Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(49)

My mouth forms an O.

He sets his cup down on the table in front of us, leaning forward to invade my personal space.

I let him.

I let him lean over, big body facing mine, torso twisted. Large hands slide up my bare arms to my shoulders.

“Never have I ever stared at someone’s lips so fucking hard in my entire life.” He pauses. “Never have I ever put the moves on someone and been so fucking nervous.”

“You’re nervous?”

“Yes,” he rumbles.

“So am I.”

Our faces are inches apart, hot breaths mingling.

My voice catches. “Sterling, don’t ever play games with me.”

I’m at a loss for words.

“This isn’t part of the game, Scarlett.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” The tip of his nose brushes mine and the rumble of his chuckle is low. “I have never, in my whole goddamn life, worked so hard to get someone to put their mouth on mine.”

“Are you drunk?” I murmur.

Because I am, buzzing with nervous energy and anticipation. Drunk on his cologne and the tingle from his strong forearms breezing up my body.

“Maybe not on alcohol, but on something else entirely,” he admits. “Are you?”

My eyes close when his nose slides across my cheekbone, down my jawline, nuzzling my neck. He can’t see it, but my eyes roll back into my head from the contact.

Jesus he feels so good.

“A little.”

His breath. His nose.

His mouth.

It brushes the shell of my ear, hot breath making me crazy.

“We can blame it on the alcohol in the morning if we want to, yeah?” His voice is husky, vibrating my nerves, just at the base of my ear.

I tilt my neck. “We could.”

Instead of pressing his mouth to mine, Rowdy drags it down the column of my neck where the skin is bare. Kisses my clavicle, sucking gently. Grazes his way up my chin, the divot of my bottom lip.

My lips part, breath coming quicker, chest heaving.

“You smell so fucking good,” he says into my temple.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“Good, ’cause I showered tonight, just for you.”

That makes me laugh, not because it’s funny, but because he mentioned it—as if I couldn’t tell he smelled like soap and a little extra effort.

The alcohol has gone to my head—I’m a total lightweight—but alcohol isn’t what has me tipping my head back, isn’t what has me biting back a small moan when Rowdy kisses the sensitive skin next to my right eye.

When he drags his nose down mine and kisses the tip of it, my eyes shut. Lashes flutter when those callused hands of his graze my biceps, thumbs smoothing along my collarbone.

I know what’s coming next and I want it.

Want it more than anything I’ve wanted in a really long time.

The couch cushions dip when we lean into each other farther, my breasts gently rubbing his pecs through his thin shirt. I’m grateful for it, relishing the heat and hardness of him.

Then…

His mouth is on mine, the light kiss scarcely touching my lips. It’s a hot, searing form of torture.

My heart is beating so fast, pounding inside my chest so hard I can hear it in my ears, echoing in time with every breath I take.

Ba bum, ba bum, ba bum.

Rowdy is hesitating, waiting to really lay one on me, his penetrating green eyes roaming my face. Lips. Hair. I lean back to study his face, too, wondering what he sees when he looks at me. Study his dilated irises and pouty bottom lip. His cheekbones and the stubble on his cheeks from the day’s growth.

So handsome and serious.

“What are you waiting for, Sterling?” I whisper.

“I don’t know.”

With a temperate nudge, I give his strapping shoulders a push, urging him back against the cushions, legs spread, hands at his sides.

I don’t know what comes over me—sexual repression, probably—but I find myself straddling his wide hips, sitting my ass right on top of his thick thighs as if it has a right to be there.

My eager palms rest on his chest, easing up the smooth fabric of his shirt, every tendon in his body beneath my fingertips. At my mercy when I pin him down.

“Hands behind your head,” I murmur into his ear, dragging my nose up and down the shell of it, his hair tickling my nostrils.

He complies quickly and without protest, clasping those great, masculine hands of his behind his head, lacing them together. His biceps bulge, whiter than the rest of him, veins blue and prominent.

I graze my fingertips along the sensitive skin there, relishing how soft it is. How strong and solid the muscles are. Firm. Flattening my palms, they skim Rowdy’s flesh, over his armpits and down his ribcage.

He’s breathing hard, squirming under me.

“What do you daydream about the most?”

“You.”

Good answer.

I kiss his neck, just below his jawline.

“What is your best physical feature?” I whisper.

“My…” He swallows, debating. There are so many choices. “My arms.”

I agree. I kiss the flesh of his powerful underarm.

“If you were given the chance to become invisible for one day, what would you do with this ability?”