Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(16)

Theodora.

Romantic and pretty—kind of like her.

She has on a dress tonight, this one a little more daring than last week’s cheerfully prim yellow one. It’s baby blue, the thin material now plastered to her skin, with one of those necklines that goes over the shoulders and ties around the neck. I don’t know what it’s fucking called—halter or some shit.

Whatever. It’s blue and short, and has matching ribbons in the back tied into a delicate bow, making the entire outfit way too feminine had it not been for the brown boots. I noticed them before she took them off in the laundry room. They’re cute.

Way too cute for the rugby house.

Way too cute to be soaked in cheap beer.

Goddammit.

I run a hand down my face—down my beard—to prevent myself from totally checking her out. Or looking too long and hard at her tits.

“You want to shower while you’re here, Theodora?”

“Teddy,” she corrects good-naturedly.

“Right, like I’m not going to latch onto that one.” I laugh. “Nice try.”

“For real, call me Teddy.”

“Only if you never call me Kipling ever again. Kip I can handle, but Kipling? Fuck that. No. Or just call me Sasquatch like everyone else does.”

“I will not be calling you by that hideous nickname, no matter how much it suits you, but I’ll call you Kip if you call me Teddy.”

A groan escapes my throat. “Fine.”

“Good.” My eyes shoot to the crown of her head as she nods curtly. “Then we agree.”

“Shake on it?” When I stick out my callused hand, she draws hers back.

Pushes an errant hair behind her ear, glancing down at her feet. “We’re good.”

She’s not scared of me, is she? I shove my hands inside the pockets of my cargo shorts.

“Shower?”

“I…yeah. I want to say no, because this whole thing is just so awkward for me, but since I’m starting to stink like a distillery, I probably should.”

“You already stank in the car.” My lips twitch at her shocked expression.

Her nose wrinkles. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m just fucking with you.”

“Okay, well…” She hoists her clean clothes in the air. “Lead the way, I guess.”

I don’t. Instead, I point toward the staircase and flick my finger in that general direction. “Up the stairs, first door on the right. Root around for towels—I think there are some in there.”

There should be, because my mom and sister came one weekend and didn’t leave until the place was stocked and spotless. I had everything I needed when I moved in, like the pampered son of a billionaire would.

God I hope Teddy doesn’t get all weird on me after she spends the night.

I listen to her softly padding away, her bare feet climbing to the second story then the door to the guest bathroom clicking closed.

The sound of the lock being turned.

I grin at that—her caution—leaning back against the counter, scratching at my stomach. Rise to my full height and stretch. Make my own way up the stairs to the master bedroom, intent on washing the filth off myself.

Which I’m used to—I’ve never left a house party without being covered in something disgusting, just like I’ve never left the rugby field without being caked in mud, grass stains, and dirt.

The hot water sluices off my body, my mind wandering to the girl in the shower down the hallway. She’s not overtly sexy in any way, but I’ve never had a girl in my house, so naturally my hand strays south of the border.

I don’t purposely picture her curvy hips in my mind, or the shape of her breasts pressed against the pale, thin fabric of her cheaply made dress.

It just…happens.

It also just so happens that I haven’t had sex in—Jesus, I don’t even know how long. Since sophomore year, if I had to guestimate. The year I decided I didn’t want to be fucked simply because of my face or my last name, the year I grew the beard and let my hair get long and developed a chip on my shoulder because of the fairer sex.

It’s not their fault—it’s mine for believing a few of them actually gave a shit about me.

The boner grows between my legs when I stroke it slowly, water lubricating—wet and warm—my eyes sliding closed as my fingers grip the base of my shaft.

For a tall guy, it’s average as far as cocks go, but it’s thick and always ready for a pull.

An arm goes up against the tile wall, empty hand bracing my body as the other one strokes. Glides up and down, up and down.

I moan, picturing Teddy in my shower, naked skin, tits and ass. Wondering if her pussy is shaved, waxed, or natural. Picturing her nipples in my mind, the color of her areolas. Their size. Whether she gets off on having them sucked…

I moan.

Mouth falls open, obviously, because it feels fucking great pumping away at my own cock. Yeah, I feel like kind of a pervert, but it’s not my fault I’m suddenly having fantasies about her—I’m a warm-blooded, hormone-filled male, and there is a naked female in my house that I cannot—and will not—ever fuck.

Plus, I’m horny.

A hand is one thing, a pussy another entirely, and I haven’t banged one in so long. Too long.

I barely remember what it feels like to sink inside one, so there is no reason I should be hard over Teddy…whatever her last name is.