Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

Practice makes perfect, but only if you’re not a chickenshit.

Ashley bows his head as I work my hand over his hard-on, breathing labored.

“I want to fuck you so bad.” He groans.

It’s not a question and it’s not a request, and I don’t think he’s telling me for any other reason than…the words slipping from his mouth, unfiltered honesty.

I nod.

I want him to fuck me so bad.

I know it’s probably going to hurt because it’s been a long time, really long, and I’ve only had sex with one other person, but I trust him and desire him and want this next time to be with him.

I want him to fuck me.

Him.

No one else.

“You’re so beautiful, Georgia,” he murmurs into my mouth. “So fucking beautiful.”

My heart sings. Zips alive, beating fast.

His voice sounds tortured, as if saying the words pains him in a way—as if he wants to yank them back and save them for himself instead of giving them to me.

“You feel so good,” I say, letting go of his dick and running my hand from his front to his backside, pulling him in by the ass, palming his clenching cheeks.

The solid glutes.

“I love the way you make me feel,” I tell him, hoping I make him feel the same way, too, wanting it to be so.

If anyone deserves to feel desired, it’s the boy on top of me.

I’m glad we’re not drunk; I’m glad I’m going to remember this entire evening start to finish.

Being drunk and having sex would be so uncharacteristic for me.

Ashley’s dick is flirting with my pussy as he drags it up and down the slit, making me slicker by the second without any actual penetration.

I can barely stand it.

Judging by his moans and grunts, he can’t either.

We’re adults.

We can have sex if we want!

Why shouldn’t we?

“Ashley?”

“Yeah, babe?” His mouth is at my ear, the low timbre of his voice wreaking havoc on my senses.

“Do you want to…”

Once more he drags the tip of his dick back and forth over my lower region, and I desperately want him to slide it inside.

“Do I want to what?”

Do you want to be inside me? Do you want to fuck me? Do you want the same thing I want?

Duh.

Of course he does. He’s hard and dry-humping you.

“Do you want to be inside me,” I croak, almost choking on the words, turning red with embarrassment at my boldness.

The sentence seems to spur him on more, his head dipping to my shoulder, hair damp against my neck.

When he lifts it: “Are you on the pill?”

My head shakes. “No.”

He curses.

“Do you have protection?”

“Condoms?” He shakes his head. “No, I…” His sentence trails off. “Wait, maybe I do have one in my billfold.”

His billfold.

So British.

He clambers off me and out of bed, bare-assed and magnificent, his thick muscular thighs gleaming and flexing in the light from the neon signs outside. Damn he’s got an incredible body.

“Uh—how long has that been in your wallet?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, like—six months?”

Technically I don’t think you’re supposed to fuck with a condom that’s been in a wallet that long—they get hot or something. I also don’t think you’re supposed to put them in wallets to begin with, but the last time I looked that factoid up was never.

Ashley goes to the pants he’s discarded on the floor, lifting them up off the ground and riffling through the pockets to retrieve his wallet. When he finds it, he immediately opens it, flipping through in search of protection.

I lie watching from the bed, amused and aroused, rubbing my thighs together in anticipation.

He holds something up in the dark, a small plastic square. “Found one.”

Thank god.

How disappointing would it have been to get this worked up and not be able to have sex? As much as I want to get laid, it’s not worth the price of an accidental anything.

Baby. STD.

You name it.

The probability isn’t likely, but tell that to anyone who’s ever been surprised.

Ashley beelines straight for the bed, bounding onto the mattress on all fours; we’re both laughing now, all tangled in the sheets.

He kisses me again, caressing my face with his large warm palms, and I bask in that calloused skin like it’s the sun warming my own.

I tear open the condom in his other hand.

Together we slide it on him, doing the best we can in the dark, giggling at how clumsy we both are.

“Are you ready?”

Am I ready? “Are you?”

“Yes.”

But I don’t think either of us is prepared for how it feels when he slowly slides inside me, both of us holding our breath, both of us gasping at how good it feels, each of us staring at the other wide-eyed once he’s buried all the way in.

I part my lips to speak, but no words come out.

I try to say his name.

His lips move, too.