Jock Row (Jock Hard #1)(91)

“Nothing is wrong.” Nothing is wrong and everything is right and I just want to lie here, basking in it, in how easy this relationship is.

Scarlett reaches for me, sliding her lithe naked body across the mattress until her ass is pressed into my front, as if it’s not the most counterproductive thing to do.

My cock twitches knowingly.

I slide my arms around her, resting along the underside of her breasts, stroking with my thumb, burying my lips in the crook of her neck.

“I love it when you touch me,” she murmurs, groggy. Then, when she raises an arm behind her to stroke the back of my neck, I use the opportunity to cup her breast in my palm. Play with the nipple, breathing into her hair. “Mmm. Love it when you touch me.”

Love.

Tenderly, I caress her skin. Gently. Lovingly.

Over her hip, deliberately, lips pressing into the flesh behind her ear. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“It’s too late for that.” Scarlett captures my hand, settling it between her legs, a week’s worth of non-stop sex making her bold.

And she’s good at it, too.

We’ve discovered she likes it rough. Likes a little hair pulling, likes it from behind. Loves it on top, especially when her hands can grip the headboard.

We discovered that if I suck her tits long enough, she’ll come.

We discovered that if she sucks just my tip long enough, I’ll come.

My stiff erection finds its home between her ass cheeks, digging in. Teasing. Hot and hard.

Scarlett rolls.

I grab a condom from the bedside table, rip open the wrapper, roll it on. Rise above her, pushing in.

Tired, she watches my eyes, hands on my biceps as if needing to brace me up. When I’m balls deep, I lean down, latching our mouths together, hips swiveling painfully slowly.

Mercilessly slowly.

I whimper, burying one of my hands beneath her ass, pushing deeper, the tip of my cock bumping her cervix. My eyes roll to the back of my head. Nostrils flare.

Pelvis grinds.

Scarlett lies beneath me, barely moving except to moan, tipping her head back and swirling her tongue around in my mouth. Sucks on my bottom lip.

Half asleep fucking is the best kind of fucking.

Fuck it feels good.

Shift my shoulders back, breaking the kiss, chest heavy. “Scarlett.”

I pause to glance between our bodies. Down my abs, where we’re connected. Back up, into her half-hooded eyes.

I love you. My mouth shapes the words, though no sounds come out. When I press my lips back against hers, the bridge of my nose tingles. “I love you.”

Freaking eyes get misty, so goddamn cheesy. What the actual fuck is wrong with me? Am I seriously about to fucking cry?

These are my last coherent thoughts as I start spilling my guts—just as I’m dumping my load into the condom, the words start cascading out of my freakin’ mouth.

“I’m so fucking in love with you, Scarlett.”

Her sleepy doe eyes—they’re beautiful, blue perfection. Soft as she gazes up at me, the palm of her petite hand cupping my jaw, adoringly.

“I love you, too,” she whispers.

I kiss the palm of her hand before bowing my head, burying it in her shoulder. We stay this way for a long while, wrapped up in each other, neither in any rush, my spent cock still inside her heat.

My best friend.

I am one lucky bastard.





113th FRIDAY


EPILOGUE

“The One Where We Went Back for Homecoming Two Years Later.”





Scarlett


The baseball house hasn’t changed a bit—same peeling paint on the siding, same crooked floorboards, same porch swing.

The chains are rustier now, and it still hasn’t been given a new coat of paint, but it’s swaying back and forth with the breeze, sturdy and inviting as it ever was.

I plop down on it, feet dangling. Give it a push, letting it glide me back and forth. Take a sip from my water bottle just as a group of co-eds climb the wooden stairs, their tight leggings and Iowa crop tops a stark contrast to my outfit: blue jeans and a fitted black and yellow Wade #8 baseball jersey.

Sterling had it custom made for me so I’d be a better WAG (I had to google it after all, not knowing that it meant wives and girlfriends of athletes), and his were all too large for me.

When he got drafted—sixth round, to the Diamondbacks—he had one of those jerseys made for me, too.

That’s where we ended up: Arizona.

Farther from water than I was before, but Sterling bought us the sweetest little house with beautiful mountain views, a pool, and giant king-sized bed. I managed to land a job at the new aquarium they built in Phoenix, three years old, full of state-of-the-art lab equipment, and some of most beautiful saltwater fish I’ve ever seen.

Life is good.

I love my job, but not nearly as much as I love him, so when I can travel to his away games during the season, I do, not wanting to become so independent I lose sight of what we’re working toward.

Us.

I pull my warm coat tighter around my body, enjoying the cool breeze kicking, when a familiar face walks past the porch from the side yard.

“Hey sweetie, where have you been?”

Sterling’s face is older now and every bit as handsome, the Arizona sun having bronzed it to perfection. “I was just about to come looking for you.”