Block Shot (Hoops #2)(14)
That so perfectly describes what I’m feeling. A disruption. I’m not sure if it started at my core or shook me to it.
But I know at the epicenter lies Jared Foster.
We’re facing each other on the narrow couch, my bare leg slotted between his and my head tucked under his chin. He strokes my back, my hair, my shoulders. He can’t seem to stop touching me, and for a few moments, I don’t care about my lumps or dimples or rolls. It just feels good to be touched this way—with passion and care. Byron was the last guy I shared any kind of intimacy with, and every touch was a lie. There’s always been a frankness, an honesty between Jared and me. It translates to physical intimacy, and I want to hold onto it as long as my logical brain will allow. I want to stop asking why me and just enjoy him, us together.
He smells like yesterday’s bodywash and clean sweat. And . . . him. Whatever “he” is naturally, I detect it under everything else. For whatever reason, I have a temporary brain lapse and dart my tongue out to taste the shallow well at the base of his throat. Salty and smooth. Maybe he won’t notice that bit of stalkerism.
“Did you just lick me?”
Ugh.
“No.” Deny, deny, deny.
“You did.” He dips his head, his chuckle feathering over my lips. “You licked me.”
“I just wanted to—”
“No need to apologize. You can lick me anywhere.” He tips my chin. “As long as I can lick you back.”
His tongue passes over my neck, and I shudder. Another aftershock. My skin prickles. I shift my legs between his and my thigh grazes his dick.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I—”
“You keep apologizing for things that feel good.”
I see the outline of his head moving toward me. He’s going to kiss me. Even with time to prepare, to brace myself, I’m still not ready for the possessive fit of his mouth over mine, the slow, lazy stroke of his tongue, the thrust of his hips mimicking the motions of our mouths. His hand slips between my legs, separating the lips of my pussy and sliding up and down the wet slit, soothing the sore tissues. He did not hold back and took me hard. It was rough and thorough, and the best thing that has ever happened to my vagina.
Like ever.
He shifts his weight so he’s hovering over me, his elbows digging into the cushions on either side of my head. When he settles between my thighs, I reflexively wrap my legs around his waist.
“Why, Ms. Morales,” he laughs into my hair. “I do believe you want to be fucked again.”
“Oh, I . . . I just . . .”
“Let’s go back to your place.” His breath is warm against my face. He kisses the sensitive spot behind my ear. “There’s no way we’re doing it again on this couch. The next time it’ll be in a bed.”
His hands roam over my thighs clenched around him, and he grips my butt, locking us tighter.
My wide, fleshy butt. God, he casts some kind of sensual spell on me. With every kiss and touch, he makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world long enough to forget the rolls and dimples Byron made sure to tell his friends about. Maybe somehow I’m the one who cast a spell on Jared, and as soon as the lights come on, that spell will break.
“Maybe I should go.” I drop my legs and push lightly against his chest.
“Okay, we can do it again on the couch, if that’s what you want,” he says quickly. “Just stay.”
“Jared,” I giggle and shake my head.
“At least promise I’ll see you tomorrow. We don’t have much time before you leave for New York.”
“Why is that so significant to you?” I ask, frowning even though he can’t see my face. “I mean, I admit that was . . . the sex was amazing, but this is all kind of sudden.”
“Not to me.” He clears his throat and brushes my hair back, cupping the back of my head. “I’ve been wanting this all semester, Ban.”
I snort, unable to keep my earlier disbelief completely at bay.
“You honestly expect me to believe you’ve been dating Cindy all year, who I’m pretty sure is Miss Iowa, and you’ve been secretly longing to be with me?”
“Miss Idaho,” he corrects. “But, yeah, pretty much.”
He runs a hand over my leg and wraps me around him again. Now all I can think of is how thick my thighs are. How my stomach probably feels all soft and squishy under that sheet of muscled abs. Self-consciousness rushes back in, and I shove a little harder, dislodging him enough to slide off the couch.
“Like I said, I need to go.” I feel around on the floor, searching for my sweatshirt. I’m determined to at least put that on before I turn on the lights. The sex was off the charts. Cloaked in darkness, I fooled myself that I was a sensual creature who was Jared’s match. A small voice inside protests it wasn’t the dark that made me feel beautiful. It was Jared.
What does that voice know?
I’ve found my sweatshirt and am about to put it on when the door bangs open and the lights come on.
In my shock, I don’t move for a second, and I’m standing completely naked in front of not only Jared, who has the wide-angle view of my ass from behind, but William Prescott, Benton Carter, and several other guys I don’t know but vaguely recognize from campus. All their eyes crawl over the roll around my middle, the dimples in my thighs, the tiny tufts under my arms because I skip shaves in winter, and the dark triangle of hair I keep neatly trimmed between my legs.