Jock Reign (Jock Hard 5)

“You want to say it, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, the little liar, biting down on her lower lip, not breaking eye contact. “I won’t.”

I won’t.

Well neither will I.

I push forward, but only a few centimeters, head of my cock barely entering her but still agonizing us both just the same.

“Why would you do that?” Eliza’s lower lip juts out in a near pout as I pull back out. Press in.

Pull out.

“This is how the game is played where I come from. I don’t just lie here and let it dangle.”

That makes her laugh, the giggle spouting from her mouth coupled with another moan.

We go on like this for what feels like hours when in actuality it’s probably only minutes, maybe even less. The blood coursing through my entire body makes me want to beg for mercy; this is worse torture than having to wait for Santa Claus and opening presents on Christmas morning because your mum and dad haven’t had their morning coffee and refuse to let you tear into the gifts.

That’s how hard this sucks, this not sliding inside Eliza.

“Oh my god, just say it—I know you’re thinking it,” she says at long last.

“No. You say it,” I counter, even though I want to fucking bury myself inside her; I can almost taste how wet she’ll be.

“I don’t want to say it.”

How did I not notice she was stubborn?

Because she hasn’t been. She’s been polite and cute and amenable, loving all the same shows on the telly and the same foods, operating on the same schedule. Eliza helps you and takes care of you.

It’s been easy and fun, but this isn’t fun or easy.

This is godawful.

Not a game.

Not cute.

“You want to slide inside me, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I’m not going to.” So much more fun when she’s the one begging, which is what she’s doing now but not admitting it. Sneaky devil, trying to manipulate me into groveling.

Ha!

I was once tied to a tree at boarding school, and my mates held hostage an entire cake I wanted, refused to give me a piece even after they cut me loose.

“If you want me to beg you so bad, why not just admit defeat and let me inside?”

“Coz,” she says, mimicking my British vocabulary. “What’s the fun in that?”

“Indeed.” I lean down to kiss her shoulder, lips a breathless whisper on her skin.

Kiss.

Kiss.

Kiss.

“Don’t do that, it’s driving me crazy.” Her hips gyrate on the mattress even as she turns her head, giving me better access.

I brush her hair away.

Kiss her some more, this time on the mouth.

Somehow that makes the entire situation worse, her tongue in my mouth creating mass chaos in my groin, in my loins, and with my blood pressure.

I press forward.

“Just the tip,” Eliza reminds me.

“I know, Eliza.”

I grind it out, sounding cross; drunk with desire is what I am.

Drunk with the idea of boning her, making love. Getting inside and dumping my load.

She’d hate if I said that. Doesn’t sound gentlemanly, does it?

“Maybe a bit more?” she suggests in a strangled gasp.

“I don’t think so, love.”

“That’s not cheating.” She says what I’m thinking. “I just want a bit more, don’t be mean.”

“It’s all or nothing.” Make your choice.

Choose.

Sure I’m manipulating the situation—I could easily slip a bit more inside…slide in and out, that lustful few centimeters…make both of us happy…it would feel so good—does feel good—that flirty…

…little

…tip.

“Fine,” she snaps, agitated, pouting without pouting, hips raised toward my cock, non-verbally begging.

“Fine what? Be specific. Fine, slide inside me, or fine, don’t?”

“Fine, don’t.”

“Really? You’re going to be that way?”

“I’m going to be that way.”

“But for how long exactly?”

Honestly, I’m in good shape but not in great shape, and my arms are beginning to feel like jelly. I’d rather be doing planks right now than hovering over Eliza with a stiff dick and nowhere to sink it.

“You’re not actually going to win anything by holding out on us.” This game isn’t a real game; it’s just foreplay shite talk. Does she not realize that? “Maybe you should join the rugby team. Bet you’d be crack on defense. Never quitting and all that crap.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Her back arches, tits pushing into the night air, nipples hard. I want to reach under her and pull her toward me, pull one into my mouth and suck on it.

Lovely.

Sexy.

Pouting nipple.

I want to taste it, and so I do, dick dragging south so my mouth can suckle on Eliza’s tit, tongue swirling, lips puckering around it. So good, so fucking delicious.

Where has this tit been all my life?

Not in my mouth, that’s for damn sure.

“Oh god, if you keep doing that, I might come.”

Say what now? “Seriously?”

“Yes. My boobs are an erogenous zone.”

I’d rather she came on my dick, but at this point, beggars can’t be choosers.

Well.

Not that she’s begging—she hasn’t asked for shite.