Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

I will probably regret accepting this prize because of the cost that will come later, but for now, I’m going to enjoy the view and the company.

It’s been two weeks since I slipped into his bed and fell asleep, rolling over and into his arms, which I was only vaguely aware of at the time.

I woke up alone, which didn’t surprise me; he was hesitant to have me in his bedroom to begin with. I could see it in his eyes. Was it because he wants nothing to do with me other than the occasional wet dream, or because he wants nothing to do with me, period?

Maybe he isn’t actually turned on by me.

Maybe the fantasy he had the other night was just a fluke.

We have dinner plans tonight for a steak restaurant I’ve seen on television, and I was lucky enough to borrow a few dresses from Nalla and Priya, who are around the same size as I am, albeit shorter.

I pull them out of my suitcase and walk to the closet, hanging them up.

“Ah, you’re one of those.” Ashley chuckles.

“One of what?”

“The kind of traveler who hangs up all their shit like they’re moving in.”

“I am not!” I glance into the closet where I’ve already hung up some shirts. “I don’t want them to get wrinkled.”

“You put socks and underwear in the drawers.”

“So?”

He shrugs. “You’re moving in and making yourself at home.”

“Stop making fun of me—it’s not a crime to be excited.” I’m giving him my most ferocious scowl. “We’ve been here ten minutes…don’t be a cockblocker.”

“I can’t be a cockblocker—there’s no sex involved.”

“You’re cockblocking my vacation vibe.”

“Your vacation boner.” He laughs. “I can see it from here. How can you walk with that thing between your legs?”

Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold the phone!

I look at Ashley in shock, holding a dress I was about to hang in the closet. This is the first time he’s said anything even remotely sexual—to my face at least. The jerking off doesn’t count.

I don’t even know what to say!

“I see I’ve rendered you speechless.” He’s laughing at me again, now shuffling toward the bathroom with a toiletry bag.

“You just said cock and boner—what do you expect? You’re usually the perfect gentleman.”

“Still am.” He’s in the bathroom, setting his things on the counter. “Using those words doesn’t mean I’m not the perfect gentleman. We’re on vacation and you invited me here as your friend, so I’m going to act like one of your friends.” His head pops out. “Don’t you girls talk like that?”

Uh, well yeah. “You’re not one of my girlfriends.”

It’s a not-too-subtle reminder, and I hope he hears me.

And I certainly do not want to keep him in the friend zone. Come to think of it, I don’t exactly remember how he got there in the first place, or who put who there.

It’s gotten so convoluted thanks to that freaking dare.

He pops his head out again. “Then what am I?”

“You’re…” My mouth gapes open like I’m a trout. “You.”

It isn’t the most brilliant answer, not by a long shot, and I’m not even sure what I mean by it.

“Right.”

He disappears again and my shoulders sag, having lost the opportunity to say something a bit more profound. A bit more…flirty. Something, anything to get out of this hole I’ve dug for myself.

For the next half hour, he busies himself by freshening up then giving me use of the bathroom. It has two sinks, but I need a shower in the worst way and to do my hair before we head to dinner.

Standing under the hot spray of the beautiful all-glass shower, I turn and look into the mirror above the vanity. It’s wall to wall, and I can see myself clearly through the clear stall, the steam not having risen enough to obscure my view.

Running a hand across the flat of my stomach, I run it back up again, hands cupping my breasts. Tip my head back to wet my hair.

I watch myself lather up and rinse off, something I don’t do at home. The mirror is far too high above the counter to get a good view of anything, let alone my boobs or belly or…other things.

Not gonna lie, it’s an intoxicating view, and I’m sorry to be in here by myself, imagining that Ashley would be turned on by the sight of my naked body.

Of course he would; what man isn’t turned on by naked flesh?

I towel off before stepping out. The cold tile floor and the marble walls have me shivering, so I make quick work of drying myself.

“I’m wrapping myself in a towel if you need to get in here,” I call out in case he has to pee; I don’t want to completely hog the bathroom the way I hogged his bed.

He’s reminded me of that fact no less than a dozen times.