my center. I gasped. My body was on fire. I was about to explode.

“They’re in here, making a baby on the counter,” one of Emmett’s friends called at the doorway, and I jerked away from Emmett.

Emmett walked a few steps away and leaned over the counter. His back rose and fell with his heavy breathing. I slid off the counter to standing, opened the fridge, and for some reason, grabbed a bottle of hot sauce.

“I’m going to…” I trailed off. “Yeah.”

“I need a minute,” Emmett murmured into the counter with a strained voice.

I nodded. Yep. The memory of what he needed a minute for, pressed into me, was seared into my brain.

Back out in the living room, I placed the hot sauce on the table as everyone began clapping. “Found it.”

The party continued, and I spent the next few hours trying to act normal around Emmett. Once in a while, our gazes would meet and I’d feel another pulse between my legs, but I ignored it. This was an agreement. It wasn’t real, and I wasn’t supposed to be feeling turned on like this. I tried to push the feelings aside, but when Emmett’s hand eventually rested on my ankle, I stood.

“I’m going to head home,” I told the group, not looking at him.

Emmett frowned and jumped up. “You’re leaving?”

I nodded. “I’m tired. Bye, everyone.”

I wasn’t tired. I worked in the restaurant industry, I was awake past midnight regularly, but I couldn’t sit here, remembering his mouth on mine and his hands in my hair. It was driving me nuts.

A round of goodbyes followed me from the living room to the kitchen, where I placed my glass in the dishwasher. Emmett was on my heels.

“I can’t believe you’re tired. What about all those late nights at the restaurant?”

Shit. Busted. I gave him a lopsided smile. “I’ve had enough socializing andlying”—I whispered the word—“for one night.”

Also, I was pretty sure that if Emmett kissed me one more time tonight, I wouldn’t leave until morning. The thought was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.

He moved in front of me as I tried to exit the kitchen. “Why don’t you stay in the guest bedroom?”

“Because I don’t have all my stuff. This may come as a shock to you but I don’t wake up like this.” I gestured at my face and hair.

“I bet you look cute when you wake up.” His tone was teasing and persuasive.

I narrowed my eyes at him. That kiss, and now this? “What’s gotten into you?”

The corners of his mouth rose in a wicked smile and he shrugged. “Just wondering.”

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