Topped by Kayti McGee Page B

stupid face off, and I want his huge dick in my mouth.
    Fuck this whole sexual tension business. Fuck romance. It’s all a bunch of bullshit, with stupid men and stupid feelings. I should start writing thrillers and kill off everyone in the books. I’ll shoot up the charts and be the next George R.R. Martin. First order of business—fictionally murdering Charlie “Joe” Shivers.
    He pins me against a wall near the back and presses his dick against my center. I can’t stop the moans from spilling out of my lips. I can’t stop panting, the want etched into my voice. “Your books are a travesty.”
    Joe bites my neck and sucks it. “ You are a travesty.”
    He pulls at my skirt, and I slap his hands away. He pulls at my shirt, and I slap his hands away. He presses his lips to mine, and I feel my resolve slowly spilling away. For a moment, the kiss is almost tender, our tongues entwined and our hands running through each other’s hair. It reminds me of last night, of the passionate way we made love to one another, all of the teasing and agonizingly slow and perfect sex. He really was a great lay, not that I will ever on my life tell him that.
    I’m getting lost in it, panting and moaning against him, fumbling for his belt. I want it to be like it was last night, but then he pulls my hair again and instead of submission, I feel anger rolling through me.
    He called me a failure. He’s dead.
    I bite him again and move to his neck. I leave huge hickey marks everywhere I can, while he roughly jerks my legs around his waist and shoves my panties out of the way. I’m squished against the wall and can barely breathe.
    “You’re disgusting,” I barely get out before he shoves his cock all the way in and steals my breath.
    “You’re more disgusting,” he mutters against my collarbone, panting. He thrusts hard and my body aches.
    It’s a good ache, it’s an incredible ache, and I’m unbelievably wet just from the screaming-match foreplay. We dissolve into animals, nothing but this moment. One of my legs dangles, barely touching the floor, and he hikes it back up around his waist and continues plowing into me. Holy shit, he’s strong . It’s sexy as hell. Tai chi, he said? I’m going to look into it. Later. Because I am busy with my first orgasm already.
    Hate sex is amazing.
    I’ve never had it before, because I’ve never sexed someone I wanted to behead before, but it’s easily the hottest thing I’ve done in years, including last night. Why does Charlie Shivers have to be so goddamn good at sex? Why does he have to make my vagina quiver like a cliché romance novel, and send jolts of electric ecstasy through my core? My entire body feels like it’s on fire and all I want is more, more, more.
    Not only does he top me in the charts, he tops me in sex. Goddammit.
    “Your writing style is pathetic,” I barely get out. I can barely breathe, much less think. My body has completely turned itself primal, with one goal and one goal only: more orgasms.
    Delicious fingers of another start at my nipples and flood my body. I’m close, but I’m not ready. I don’t want this to end. It’s too awful, too amazing, too public. It’s taboo in every way, and I kind of love it.
    He sucks on my neck, returning the hickeys, and growls. “People only cry in your books because of how terrible they are.”
    “Asshole!” I cry out, and it pushes me over the edge. It’s slow to build, but I can feel the orgasm taking hold and ripping through me.
    Just then, the door flies open and Bethany Stupid Bonafont is marching through with her posse.
    “Thanks for helping me…with…my… contact ,” I practically scream the word as the orgasm takes control of my body and fumble sideways, pushing Joe off of me before he finishes.
    I swiftly fix my skirt and grab my purse, hoping to hell no one noticed what the hell we were doing off in the corner, that they were too busy chatting about their stupid bestsellers to notice the “and