Switch Bidder (Jock Hard 2.50)

“But I had nothing for you to do…” She still doesn’t understand what the hell I’m talking about.

God, this is painful.

“Piper. I like you.”

If possible, her eyes widen farther. Mouth gapes a bit, full bottom lip pouty and suckable.

“Like me? Like me how?”

She is not being coy. She is seriously clueless.

“As in—right now I want to…” Stick my tongue in your mouth. Run my fingers through your long hair.

Pick you up off that stool and carry you out to my truck.

“You want to what?”

“Shit, did I say that out loud?”

“Yes,” she whispers with a nod.

I go for broke. “Yes I said that out loud? Or yes you’ll let me pick you up off that stool and carry you out to my truck?”

I’m only halfway joking. I would pick Piper up right this second, toss her over my shoulder like a barbarian, and haul her to my truck. Get to know her better by getting acquainted with her and her pussy, go down on her in the back seat and make her moan.

Yeah, I’m really digging this idea…

Piper’s eyes shift toward the front windows, and she clears her throat.

She slowly sets her paintbrush in the jar of water next to her easel; it clinks against the glass. She runs her palms up and down her thighs, over the denim of her skinny jeans.

Sits up straight and and clears her throat. “All right.”

All right? Does that mean she’s going to let me?

I don’t ask for clarification—I’m afraid if I do, she’ll change her mind. Or chicken out. Or get up and leave.

Or tell me she has no interest in me. I’ve been friend-zoned before, and it fucking blows.

Piper stands.

I’m off my stool in a second, standing behind her and bending to scoop her up. When she gasps, it spurns me on, makes me feel like a goddamn man. Strong and virile and shit.

“God you smell good,” I say into the crook of her neck, already nuzzling her hair.

Jesus, I haven’t even kissed her yet.

The girl behind the counter watches us, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open with shock.

“Is…is everything okay?” she asks.

Better than okay.

“We’ll be back to pick up our shit later,” I say over my shoulder, shoving the door open with the heel of my foot.

Hauling Piper into the dark, cold parking lot.

My truck is at the far end to avoid being dinged by other cars, but it takes me no time to reach it.

I set Piper down.

Her boots have heels, so she’s a few inches taller. Still, I lean against the driver’s side door so it’ll be easier for her to reach my mouth when I kiss her. Pull her in, hands planted at her waist.

When our pelvises are pressed together, my dick twitches knowingly inside my jeans.

“I thought you were going to actually put me in your truck.”

“Patience,” I murmur quietly. “We’ll get to that.”

I don’t know who kisses who first, but all at once I’m leaning forward, our mouths fused. Piper’s fingers are combing through my short hair, brushing along the column of my neck, up and down…up and down…

She feels good, and I barely know her.

Was this even a date?

Her lips are soft and taste like vanilla, and I want to lick and suck all of it off. I lean in farther until we’re completely pressed together, breath and bodies and tongues.

My hands skim her ribcage, down over the waistband of her jeans, and my fingers grip a belt loop on either side. Pull her closer still.

God my dick is so hard.

Her tongue is so wet.

Suddenly, I’m begging. “Let me go down on you, Piper.” I moan into her mouth, wanting to get her off, not wanting to kiss anymore.

If she doesn’t want to date me after tonight, at least I can make her feel good. Maybe she’ll reconsider.

I don’t know what it is about me she objects to. The fact that I play baseball? The fact that I associate myself with Lambda? I don’t know, some girls hate fraternities—maybe she’s one of them? Maybe she doesn’t want to be the girlfriend of an athlete, either—it’s not an easy gig. A lot of girls can’t handle what comes along with it: groupies. Lots of travel. Long-distance phone calls and weekends away. Hours of practice.

Based on the way her hands are flirting with the hemline of my sweatshirt and tugging it up so she can slide her hands beneath it, I can cross Maybe she’s not attracted to me off the list.

“Your skin feels so warm,” she coos, palms gliding over my abs. “I could stand here all night touching you.”

I can’t.

“Please let me go down on you.”

Her glassy, glazed-over expression of arousal blinks up at me. “Where?”

“Back seat.”

“The back seat?”

Fuck yeah the back seat.

“Will you fit?”

No. “Who cares—I’ll make it work.”

“But…”

“Let me get you off.”

“Um…” She bites down on her bottom lip, debating. “Um.”