Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(77)

Fascinated, I breathe hard, tiny jolts of pleasure racking my ovaries as he licks and sucks and licks my clit. Sucks again as if auditioning for the starring role in a porno.

“Uhh…oh god…” My hands white-knuckle the sheets, head hits the pillow when Sterling makes round circles with his thumb on my—“Oh god”—clit as he sucks.

Wow. He’s really good at this.

My lips part and I try to get actual, coherent words out, but the only ones I can find are, “Uhhh,” attached to a long, drawn-out groan.

His groan.

Sterling is enjoying this as much as I am.

He never comes up for air, not once, never takes his mouth off me.

Not until I lose myself. Not until I fall apart, coming and coming—on his mouth—and even after he’s licked me completely dry, he drags my orgasm out until my pelvis trembles with tiny shocks. Grips my ass, holding me down, sucking until I throw an arm over my brow, lying motionlessly like a limp doll.

I catch him licking his fingers and want to die—absolutely die, mortified and turned on, both at the same time.

He’s so fucking sexy.

So greedy.

So tall when he stands, leaning in to plant a kiss on my mouth, dragging his lower half along for the ride. Grinding. Flexing his firm ass.

That delicious, erotic tip of him eases into the wet spot between my legs. Digging in just enough that I inhale from surprise, the sensitive nub still swollen from my orgasm. I give Rowdy a push with my hands to get him off my body.

“You better stop before you get carried away.”

“I won’t. I can control it.”

“You won’t—you’re too…” Horny. Aroused.

Desperate for me. For sex.

“Babe, please.”

“No. We should stop.”

I’m such an asshole, numbly watching when he peels himself off me, off the bed, cock stiff in his underwear, jutting out proud and dejected, the loser in this game.

Sterling peers down at my body, hand cupping his balls through the thin fabric, stroking absentmindedly. Turns his back on me and strides a few paces toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

I drag myself over the edge of the bed, covering myself to the waist with the white cotton sheet.

“To finish myself off in the bathroom.”

Finish himself off? Oh lord.

“I can’t let you do that—it wouldn’t be fair.”

His beautiful mouth is amused. “No. It really wouldn’t be.”

“I’ve never really—I mean, I don’t want you to finish yourself off.” How embarrassing. “I want to do it for you. I want…” A lump forms in my throat, but I’m determined to say the words. I’m mature enough to offer him a blow job, can at least freaking say the words. “Do you want…”

Ugh.

“Yes, Scarlett, I want you to suck my dick.” He says it softly but oh my god, the words!

He’s standing next to the bathroom door, hand still on his erection, leisurely stroking it through his boxer briefs.

“Don’t judge me, okay? I’ve never done it before.”

“It’s pretty easy,” he says slowly, hands up in surrender. “All you have to do…is put…your mouth…on my cock…and suck.” He makes himself moan. “You can’t screw it up.”

I swallow my nerves, crooking my finger. “Then come back to bed.”

Those five words are an aphrodisiac, ones he wants so badly.

I can see that he’s exercising all his self-control by not bounding over. I can tell by the way his body inches toward me, halted, taking its time, approaching unhurriedly.

Still, he’s desperate for me to blow him.

“You sure?”

I almost roll my eyes—he’s being coy, and we both know it. He’s positively vibrating from excitement, eyes slightly wild. Pupils dilated, nostrils flaring.

“Yes. Come here.”

He does, standing at the foot of the bed so I have to crawl to him on my knees until I’m face to face with his erection, my greedy palms connecting with his sinewy skin. Touching. Caressing.

Stroking.

Lovingly trail one of my hot fingers down his abs, following the dusky hairs of his happy trail.

Half-hooded eyes watch, transfixed, while I fondle him through his underwear, lids getting droopy. Chest heaving, hands hanging and clenched at his sides.

He’s aroused, painfully so, if his thick dick is any indication. I can see every part of it outlined inside his briefs—the head, the thick shaft.

I swear I can see it throbbing, but maybe that’s just my imagination.

I want to see it.

Tugging the elastic band circling his waist, I drag his boxers down, down, careful not to catch them on the head of his dick, anticipation needling every nerve cell in my body. My body hums with energy.

Both of us are breathing hard.

Sterling is thick, hard, and throbbing.

My hand grips it, testing its girth.

My legs climb off the bed so I can turn him, pushing him onto the mattress so I can get down on my knees on the carpet in front of him.

“God, Scarlett,” he chokes out, voice strangled before I even have my mouth on him, the simple sight of me kneeling driving him to distraction.

Still, he grabs a fistful of my hair, brushing my long strands aside so he can watch me. I read in a magazine once that guys love the sight of themselves getting head, and Sterling is no exception.