Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(76)

His green eyes watch, transfixed, as my hand glides through the white sheets toward him, waiting with baited breath for my next move. It’s as close to a beseeching look as Sterling Wade has ever given me, a slight tremor in his voice.

He wants me to touch him—bad.

“Do you? What if I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“You don’t have to know what you’re doing, you just have to listen to your body, and hopefully that body is telling you to touch me.”

He delivers that quip with a serious expression, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“I can’t believe you can say shit like that with a straight face.”

His chest rumbles. “Sometimes neither can I.”

My hand rests atop the white bedding, tentatively pausing.

He rolls on his side, matching my position. Arm creeping forward, fingers sliding, large, tan hand meeting mine in the middle of the bed. It’s a warm palm covering mine, caressing, the tip of his forefinger tracing along my ring finger.

Touches my shiny, pale pink nails before flipping it over. Continues tracing the sensitive skin there, giving me the shivers before moving up my wrist, drawing tiny circles along my flesh.

Up my inner arm to the crook of my elbow.

Then down again.

I hold my breath when he retraces his steps, the journey headed north, up my bicep.

Stop breathing completely when his fingers splay under the strap of my tank top, his eyes tracking the movements, together with mine.

The boat rocks, waves splashing against the steel hull of the ship as it cuts through the rough sea. A glass of water on the desk slides to one end, hits the edge, then slides back again.

A part of me wants to climb out of bed and open the balcony door; the other part wants to see where his hand goes next.

The ocean wins.

“Give me one second?”

I pull away, scurrying to the door, pulling the latch and sliding it open, greeted by the sound of pounding waves. Stand staring out into the dark, the vast ocean illuminated by the bright moon looming above. Locate a few wayward stars among the overcast sky before turning and settling myself back on the bed.

Climbing on all fours toward Sterling’s body, he’s covered from the waist down by the stark, snowy sheet. A golden god whose tan, size, and chiseled attributes are highlighted by the moonlight.

Rising to my knees, I grabble for the hem of my tank top, gliding it up my torso, pause before exposing my breasts.

Take a deep breath, peel my shirt off, and toss it to the foot of the mattress.

His nostrils flare.

“Can I get under the covers with you?”

He reaches for me then, pulling back the sheets so I can climb inside. Tenderly tugs me over so I’m on top, skin on skin.

Instantly, his hands begin rubbing my back—down, then up—plunging into the waistband of my sleep shorts. He grips my ass gently, caressing, while the ship rocks slightly back and forth.

I run my fingers through his hair. Run them over his shoulders, gripping his biceps. Clasp his hand, lacing our fingers when our lips finally meet.

The ship creaks.

Waves crash.

Tongues roll.

Then, in one swift motion, I’m on my back and Sterling hovers over me, eyes raking down my body, settling on my naked breasts.

When he reaches up to settle his giant hand on one, I arch my back and moan, tipping my head back into the pillow. Teeth rake my bottom lip.

Slowly.

Painfully slowly, he brushes his thumb across my nipple while the rest of his palm cradles the underside, lightly pushing it up. Plump.

His voice is gravelly, low. “I’ve been wondering what these look like.”

Mine comes out breathless. “And now you know.”

His eyes make contact.

Lips curve.

“And now I know.”

I watch, fascinated, as his shoulders dip, presenting me with the crown of his head. Lips find and fasten on my breast, sucking. Licking. Sucking some more.

I moan.

He moans.

The ship? Moans.

Everyone is satisfied.

Tiny nips of his teeth have my lower half wriggling; I’m on fire, and when he makes his way down my stomach, kissing a wet trail down to my belly button, a thousand thoughts go through my mind: What is he doing? Is he about to go down on me? Did I wash well enough when I took a shower? Shit, I never shaved my crotch. What if it takes too long for me to come and I suffocate him?

Even worse: What if he’s terrible and I don’t come at all?

I’ve never, in my life, had anyone with their face between my legs.

But I do now.

Sterling’s thumbs hook my pajama bottoms and underwear, dragging them down together my hips until I’m completely naked. His large hands drift slowly up my torso, over my breasts, weighing them in his palms before working their way back down.

He’s sweet and tender and easing my legs apart, broad shoulders nudging my knees open with a gentle bump.

He hums, content. Studying my vagina as if committing it to memory and later there will be a test.

Two large fingers spread my—

“Oh lord,” I gasp.

“Go ahead and pray to Jesus, baby,” he coaxes. “I’m about to make you come all over my face.”

The words—so dirty.

The tongue—so wet.

One slow lick up my slit, then another, and I raise my head to watch. God, I want to watch.