Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

So maybe it’s a sign that she’s not as immune to me as I thought she was. Or maybe she just doesn’t want me staring at her boobs, because chances are at some point her nipples are going to harden because it’s cold in this room, and I’ll be able to see those through the thin t-shirt material and that would be awkward.

I won’t be able to stop myself from looking—I am only human after all, and it’s been hella long since I’ve been laid.

Nipples.

Tits.

Crap. The thoughts have me shifting uncomfortably, dick stirring inside my sweatpants rather inconveniently, and I promise I’m not usually a pervert.

Is this me being a pervert, or is this me fighting off an attraction I didn’t think I had?

Fuck.

Do I have a crush on my roommate? She hasn’t even been here a blasted week!

This can’t be happening.

My cheeks redden with a blush, something I haven’t done since one of the teachers at boarding school caught me jerking off in my dorm room when I was supposed to be outside for a routine fire drill.

It was horribly uncomfortable for both of us.

Almost as uncomfortable as I feel right now, the twitching in my pants inconvenient and—if it gets any bigger—embarrassing.

I can’t get up. I have to sit here and stop thinking about boobs and bare skin.

Georgia giggles at something on the telly, and I readjust.

“You didn’t think that was funny?” Her voice cuts through the tension she doesn’t realize is there.

“Huh?”

“Are you even paying attention?” she accuses, pausing the program.

“Of course I’m paying attention.”

“What just happened then?”

“I didn’t realize there was going to be a quiz.”

“You’re right.” She lowers the remote, unpausing it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…never mind. Sorry.”

She says it twice, and I feel like a miserable cow.

“Don’t apologize. I’m just preoccupied.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just had one of those days.”

She sets the remote down and leans forward as if to rise from the couch. “Do you want me to get you anything from the kitchen? I was thinking about a snack.”

“Uh. Sure.”

She’s watching me expectantly.

“Whatever you’re having is good.”

Happily, she bounds off, shuffling about the kitchen whilst the movie plays—I have no idea what’s happening on screen, nor do I care. I only know that what’s happening in my pants is not okay.

For two more hours I sit like this—two—relief coming only in the form of me climbing into bed once the movie is over, pulling the covers over my body.

Huffing and turning this way and that, unable to find a comfortable spot to rest my head.

Since when is this pillow so lumpy?

Restless and suddenly crazy horny, I say, “Fuck it,” before shoving down the band of my sweatpants, over my hips, kicking them to the bottom of the bed along with my boxer briefs.

My hand sneaks down my stomach the short distance to my stiff cock, the voice in my head rationalizing what I’m about to do.

This is not about her, this is not about her, this is not about her.

Except it’s Georgia I see when my eyes slide closed, hair down, shy smile on her lips the night she walked up to me at the rugby house. Behind my closed lids, she’s only wearing a sports bra, tits pushed up, skin tan from all the running she does outside.

Her lips are pink.

No, no, no—her lips are not pink!

They’re…they’re…

Chapped.

Beige. Plain.

Nothing plump or sexy about them.

You bloody liar.

There’s absolutely nothing I can tell myself at the moment to get my mind off of my roommate, who is no doubt fast asleep or snuggled in bed just down the hall, oblivious to my lecherous thoughts of her.

This dick will not go down without a fight.

I feel like such a creep.

I feel like such a fraud.

I feel like I’m letting her down thinking of her this way, in the least friendly way a man can think of a woman. Out of the friend zone, out of the roommate zone, and into my bed.

I would never cross the line.

Never.

But I can close my eyes again and lose myself in the daydream…one where she’s walking through my bedroom door, slowly moving toward the bed, pulling that baggy red t-shirt up over her head and tossing it to the ground.

Nothing wrong with that, is there?

“I thought I heard you say my name,” Georgie is saying, parting her lips as she comes closer, hips swaying—even wrapped in those ridiculous gray sweatpants, her body is gorgeous.

Every delicate curve.

Every feminine, toned line.

“Did you need me for something?” she asks, glancing back at me over her shoulder, facing the door whilst she shimmies, arse out, bending at the waist to push those ugly gray sweats down over her hips.

I watch, lips parted, cock throbbing in my lap.

Hand leisurely stroking as she puts on a deliberate show before me, standing in a thong and that sheer bra I found stuck to my pants in the laundry room, dark nipples flirting with me—making me harder.