Jock Reign (Jock Hard 5)

We spend a few moments simply pressing our lips together, in no hurry.

My hands roam to his shoulders, then his neck, my fingers trailing their way through his hair so my nails can gently rake at his skin.

Jack moans.

Parts his lips, tongue waiting for an invitation to touch mine.

He tastes delicious.

Like the tea he drank earlier, and honey and lemon.

I want to eat him up.

We are in no rush to move from this spot, my back against the counter, Jack’s large hands circling my waist.

Suddenly, he lifts me, plopping me on the countertop then dragging me forward so my legs spread, one on either side of him. He pushes forward, settling between my thighs.

It’s comfortable.

Nice.

Sexy.

Our lips never part.

I never want to leave this counter.

His hands don’t stray from my waist, but I want them to. Mine certainly don’t stay in his hair, wandering south to his broad shoulders and exploring, my palms against his firm biceps.

Remarkably fit for a guy who hardly works out and hates the collegiate sport he plays.

His pec muscles are solid, too.

He flexes slightly when my fingers graze them, more so from reflex than posturing, and I feel his hard nipples through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.

Nice…

I wonder if he has hair on his chest.

I wonder if he trims it. Or shaves his body hair. Or manscapes his junk.

I wonder if he has a happy trail below his belly button.

Or if he has abs.

My hands want to know if he’s good in bed. If he’s selfish, if he’s rough or gentle. They ask him by fluttering over his T-shirt, slowly pressing into his flesh, searching to learn the body they want to know intimately.

We kiss like this until my lips feel raw. Chapped, for certain.

I want to take his clothes off, and I want him to carry me upstairs, or go down on his knees in front of me at the counter…

Naughty, naughty, Eliza.

You want what you cannot have.

Why can’t I have it?

Because he is your roommate and this isn’t about sex.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around Jack and hug him, our fronts pressed together tightly when he hugs me back.

Oddly, it feels like a goodbye.

Seventeen

Jack

“That can’t happen again, Jack. We should probably have some rules now that we’re living together. It was one thing when I wasn’t living here. Don’t you think we should act more…” She waves a hand around aimlessly. “Professional?”

“What can’t happen again?”

I know she’s talking about the snog, but we’re not in agreement on that point. Why shouldn’t we be able to snog and cuddle when the mood strikes us?

“The kiss. It’s unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional? This isn’t an office space, Eliza.”

“I know that, Jack.” She rolls her eyes at me, and it’s quite adorable. “My point is, now is a good time to lay down some guidelines, don’t you think?”

No.

I don’t think now is a good time to keep my lips to myself or my dick in my pants, but that’s not up to me, now is it?

“If that’s what you want then that is what we’ll do.” If rules are what it takes to make her comfortable, she can have whatever rules she wants. “No snogging, no shagging—not until you ask me, ha!”

“Ask you?” She scoffs as if the idea is preposterous. “That’s not going to happen.”

She’s acting like our kiss wasn’t incredible—I know my lips and cock were tingling; no way her body wasn’t.

“Wanna bet?”

Eliza clears her throat in an effort to be serious. “So. About these rules.”

Wordlessly, I wait for her to elaborate. “Yes, what about these rules? Are they forthcoming?”

“We have to create them.” She goes to the counter and retrieves a notebook I hadn’t noticed, a pink pad with gold stars and spiral. Pen. Eliza opens it and plops back down at the kitchen counter. “Rule one. No, um…intimacy.”

“Define intimacy.”

“Kissing, sex. Full-frontal contact.” She laughs—as if there’s anything to laugh about—and jots the words down on her notebook paper.

“No full-frontal contact. Are you talking about hugs?”

“Sure.”

“What if you’re crying? What if you get a failing grade on an exam and you come home crying—I’m not allowed to embrace you?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“You wouldn’t be trying to get into my pants for a shag.”

“What if you’re wearing a skirt and need a hug?”

Her expression tells me she doesn’t think I’m funny. “Jack, be serious.”

“I am bloody serious! This is nothing to joke about!” I sigh insolently. “What else?”

Eliza thinks, tapping the end of her pen on the tip of her chin. “We have to knock when entering each other’s bedrooms or bathrooms. Or any closed door.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to see my birthday suit?”

“Yes, it means I don’t want to accidentally walk in on you while you’re wearing your birthday suit. Or doing anything to it.”

“Doing anything to it?”

“You know.”

What is she talking about? “No idea what you’re implying.”