Jock Row

by Sara Ney

  No.

  Yes!

  I want to, more so now than ever, and we’re going to be alone for two whole nights. There will never be a more perfect opportunity, just him and the ocean—two things I can’t stop thinking about.

  And he loves me.

  “Are you excited about tomorrow?” I break the silence.

  “Yeah, totally. Are you?”

  “I am so excited I don’t know how I’ll be able to sleep.” All this excitement and these feelings are information overload; I’m not sure yet what to do with it all.

  Rowdy hums his agreement, chest vibrating. Nonchalant and carefree, face impassive. If I hadn’t overheard him just now, I never would have known—never in a million years.

  But I know better.

  The lamp’s light radiates softly on the bedside table, casting a warm glow on his expression.

  “You tired?” I ask, rolling toward him, burrowing my petite frame in the crook of his arm, lining myself up, breasts pressing into his ribcage. My hand slides unhurried across his expansive chest, landing on his left pec, the tip of my index finger wandering close to his hard nipple.

  “Do I look tired?” Beneath my palm, his heart beats like a war drum—and when I lay my head on his chest, I can hear it, too.

  I press closer, lifting my leg, draping it over his thick thigh, and god does it feel good to be this close.

  Rowdy Wade is hot and cool to the touch.

  His long arm comes around me, hand resting on my ass, splayed palm creeping under my sleep shorts to cup my bare butt cheek. Fingers flex close to my crack, forefinger twitching.

  I swear we both stop breathing.

  “What time are we getting up?”

  “I set my phone for eight.”

  “We should probably try to sleep, huh?”

  The tip of his index finger treads a slow path up and down the flesh of my ass, plucking at my underwear band, branding my skin. “We should.”

  He breathes in; he breathes out.

  In.

  Out.

  Like he’s trying to control his breathing, impossible with my hand exploring his chest. Plucking gently at his puckered nipple and breathing hotly onto the other one.

  It’s so close to my mouth—right there—stiff and straining.

  I arch into him, pressing, tongue catching the tip of it. Roll my body closer until I can suck it. Flick it then blow, as I’ve seen in a hundred porn gifs.

  Rowdy’s hand creeps under the back of my shirt, caressing his new favorite spot: my spine. Tenderly while I tease him, he’s so unbelievably sexy. So incredibly magnificent.

  I want to touch him all over. “You want me to rub your back?”

  His eyes are heavy-lidded, mouth in a straight line, expression impossible to read.

  “I’d love for you to rub whatever you want.”

  I suppress an eye roll. “On your side.”

  He complies, facing the door, presenting me with the steel fortress of his back. He’s a massive wall of strength, and when my palms hit the flat plane of his trapezius, my fingers spread wide, kneading at the base of his neck.

  It’s solid and thick. Tight.

  I rub there, in that same spot, for a good five minutes, thumbs pressing into his skin. Pushing into the knots, listening as I burnish each one out. One by one.

  My hands wander.

  Feather light, they trail down his spine to his oblique, and discover two back dimples right above his firm ass.

  Dimples of Venus.

  Jesus, they’re so absurdly sexy.

  Both of my palms stroke across them, heating his flesh, massaging at the waistband of his snug boxer briefs. Stroke over his butt, squeezing it the way he was squeezing mine.

  “As far as massages go, this one feels more like foreplay,” he murmurs into his pillow, arms at his side. “Am I right or am I right?”

  “Does it?”

  “Is it?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad. You’re making me so fucking hard.”

  “Am I?” I stare at my hands in wonder.

  “You really have to ask?”

  Three more minutes of pretense and Rowdy’s maneuvering himself to his back. I avert my gaze, not wanting it to settle on the erection tenting his briefs.

  But it’s hard, so hard—no pun intended.

  “Come here.” He beckons me closer and like a moth to a flame, I go.

  Lean into him, kissing him full on the lips.

  “You’re so fucking pretty.” He swipes the long hair out of my face; it hangs in sheets down my chest and over my eyes. Presses his thumbs lightly into my cheek, over my dimple. “I love this. It does weird, fucked up shit to me every time you smile.”

  When I smile, he smiles back, reaching for me, arm sliding under my ribcage, the other circling my waist.

  Bodies pressed together, I cradle his erection between the apex of my thighs, our mouths widen, tongues dancing. Unhurriedly rolling together. Sloppy and wet.

  “Wanna climb on top so we can spoon?”

  “That’s not how you spoon.” What a weirdo.

  “Wanna climb on top so I can feel your tits on my chest? Is that good?”

  Good enough.

  Effortlessly, he hauls me on top—as if I weigh nothing—bodies a perfect fit. Like two pieces of a sexually fueled puzzle. Rowdy’s giant hands are tense, palming my butt, dragging me up and down his cock, mimicking sex, the motion making us both moan.

  So good it hurts.

  “God I want to tear your clothes off,” I moan, hastening to add, “But not in your parents’ house.”

  “Right,” he agrees. “Definitely not in my parents’ house.” His pause is comical. “Uh, why not in my parents’ house?”

  “I’d never be able to look your mother in the eye tomorrow morning. I’d be mortified.”

  “What about just our shirts so I can play with your boobs?”

  My body shivers at the thought of him touching my bare breasts.

  “If I take my shirt off and you start touching me, my bottoms will come off.”

  His large hand pulls me down so our mouths meet again.

  His tongue traces my bottom lip.

  “What is it you think I’ll do if these skimpy little bottoms come off?” He’s murmuring, question a husky, molten masculinity that has my panties dampening. I gasp when the tip of his cock finds my clit through our thin underwear.

  We grind at each other slowly, kissing slowly.

  “Tell me what I’d do to you, Scarlett.”

  “You’d…”

  He licks my earlobe, distracting, hips rotating slowly beneath me, reaching between our bodies to push aside my shorts. “I’d what?”

  God his voice drives me mad. Makes me as hot as his mouth on my neck does. His hard dick between my legs.

  “D-Don’t make me say it,” I stutter, eyes almost rolling to the back of my head, forgetting how to focus.

  “I want to do everything to you, so fucking bad.” He’s crooning, sexy and sweet. “You know that, don’t you?”

  I can feel it.

  He’s a rock hard, raging hormone between my legs. But even still, he doesn’t pressure me to have sex with him.

  “But not in your mother’s house.”

  “Not in my mother’s house.” His voice cracks. “That would be bad.”

  I breathe out, leaning down, breasts rubbing against his magnificent chest.

  “I have an idea.” He perks up. “What if we dry fuck with our clothes on until we come in our pants? Like horny teenagers?”

  Dry fuck? That I can do.

  “Dry fuck me,” I moan when he licks my neck, pulling back the strap of my tank top with his forefinger. Sucks on my nipple.

  But he’s not done talking dirty. “One of these days you’re going to sit on my face while my tongue makes you come.”

  Lordy.

  “You want me to do that, baby? Eat you out?”

  Oh Jesus.

  I can’t do any
thing but nod dumbly, the visuals making my clit tingle. Rowdy’s hot fingers slide into my underwear, up the back, index finger sliding down my crack, pressing into the skin of my ass.

  “God,” I gasp, gyrating desperately.

  “Push your panties aside, baby, help me out,” he pants.

  I do as he says, peeling back the cotton fabric of my thin, lacey underwear. Moan when the tip of his dick digs into my pussy, restrained only by his gray boxer briefs.

  “Christ you feel good. The shit I’m going to do to you when we’re alone…” His growl is low as those huge hands grip my hips, urging me to swivel. “Whatever you do, don’t stop—my cock is in the perfect fucking spot right now.”

  My lids flutter closed as my mouth falls open. One push of his boxers and he’d be all the way inside. So easy, too easy. So good.

  “I’m so goddamn close,” he declares, gripping my backside and flipping me with one, singular motion. Like a well-trained wrestler, not missing a beat.

  Strong. Stealth.

  Bold.

  A little too loud, mimicking sex a little too well.

  “Keep it down,” I beg breathlessly. “I swear Sterling, you’re going to knock the headboard into the wall.”

  “You want me to fake screw you nice and slow, Scarlett? Is that it?”

  He’s so dirty, so unfiltered—a contrast to the gentleman he is the rest of the time we’re together.

  “Do you always talk like this?” I manage to ask, and when my eyes roll to the back of my head, he sucks on my nipple through my shirt and I almost float off the bed, euphoric.

  “Like what?”

  “Do you always talk this dirty?”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  I love it. “Yes.”

  It’s erotic and makes me feel sexy. Makes me want to peel my shirt—and everything else—off.

  His cock glides up and down the fold between my legs, hitting every nerve along the way. Hitting my clit. Gripping my butt cheeks, pulling me in.

  So close, so close…don’t stop, don’t stop.

  We’re winded, the telltale signs of two impending orgasms looming, mouths fusing, mattress on the verge of squeaking—banging against his bedroom wall.

  So close, don’t stop.

  “Sh-shh,” I admonish, not sure if it’s him or me making all the noise.

  His mouth latches onto my neck. “I want you so fucking bad it’s making me mental.”

  So close, don’t stop.

  We don’t, not until we’re done, climaxing at the same time, Rowdy’s face buried in the crook of my neck. The noises he’s making—tortured moans of pleasure I’ve never heard a man make.

  Sexy.

  Mine.

  We lay entwined, fully clothed.

  Glowing.

  Then…

  “We should probably both change our underwear. There is jizz everywhere inside my shorts.”

  SATURDAY

  Rowdy

  We made it to the ship with hours to spare, the gangway a long, winding way up to the atrium deck.

  I’m close behind Scarlett, eyes glued to her fantastic backside, admiring the view. The pretty top with tiny holes in it and pair of white shorts she’s wearing don’t stop me from ogling as she takes one long stride after other.

  Unfortunately, no sooner do we step onto the threshold of the ship than my dad catches me staring at her ass, pulling me aside by the arm. Gets in close so he doesn’t have to raise his voice, gearing up for a lecture.

  Patiently, I let him deliver the speech I know is coming.

  Blush a little, too.

  “Your mom and I are trusting you this weekend. Please use your best judgment.”

  I nod. “I understand.”

  “Do you? You’re sharing a room with this girl, whom we’ve never met before this weekend. We have to trust that you’re both going to be responsible.”

  “Responsible?” I smirk, crossing my arms. “What do you mean?”

  Never good at the sex talks, my dad’s face turns as bright as Scarlett’s when she’s blushing.

  “Did you bring…”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Did I bring what? Sunblock?”

  “You know…”

  He cannot not bring himself to say the word protection, or condoms, or birth control. Dad is the reserved one in my parents’ relationship, while my mother is an extrovert. The balance has always been a positive one—except when it comes to shit like this.

  Lord help him, he sucks at giving me lectures. Always has.

  Has no countenance for it, while Mom would probably be whipping out a diagram and drawing me a picture. Or pulling a strip of condoms out of her purse—the ones with her book logo on them.

  “Two sets of nice clothes?”

  “Sterling, if you’re being coy with me, I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Coy, Dad?” That’s such a Mom word.

  “Your mother is the one who wanted me to have this talk with you.”

  “What talk? Seriously Dad, I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  That’s when he takes a good look at my face, at my shit-eating grin.

  “You little smartass.”

  My grin widens. “Hardly little.”

  It’s so easy to embarrass my father. “Sterling, enough.”

  “Dad, I get it.” I give him a reassuring clap on the back. “Don’t worry, no one wants clones of me running around.”

  Last night’s humpfest was as close to being unscrupulous about protection as I’ve ever gotten, and only because Scarlett and I were both wearing underwear.

  But my big dick wanted in, and he wanted in deep.

  My mother’s voice cuts in to my perverted reminiscing, retracing her steps to find out where my father and I ran off to.

  “Come on you two, let’s go!” She hands me one of the ships pre-paid cell phones so we can communicate this weekend. “Dad and I are going to drop these bags off then head to the bar by the pool if you want to meet us up there later?”

  “Cool, maybe.” I take Scarlett’s bag, the one hanging from her shoulder, and sling it over mine, carrying them both, resting my palm on the small of her back. “We’ll scope everything out, do a lap or two around the ship, get the lay of the land.”

  “All right. If we don’t bump into you, we’ll see you for dinner at six.”

  I bend to kiss my mother on the cheek. “Love you guys. Catch you later.”

  She wraps her arms around Scarlett, embracing her in a hug. “Have fun.”

  As they go one way, I pull Scarlett another, toward the elevator banks. A door slides open and I gesture for her to enter first.

  “All aboard the hot mess express.”

  I catch her smile, biting down on her lower lip, hair braided in a crown at the top of her head. She looks…

  Fucking adorable.

  She steps into the elevator. “Thank you.”

  The doors close, trapping us in, alone. “I hope it doesn’t take them forever to get our bags in the room.”

  “Does it normally?”

  “It can.”

  But it doesn’t. As luck would have it, both our suitcases are at the door to our stateroom when we arrive, and I scan the keycard, hauling them aside so Scarlett can enter first. Lug them into the room, the door slamming shut behind me.

  “Wow. Sterling, this room is…” She turns to face me, speechless, beaming up at me. “I’m so excited.”

  I’m filled with pride having made her smile like that.

  Without waiting, she takes the short journey to the balcony doors, sliding them open and stepping into the warm Florida air, arms spread wide on the rails.

  It’s early yet—four more hours until the ship leaves—with plenty of time to explore, both the ship and each other.

  I join her on the balcony, approaching from behind, my hands circling her middle, chin resting on her shoulder. Breathing in her hair, kissing the back of her neck.

  “This is gorgeous and we haven’t ev
en left yet.”

  My fingers brush back the stray hairs that have escaped from her braid. “It is.” She is.

  Resting my lips on her shoulder, the sound of the waves lapping against the side of the ship, and hundreds of seagulls are on the playlist as we stand there, studying the horizon.

  It’s warm—already seventy degrees—so tank tops and shorts are the order of the day.

  And when Scarlett reaches behind her to run her fingers through my hair, I take advantage, sliding my hands under the hem of her prissy blue top. Sweep them up, cupping her breasts over her bra.

  Kiss her neck again, this time sucking, too.

  I haven’t had sex in months, and with all these emotions suddenly raging inside me along with my hormones, all I can think about is s-e-x; every attempt to dial down my sexual appetite has failed. Everything Scarlett does turns me on, from the quick way she blushes to the conservative braids in her hair and her quirky little laugh.

  She’s not even doing it on purpose—that’s how affected we are by the sight of each other.

  She made it easy to fall in love with her, she just…doesn’t know it yet.

  Growling into the curve of her neck, I pull back and step away before I doing something stupid, like unclasp her bra and strip off all my clothes.

  She would be so pissed.

  “Should we explore the ship?” Her bright, toothy grin and dimple punch me right in the gut, spreading to my stomach.

  “Whatever you want—this is your weekend.”

  Her heads gives a bashful shake. “Stop it, Rowdy.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You did not do this all for me.”

  The hell I didn’t.

  The ocean, the beaches—it’s my gift to her.

  I don’t know what my fucking problem is lately; I might be a ballplayer, but what do I bring to the table other than my body and a skill that’s practically useless unless I’m in the infield of a baseball diamond?

  “Let me slip my sandals on and we can go.”

  ***

  We spent the afternoon idle. Relaxed, lying about in deck chairs next to the pool and watching the ship leave port, the houses on land getting smaller and smaller.

  Dots on the horizon disappearing from sight after a few miles.

  Ordering fruity drinks, we talked and laughed the afternoon away like we’ve been a couple for years. Napped. Dinner with my parents, which ended up being painless because they showed up twenty minutes before it was over.