Jock Rule (Jock Hard 2)

I listen to her softly padding away, her bare feet climbing to the second story then the door to the guest bathroom clicking closed.

The sound of the lock being turned.

I grin at that—her caution—leaning back against the counter, scratching at my stomach. Rise to my full height and stretch. Make my own way up the stairs to the master bedroom, intent on washing the filth off myself.

Which I’m used to—I’ve never left a house party without being covered in something disgusting, just like I’ve never left the rugby field without being caked in mud, grass stains, and dirt.

The hot water sluices off my body, my mind wandering to the girl in the shower down the hallway. She’s not overtly sexy in any way, but I’ve never had a girl in my house, so naturally my hand strays south of the border.

I don’t purposely picture her curvy hips in my mind, or the shape of her breasts pressed against the pale, thin fabric of her cheaply made dress.

It just…happens.

It also just so happens that I haven’t had sex in—Jesus, I don’t even know how long. Since sophomore year, if I had to guestimate. The year I decided I didn’t want to be fucked simply because of my face or my last name, the year I grew the beard and let my hair get long and developed a chip on my shoulder because of the fairer sex.

It’s not their fault—it’s mine for believing a few of them actually gave a shit about me.

The boner grows between my legs when I stroke it slowly, water lubricating—wet and warm—my eyes sliding closed as my fingers grip the base of my shaft.

For a tall guy, it’s average as far as cocks go, but it’s thick and always ready for a pull.

An arm goes up against the tile wall, empty hand bracing my body as the other one strokes. Glides up and down, up and down.

I moan, picturing Teddy in my shower, naked skin, tits and ass. Wondering if her pussy is shaved, waxed, or natural. Picturing her nipples in my mind, the color of her areolas. Their size. Whether she gets off on having them sucked…

I moan.

Mouth falls open, obviously, because it feels fucking great pumping away at my own cock. Yeah, I feel like kind of a pervert, but it’s not my fault I’m suddenly having fantasies about her—I’m a warm-blooded, hormone-filled male, and there is a naked female in my house that I cannot—and will not—ever fuck.

Plus, I’m horny.

A hand is one thing, a pussy another entirely, and I haven’t banged one in so long. Too long.

I barely remember what it feels like to sink inside one, so there is no reason I should be hard over Teddy…whatever her last name is.

She’s cute, but not gorgeous. Wholesome, like the girl next door. Studious. Hardworking, if I have her pegged right—probably here on a scholarship.

I know her type.

Cheap clothes. Cheap jewelry. No car.

Worried about what her friends think and too afraid to tell them to fuck off.

I’m surprised she doesn’t have more of a backbone, honestly. Her type usually does—the ones who have to fend for themselves, have to make their way in the world without the help of their parents.

My head dips, bowing, shoulders hunched as I stroke my slippery dick, tongue darting out to run along my bottom lip. Teeth biting down.

Eyes still squeezed shut.

Teddy filling the void behind my lids.

My cock filling the void in my cupped hand.

It’s not enough, and I stroke harder. Rough. The grunt from my throat is low, echoing off the tiles in my shower, and I refuse to say the name tripping off the tip of my tongue.

Don’t say it.

Don’t you dare fucking say it.

I don’t—but it’s close—and when I come, it’s hotter than the water that washes it down the drain.

I don’t know how long I stand under the shower spray before rinsing the rest of my body, but it’s long enough that Teddy is dressed and downstairs, curled up on the living room sofa when I finish and find her.

Nothing has been turned on, not the television or radio, and she’s not playing on her phone. There’s just the light from the kitchen streaming into the room casting a glow. Knees drawn to her chest, Teddy has a blanket in her lap, pulled to her chin, shoulders bare except for the straps of what must be a white tank top.

“Hey.” She looks up when I enter the room, snuggling deeper into the blanket.

“Hey.” I plop down in a leather chair across from her, propping my feet up on the wooden coffee table. Spreading my legs, I lace my fingers behind my neck—a better position to observe her in.

She eyes me up in the dark, but not in a calculating way. It’s more like she’s trying to decide if I’m going to pounce on her or whatever—if she should get the fuck out of the room or stay put.

I want to laugh at her aversion to me, and at the same time, I want to push her buttons.

It’s late and dark, and I’m fucking beat, but I can’t just leave her sitting here, alone.

Today ended up being shit, and it looks like that’s how it’s going to end. I have a strange girl in my house—the house that is my sanctuary—and I pray to God she can’t remember how to get here. The last thing I fucking need is her dropping by unexpectedly, expecting something…

Then I’d have to be a complete dick, which would make me feel like an asshole. And I hate when I have to be an asshole.

Actually, that’s a lie—I fucking love it.

But looking at her? I’d hate to be an ass to Teddy. She looks so sweet, curled up on my couch, snuggling in my blankets and Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck am I saying?

“Tired?” she asks softly.

“Yeah.”

“You should go to bed.”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

“No.” She laughs. “Besides, it’s your house. You probably want to get rid of me. I’m the one invading your space.”

That’s true.

“Nah. It’s cool.” I glance toward the staircase—the dark cherry balustrade, polished to a shine along with the counters, cabinets, and whatever else Barb scrubs when she’s here. It leads to the second level, to the two guest bedrooms. “Take whichever room you want. They’re both on the same side of the hallway as the bathroom.”

“Thank you.” She pauses, and I can hear her thinking. “I’ll be gone first thing in the morning, promise.”

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal.” I cross my legs at the ankles. “I’ll probably be gone anyway—I run every morning.”

“Oh? What time?”

“I generally hit the pavement by six.”

“Wow, even on the weekends?”

“Yeah. We usually have matches on the weekends, so gotta stay conditioned.”

“Matches? For what?”

“Rugby.”

“You’re a player?”

The way she says player gives me pause, and I search for a hidden meaning on her expression. When I don’t find one, I give my head a terse nod.

“Yup.”

There’s a short hesitation before, “Wait, is the rugby thing intramural, or is it an actual university-sanctioned sport?”

“It’s a sport.”

“So do you travel?”

“Yes.”

“Like…where to?”

“Same places the football and baseball teams travel to, if they have rugby.”

Teddy wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know where those places are.”

“You’re not a sports fan?”

“Nope. I mean, it’s fine, but I don’t, like, go to football games or anything.”

“Why?” You can bet your sweet little ass her jock-chasing friends do.

“I just don’t.”

“Not even with your friends?”

“No. Those sports passes are really expensive.”

Hmm.

“Maybe you’d like rugby better than those other sports anyway.”

“And why is that?”

“Those other sports? The guys are all a bunch of pussies.”

This gets me a laugh, deep and throaty and sexy. Teddy covers her mouth with a hand, stifling a snort.

My brows shoot up. “Did you just snort?”