Jock Road (Jock Hard 3)

How does she know what’s on my mind? Is it that obvious?

“You’re so cute,” she adds.

“I’m cute?” No I’m not. Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. Babies are cute. I’m Goliath. A huge bastard who fights battles on the grass—a guy who happens to have raw talent and not much else going for him.

“Say ‘Thank you, Charlie.’”

I roll my eyes.

“Say ‘I’m cute.’”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

Charlie narrows her beautiful blue eyes. “Say it and I’ll move closer to you.”

That has my attention. “How close we talkin’?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, lending a smarmy air to her comment. “Real close.”

“I’m cute.” I punctuate the sentence with another eye roll, but a smile has bloomed on my mouth. The little shit could probably get me to do anything, include eating a pile of shit.

“You are cute,” she agrees, inching forward. “Real, real cute.” Charlie has to push back the covers so she can get her body closer—so she doesn’t get wrapped in them—and when she does, I get a full body shot. An up-close-and-personal introduction to her tits. Stomach. Hips. Skimpy underwear.

Oh my fucking god.

My dick? He’s noticed, too, and he fucking loves it.

Charlie scoots across the mattress, across my navy sheets. Sliding inch by inch with her beautiful, perfect body that’s not perfect at all, until her tits are against my chest. The only parts of us that are joined.

Our faces are inches apart.

“So now what are you going to do?” She’s challenging me.

When my palm finally finds her hip beneath the covers, Charlie moans deep in her throat—as if her body’s been waiting for it to happen and sighs, too. Moans again when my palm glides down to her ass cheek and slowly caresses her there. Pulls her in closer so our pelvises meet, my cock wanting to burrow in the space between her thighs.

“You feel so good,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss my mouth, bringing an arm up and running her fingers through my hair. Nails gently scraping my scalp.

She’s adorable and fucking sexy and I love when she teases me.

“I like you so much, Jackson.” Her fingers graze my cheek. “You don’t even realize…” By the look on her face, I’d say she means every word. The hand cupping my face is as tender as the soft set of her eyes.

We lean in at the same time, mouths connecting. Lips pressed together, they open simultaneously. Tongues unhurriedly dragging and languid, like a drug. Intoxicating and delicious, like toothpaste and arousal.

I remember her mouth on my dick, which is already stiff, and the thought makes the blood pumping through my body completely harden it.

Charlie’s soft groan spurs me on, and my hand roams from her hip to her ribcage. Up and over, my thumb catches a glorious amount of side boob, and her tongue goes deeper into my mouth. It’s wet and hot. Wanton.

I hesitate briefly; I’ve never felt a girl up, and I’ve certainly never removed anyone’s bra.

Sliding my hand over her breast, cupping it in my palm, I swear to fucking God, my balls tighten painfully. And when Charlie disconnects from my kiss to tip her head back, I seize the opportunity to latch onto her throat. Kiss the column of her neck, inhaling her perfume and lingering on her pulse point.

Kiss my way down. Collarbone. Valley between her breasts.

Hook the strap of her bra with my thumb and drag it down her shoulder.

Charlie’s breast is hot. Everything I pictured the times I pictured her naked. Round, with dark, rosy nipples. Pert and puckered, it wants my mouth on it.

I inch down on the mattress, pulling the lacy material aside.

Know I’m making all the right moves because Charlie inhales a breath and jams her fingers into my hair as my lips latch onto her nipple. Lick it and blow, watching the skin tighten with fascination. Run my thumb over the hardened nub, around and around, before flattening my tongue and dragging it over the perky tip.

Another inhaled breath. A sigh. My name.

“Oh Jackson.”

Oh Jackson—goddamn right, that’s my name.

Charlie rolls so she’s flat on her back, arching her spine, giving me full access to her flesh, fingers still buried in my hair. Twirling the longer strands around the index, languishing under my touch.

I explore, raising my head and letting my hand drift. Trailing it down her bare torso, palm gliding toward her panties. They match her bra—white lace, a bit see-through. I glimpse the dark hair between her legs.

Slowly hitch the waistband and raise it to peek at what lies underneath.

Charlie grips the bedspread, breath catching with every movement I make inside her drawers.

She has hair down there.

It’s dim inside the bedroom, but I can still see it. Neatly trimmed but still—hair.

“Is that okay?” she timidly asks.

“It’s not my body,” I gruffly reply, not caring that she isn’t bare.