Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(42)

“Wait—what?”

“Have you been living under a rock? Beards are so trendy right now. Even I know that, and I’m the untrendiest person I know. That doesn’t mean I like beards, but everyone else does—girls, I mean.”

That would explain so many things: girls still approaching me at parties, wanting to touch my beard. Touching my mustache at the bar. Making lewd comments. Telling me I should enter contests.

I always thought they were joking. Shit, maybe I have been living under a rock—otherwise known as the Midwest.

Teddy drones on, fingers at the base of my neck, kneading at a knot. “…and I saw a girl wearing one that said My other ride is a beard. Get it?”

She says it so casually, yet the sudden image of her sitting on my face while I suck on her— Her throat gives a little mew, fingers still massaging my sensitive skin. “You’ve heard of a beardgasm before, haven’t you?”

“Stop.”

Her fingers stop.

“I didn’t mean you had to stop doing that, I meant stop saying shit like that, about beards and orgasms and crap.”

“Why?” She sounds about as perplexed as I’m feeling right now. “We’re just talking.”

“Because it’s getting me hard.” Er. Hard-er.

There. If that doesn’t scare her off, nothing will.

Seconds of silence pass.

Then minutes.

“Is it?” Her voice is barely a whisper. Fascinated.

“Yes.” Mine is gruff.

“Why?”

“Why?” I deadpan. “Because I’m in bed with a pretty girl, in the middle of the fucking dark, and her hand is on my body—one that hasn’t been touched in years, by the way. And you’re going on and fucking on about oral.” I pause to take a breath. “That’s why.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

I lift my arm, hand searching for hers in the dark. Remove it from my shoulder, clasping her fingers. Place it back on my stomach, where it belongs—away from my chest and nipples and face.

Where I hope it will stay.

But apparently, I’m a fucking moron, because it doesn’t.

Back and forth on my abs it goes.

Back.

Forth.

My hand—the hand lodged under Teddy’s torso finally makes its way out, feeling along the cotton of her leggings. Lands on her ass.

Settles there, at least momentarily.

Back, her hand caresses.

And forth.

Until it meanders south, grazing the hemline of my shirt. Drifting back up inside it.

Skin on skin.

Palm against my tight abs.

“We should go to sleep.” I sound so pitifully weak.

“We should.” She agrees. Yawns.

Back.

And forth.

My cock throbs, the hand on her ass giving it a little squeeze. Then another, as the muscles in my thighs contract, because every single nerve ending throughout my entire fucking body is humming, alive and alert. Buzzing.

God I want her to touch it.

Fuck, just for a second, and then I can finish myself off in the bathroom.

Christ, what am I saying? I’m not going to jerk myself off with her in the house, as much as I want to.

If only she’d…

Just a little lower…

Please Teddy, please…

I count to ten—then ten again so my goddamn leg doesn’t start bouncing like a jackrabbit’s, tension-filled and nervous.

Slowly I take my hand, working it up her back. Underneath her shirt. Stroking the warm skin of her spine, fingers grazing her side boob. The tits pressed into my ribcage.

For fuck’s sake, please touch it.

Graze it.

Flick it.

Anything.

Christ, I’ve never wanted anyone to touch my dick so bad. Or suck it, or stroke it, or…

Teddy says nothing when the pads of all five of my fingers brush her tender skin again. Only her sharp inhale of breath gives away the fact that she felt it. She holds that breath, waiting.

One second.

Two.

Four.

Five.

Her hand moves.

Down.

God, what is she doing? What are we doing? This is such a bad idea. I don’t want her to stop.

That’s it, Teddy. Lower. Lower. Oh fuck…

***

TEDDY

“That’s it Teddy, lower…” Kip’s low groan cuts into the dark, his guttural plea sexy and deep, hitting me right in the ovaries as he lays still beside me.

God, his voice. His words.

I doubt he realizes he’s even saying them out loud.

Not Kip—he has too much self-control, and he’s kept me firmly at arm’s length the past few weeks. There is no way he would purposely allow this to happen, unless…

Unless he really wanted me to. Or I was making him crazy, which I doubt, because—look at me. I’m the opposite of the girls who hang out at the rugby house. I’m wholesome and studious and, well, virginal.

The feel of Kip’s hard, warm skin beneath my gliding fingertips is amazing. Warm, hot, and cool—all at the same time.

Him lying here motionless, allowing me to explore—it must be driving him insane; even I know that. I’m playing with fire and we both know it.

We should not be doing this.