Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

She nods. “I would think so—the entire time we were sitting at the table, I felt like a jerk for telling the hostess we weren’t a couple even though we weren’t. It felt like I’d kicked you in the nuts or something.”

Kicked me in the nuts or something.

I laugh. “I did wonder why you kept going on about it, but whatever. It wasn’t a big deal—wasn’t a lie.”

“But still…I couldn’t stop babbling. I was so nervous.”

“So was I.”

“Were you?”

“I’m always a bit nervous around you. Can’t you tell?”

“No. No, you always seem cool—you’re not the easiest person to read. We should have played poker while were in Vegas. You might have won.”

“I’ve never played poker a day in my life.”

“Hmm. Well, we both sure do like to gamble.”

She’s being metaphorical, kissing the corner of my mouth, my bottom lip. Her hands slide over my bare waist and begin running up and down my spine.

Georgia loves touching me, and I’m here for it all day every day.

“Roll to your back,” she instructs softly, and I comply, rolling so I’m staring up at the ceiling, moving my hands so they’re behind my head.

Georgia gently trails her fingers along my sternum, tracing my collarbone—one of her favorite places to touch me. It’s gentle, like a whisper, breezing along my skin faintly.

I can tell she’s concentrating, as if trying to learn the lines and curves of my body even though she’s touched me countless times already. We always have the lights on, too, so we can see each other, vulnerable and bare and thrilling.

I’m wearing navy sleep bottoms tonight, already having discarded my t-shirt, but nothing underneath. No boxer briefs or underwear, so when her hand slips beneath the waistline of my pants, I inhale a sharp breath of anticipation.

Fuck yes.

Honestly, my thighs quake a little when she begins moving her body lower, positioning herself to suck me off, something she hasn’t done yet.

I’ve gone down on her plenty, but she’s never blown my cock.

I watch her head move lower, hands fumbling for the drawer of my bedside table; there’s lube there, and apparently she’s keen to fetch it.

Squirts plenty on her palms, giggling nervously when she makes a sticky mess, dripping some on my thigh.

God she’s adorable.

“I apologize in advance for not being a pro at this.”

“Babe, don’t.” Don’t bloody apologize. “You cannot fuck this up.”

She rolls her eyes, the unsexiest thing to do when you’re about to give someone a handy slash blow job, but it’s classic Georgia to do so.

“If you say so.”

I do say so.

Her hands encircle my dick before her mouth touches the tip, moving in a circular motion at the base.

My lips part, watching her lower her head.

Yes, yes, bloody hell YES.

Fuck yeah.

Fuck, fuck yeah.

Georgia licks the tip, humming as if she’s sucking on a sweet, sugary lollypop. I’m not a fucking moron—I know it doesn’t taste like one, but I’m willing to suspend reality for the next five to twenty minutes or so and pretend she’s enjoying it as much as I am.

Her hands work the base as her mouth devours my dick as far as her throat will let her.

She bobs up and down, in classic BJ mode for the next few seconds…up…down…up…down, a little humming inside her throat while I watch.

Then.

From out of nowhere, Georgia removes one of her hands, reaching behind her. Produces her small, pink, bean-shaped vibrator, pushing the tiny power button until it begins a low buzz whilst sucking away, not missing a beat.

“What are you doing with that?” I ask nervously.

“Shh, no talking,” she tells me.

I fall in love with her again when she places that pink, vibrating wonder behind my cock…right at the base, above my balls. It buzzes on low, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my entire bloody body.

I need to hold on to something.

If I were standing, my knees would buckle and I’d be on the ground.

My thighs spasm when Georgia resumes sucking.

I’m going to explode all over the bloody fucking place, I just know it, oh my fucking god…

“Holy shite…shite…oh my god…” I might be crying, I don’t know it feels so fucking…fucking…

Pardon my French, pardon my language, shite…

I need it to stop.

I need to come.

I need…

She sucks harder. “Mmmhmm.” She nods knowingly.

The little devil knew this would send me over the edge, putting an end to the blow job in a matter of minutes.

Less than five fucking minutes, I’d wager.

The she-devil.

“Fuck I love you,” I blurt out. Love-bombing during a blow job—not my finest moment.

Still.

I mean it.

Twenty-Four

Georgia

I’m not doing this for the sole purpose of seeing England.

I’m not.

Fine. I mean…that’s part of the reason—which isn’t a big secret—but not the entire reason I accepted the Dryden-Jones’ invitation to visit.

I’m nervous as hell.

Halfway across the ocean, I got nauseous and wanted to throw up, blaming my knotted-up stomach on plane turbulence.