Jock Road (Jock Hard 3)

This boy—he slides a hand up my chest, over my collarbone and behind my neck. Pulls me to him and kisses me soundly on the lips.

It’s like a drug, a potent one that’s making me weak everywhere. This kiss is everything—it’s giving me life and I suspect it’s giving him life, too.

Slow and meaningful. Emotional. Beautiful.

Jackson tries to move his body into a sitting position, dumping me to the mattress on my back. Shucks off his underwear, pushing it down his ridiculous thighs until they disappear somewhere beneath the covers, never to resurface.

He begins to peel mine down, sliding them slowly over my hips, thighs, and calves.

We both hold our breath; this is a big fucking deal, and the significance is not lost on me.

When we’re both naked, Jackson Jennings, first-string wide receiver on the Iowa football team and future second-round draft pick in the pros, lays his giant body next to me and props himself on his elbow to study me.

Naked, naked, naked.

Before we go any further, “Do you have a…” The word gets stuck in my throat, but I have to ask. “I’m on the pill, but…I mean, it’s up to you. I know you don’t have any STDs because you haven’t had sex yet—can you get one from gym equipment?” I laugh at my own stupid joke. “Should we, you know—put one on?”

Shut up, Charlie, you’re babbling and sound like an idiot.

“Plus, I really like you and love you, but we don’t need Jackson Jennings Junior Junior Junior running around. Wait—how many juniors would that be? Three? Is that how that works?” Oh my god, I’m so nervous. “My point is, do you have a condom?”

First, Jackson stares. Then, he grins, his white teeth blinding in the dark. He’s so gorgeous when he smiles, and my stomach flips all over again.

Then Jackson frowns. “I didn’t grab one—they’re in the bathroom. I…I didn’t think we’d be screwin’.”

Nervously, I bite down on my lower lip. “Um. I did? I’m sorry, I just didn’t know? And I knew you wouldn’t because you’re a gentleman—”

I can’t even finish my sentence, because Jackson is rolling me on top of him, slapping me firmly on the ass and laughing. Loudly.

Loud enough to wake whomever is sleeping in the next room over.

“Gentleman? Darlin’, no one’s accused me of bein’ a gentleman in my entire life.”

Darlin’.

Ma entyer lie-ff.

He makes my heart race, this guy, with his playful banter and sweet talk—and that slap to my ass was icing on a scrumptious Jackson Jennings cake.

I set the condom on the bedside table when the light was turned off earlier, instincts telling me to be prepared, and I’m glad because the last thing I need is a baby. Sure, I’m on the pill, but those fail, and I don’t need any surprise pregnancies. I don’t need to be that statistically low number—you know, the one your gynecologist warns you about when they’re writing your prescription. One percent chance of still getting pregnant and blah blah blah.

This isn’t a romance novel, this is my life and his, and a baby at twenty-one wouldn’t be cute. God, he would think I was trying to trap him, and that would kill me.

The talk hasn’t ruined the mood; talking about sex and screwing hasn’t made his dick limp, thank God. In fact, Jackson looks more aroused than he did before, pupils dilated—and not from the dim light.

He palms my breast again. “I love your body, babe.”

Babe. He babed me and I didn’t hate it.

I always thought I would—literally roll my eyes when I hear my friends’ boyfriends say it. Babe. Babe. Babe.

Barf.

Except…I don’t hate it, not even a little.

He tears the condom open and I watch, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Lick my lips in anticipation, though I’m kind of scared shitless.

We’re about to have sex and he’s never done it…

“Have you ever put one of these on before?”

“No. I’m a fuckin’ virgin, remember?”

“Yeah, but don’t some guys practice?”

Jackson laughs. “Some guys probably do when they’re younger, but I never did.”

In the dim light of his bedroom, I watch Jackson Jennings—a big, beautiful beast of a boy—set the condom on the tip of his penis and slowly roll it down. He sucks on his bottom lip in concentration as he does it, nostrils flaring.

I love that. So sexy.

When the rubber is entirely covering his, um, dick—our eyes meet. Somewhat bashful. Shy. Then I do the only thing I know to do; I lie flat on the bed, on my back, and motion him over so he’ll crawl on top of me.

Spread my legs when he gingerly covers my body with his. I drag his head down with the palm of my hand and kiss him soundly on the mouth. The kiss is deep, wet, tongues twirling in a sloppy tangle.