Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(83)

Squeezes.

I breathe in and out, unsuccessfully trying to control my heart rate.

I know where this is going to lead.

I thought I was ready. I’m not a virgin; I’ve fucked plenty of women, all of them more than willing, most of them the aggressors.

I can count on one finger how many times I’ve been nervous when I was about to have sex with someone, and this is that one moment.

Which is why the hands around Scarlett’s waist are fucking afraid to move. Physically, my body knows what to do; it’s my brain that’s giving me problems.

“Want to help me with the zipper of this dress, hmm?” Her murmur is as soft as her skin.

“Turn around.”

Slowly, she turns, presenting me with her back, pulling a mass of her dark hair forward so it doesn’t get caught when I drag the zipper down her spine. Waits while I give the metal pull a light tug, guiding it down the track as I’ve done for her several times before.

But never like this.

This time, I know where this is going to lead.

The light blue dress has spaghetti straps, and she shrugs those off her shoulders, baring her entire back. She’s not wearing a bra, but she is wearing underwear, the white fabric playing peekaboo above where the zipper stops.

Scarlett delicately shimmies, the dress sliding past her hips and thighs of its own accord, and settles on the floor in a dry puddle of blue material. Her feet are rooted to the ground, and for the briefest moment I consider not touching her, consider placing my hands on the top of my thighs and leaving them there.

But anticipation strums our nerves, a chorus to the waves drumming the hull of the ship, and I’m determined to control it.

“Why aren’t you touching me?” Scarlett whispers, still facing the opposite wall. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I don’t know where to put my hands,” I admit to her back, eyes drifting south, down the curve of her spine to the round globes of her butt.

As if warring with herself, she stands, presenting me with her rear end for another few seconds, deliberating. Waiting. Breathes in and out, short intakes of air, unsteady. Her skin? Covered in goose bumps.

I grip her left hand, tugging so she’ll face me.

And time fucking stops when she makes the full rotation, tits at eye level, and I can’t decide where to look first.

So I look everywhere, starting with her…

Nipples.

Goddamn they’re perfect.

Flat stomach and a belly button I want to press with my finger.

Nipples.

Scarlett’s underwear is sheer; I can see clear through them to the neatly trimmed dark patch between her legs, the area I had in my mouth last night.

That same mouth waters.

“I think you should take your pants off so I’m not the only one standing here naked.”

I rise, unbuttoning my khakis, shoving them down my hips and kicking them out of my way with one quick motion.

Fucking pants—who needs them?

Falling to my knees in front of Scarlett, I let my forehead touch her stomach as my trembling hands skim up her calves.

Knees.

Thighs.

Tentatively, her fingers stroke the top of my head, twisting a few strands of my hair. Gently tugging before her hands drop to my shoulders, lightly stroking the sun-kissed skin there.

I pull back a few inches so I can kiss her abs. Kiss the warm valley between her breasts, inhale the perfume she must have sprayed on while she was in the bathroom.

My fingers toy with the waistband of her underwear, forefingers creeping inside, giving them a diminutive pull. We both know they’re coming off; why prolong the inevitable?

I tug again, working the flimsy material down over her slender hips. She spreads her legs a tiny bit to make the job easier, and my mouth waters when the panties are past her pussy.

Her tidy, well-trimmed pussy.

I help her step completely out of them then give that apex between her legs my total focus, spread it with my thumbs. Incline toward it, sending out a puff of breath to warm it. Lick up the middle.

Her fingers tighten on my shoulders. Squeeze.

A warning.

“Th-This isn’t a good idea. I’m not steady enough to stand here w-while you do that without falling.” She’s stuttering—a good sign.

An excellent sign.

I rise slowly, dragging myself along her naked body, licking her tits as my hands slide up her backside, gripping her ass cheeks.

Scarlett gasps when I haul her up, rotate and lower her to the bed. Stand back and get rid of the boxer briefs clinging to my thick thighs.

Arms above her head, she’s spread out like an angel, dark hair fanned out on the white bedspread, skin a light golden brown from her time in the sun.

Cheeks? Pink.

Lips? Pouty and parted.

Dimple? One hundred fucking percent lickable.

Her eyes are expectant and wide when I crawl over her body, sucking on her nipple along the way and wetting it with my ravenous tongue.

Scarlett’s throat constricts in an uneasy swallow when she glances between our bodies, at my hard dick swaying in the breeze. “Just so you know, I harbor no illusions about this going well.”

I pause, listening. Watching her chest move up and down. “What do you mean?”

“I know it’s going to hurt, Sterling, and only one of us is going to enjoy it.”