The Jock Script (The Script Club 3)

“So you want me to spank you?”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “In the heat of a sexy moment, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. But I don’t want to be tied up or handcuffed. Certain toys are a no-no too.”

He pursed his lips as if to hide a smile. “Good to know. Such as?”

“Dildos are fine—although I’d want to inspect the size.”

“Naturally.”

“And butt plugs can be fun…but once again, size is important, and if there’s a vibration component to either, I would need to be privy to speed ahead of time. No one wants anything with the RPM of a jackhammer banging against their prostate.”

Blake chuckled, then let out a pained-sounding groan. “For Christ’s sake, I am rock hard again.”

I snickered. “How is that possible? We literally just had anal intercourse.”

“Anal intercourse?” He guffawed.

“That’s what it’s called.”

“No, it’s called fucking. We fucked. On that sofa.” He gestured toward the living area. “And it was amazing.”

It was. Like it had been yesterday and every day over the past two weeks.

The Saturday of my cologne catastrophe and our second bookcase adventure was a major turning point. We’d rolled out of bed that afternoon, walked into town for lunch, and sat at a cramped table for two. Blake had stretched his long legs out to avoid it toppling over and it hadn’t bothered me at all that his calf rested against mine. I liked it. A lot. And I’d liked the way he’d looked at me even more…as if detailed info about Mars’s deep canyons, crazy weather and temperature shifts were the most interesting things in the universe.

We’d talked about summer on the way back to his place. The brush of Blake’s arm made my heart skip a beat, but I’d listened intently when he told me about the online class he’d enrolled in for his master’s and his plan to teach an algebra class at Pasadena City College before visiting his parents at the beginning of August. He’d described the family lake house, the boat tied at the end of the long dock, mosquitoes as big as softballs, and fireflies twinkling in the night sky as though he were painting a picture. He’d laughed at my horrified expression, assuring me I’d love it. Then he’d opened the door to his apartment and we officially ran out of words.

We came together with an intensity that shook me to my core. Clothes and shoes flew in between feverish kisses and manic groping. The second we stepped into his room, we fell into bed…and stayed there for the rest of the weekend.

Long story short, we’d been on a fifteen-day sexathon where the main objective was to get skin to skin as fast as humanly possible. We traded nightly phone calls and text marathons for dinner dates after work. But dinner was an afterthought and a handy excuse to be together if we needed one.

Of course I didn’t need an excuse. My friends knew about Blake and me. Heck, my mother had even met him. And though she’d never commented about me wearing his shirt, Mom was a smart cookie and had probably guessed that I had a terrible crush on him. But no one knew that our relationship had taken a sexy turn, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. See, in my mind, I could enjoy hot sex with the most handsome man in the world without compromising my moral code grading system. As long as our friendship wasn’t a secret, I remained guilt free.

That wasn’t the case for Blake.

He was still in the closet, and that was okay. I had no intention of asking for more than he could give. I’d agreed to help him get comfortable with the idea of being out, and that “script” had nothing to do with us. We were separate.

We were friends who had sex…or sex friends…or companions in coitus. You get the picture. The phrasing was irrelevant; what mattered was that we both acknowledged that we had a transparent temporary arrangement.

Okay, so we didn’t say those words aloud, but we didn’t need to. Our actions spoke for us. We were unexpectedly easy friends…who were now a little more.

And it was…glorious.

I shifted on my stool to get a better position for my poor ass, aware of the telltale blush on my cheeks at the memory of Blake behind me less than thirty minutes ago. I’d bitten the sofa cushion to muffle my moans so I didn’t scandalize the neighbors as Blake moved like thunder, pulling my hair and showering me with dirty sweet nothings. He’d gripped my cock and commanded me to come…just as the doorbell rang.

Thank God I’d insisted on putting a towel down. I’d made a mess and I didn’t have the strength to care.

I polished off another piece of sushi and glanced toward the living area, knowing I’d never look at that gray sofa the same way again. Blake followed my gaze and waggled his brows lecherously.