Jock Hard

by Ney, Sara

  My fingers hook the inside of my pants and push.

  I inhale when they catch the tip of my dick, the same way my breath hitched when Charlie pushed them down earlier.

  Anticipation makes my heart thrum and my dick stiffen.

  My pants also get folded into a neat square and set atop my shirt. Then socks.

  I leave the stack and turn, glancing around the room like a tiger backed into a corner and looking for an escape route. I school my features; the last thing she needs to see is me panicking.

  I know I have a great body; it’s part of my job as an athlete to be in peak physical condition. It’s my mental sanity that could use some work right now.

  Charlie sweetly smiles.

  “Good choice on the bottoms. I wouldn’t want to wear pants to bed, either.” She grins as I shuffle to the side of the bed closest to the door, pull back the comforter, and slide in.

  I shoot her a stiff smile, nausea bubbling up in my throat.

  “Are you okay, Jackson? You look a little…” Her head tilts as she studies me, sitting up to get a better look at my face. “Sick.”

  She’s definitely only wearing a lacy bra. “I’m fine.”

  I can’t tell her I’ve never been this nervous—she’ll think I’m a sissy, not the strong guy she’s attracted to.

  “Hmm. I don’t think you are, but I’m not going to pry.” She plops back down, head hitting the pillow, hair fanning out against the navy pillowcase. She looks like a fucking angel.

  Beautiful. Serene. Pure.

  “I can leave if you want me to.” Her voice is soft and sincere.

  “I don’t want you to.” My voice catches, but I manage to say the words. If she touches me right now, I’ll probably fall off the fucking bed and embarrass myself more than I already have this evening.

  My back flattens and I relax. Sort of.

  For her part, Charlie is silent, rolling to her side and looking over at me as I try to get comfortable. She tucks a hand under her chin—the same way she did earlier when we were just talking—and studies me some more.

  Smiles.

  Then, “What’s it like being out on that field with so many people watching?”

  “It’s…” I don’t know how to describe it to her.

  It’s not like this is the first time someone has asked, but it’s the first time I try to dig deep for an actual answer. Usually I go with a generic reply—indescribable, nuts, loud—but because Charlie is genuinely curious, I put actual thought into my answer.

  “It is nerve-rackin’, but also one of the best adrenaline rushes you can have. The pressure of havin’ every eye on you durin’ an entire game is somethin’ you can’t…you just can’t duplicate it. If you make a mistake, everyone knows it was you and they boo you, but if you make an excitin’ play, everyone cheers. For you. So, it can be a kind of horrifyin’ experience? Or it can be one of the greatest feelins ever.” I lower my voice as I think out loud. “Hearin’ the crowd all cheer at once brings chills all over your body.”

  Charlie lets my last line linger, giving it a little time before saying, “Wow. I can’t even imagine what that would feel like.”

  It’s something not many people will ever experience. I’m one of the lucky few who gets to know what it’s like—the minority of people who get to play in a damn stadium. Surreal.

  Never gets old. You never get over it, and I hope I never do.

  Charlie’s blue eyes are bright and full of wonder as she regards me across the mattress. “Has there ever been a time you haven’t wanted to walk out there?”

  I try not to stare at her cleavage, but it’s almost impossible; she has a great rack—full and pushed up to her throat because of the way she’s lying on her side. “Uh.” I yank my eyes off her boobs. “No. But there have been a few times I’ve been sick and probably should have stayed in bed.”

  “What happened then? What do you do when you’re sick?”

  “Nothin’. You play through it.” That’s what you do when it’s your job and you have scholarships and agents and people depending on you to perform.

  That’s just what you do. You walk out onto the field whether you want to or not. Whether you’re sick as a dog or not.

  You just do it.

  Suck it up, JJ, Pops would shout from the sidelines. If you’re going to puke, do it in the end zone. I was never allowed to be home sick in bed.

  “I don’t think I could do it. I’m too big of a wimp. Like, I get my period and the cramps alone turn me into the biggest baby. No way could I walk out onto a field if I didn’t feel good.”

  “You would. Trust me—you would.”

  “Mmm, I’m not so sure. You’re built of sterner stuff than I am.”

  “Maybe,” I agree, knowing she’s right. I might have been raised—trained—to play, but I also believe people are born with the qualities that make them stick with it. People are born fighters, winners, follow-throughers.

  You can’t teach it or learn it; you have it or you don’t.

  “How many cold baths do you take in a week?” she asks.

  Cold bath? “Um, none?”

  “You know, that pool thing filled with ice?”

  Oh, she means the ice bath. “A few times a week, dependin’. It helps recovery after a game or hard workout, for inflammation and shit.”

  “Is it actually filled with ice?”

  “No. I mean, some of them are, but ours are more state-of- the-art. It’s a fancy tub with really fucking cold water. Then you get out and get into the hot tub, then back into the ice bath.” It’s a form of torture.

  “That sounds awful.”

  It really is. “Anything else you want to know?”

  “Are you sorry you chose Iowa? Will it hurt your chances once you graduate?”

  Maybe. But I doubt it. “Not accordin’ to my agent. I’m at the top of my game.”

  “Top of your game—what does that mean?”

  “It means…” How do I say this without sounding like an arrogant prick? “It means I’m one of the best players in my position.”

  “At Iowa?”

  “No. In the country.”

  Charlie’s eyes get wide. “Really?”

  Seriously. How does she not know this—hasn’t she googled me yet? “Yes, really. Do you not follow along? Are you not my biggest fan?”

  She laughs, and her boobs seem to get even bigger. “I don’t follow along, sorry. The game you invited me to was the only one I’ve been to in forever.”

  “It’s America’s pastime—how do you not have a team?”

  “America’s pastime is baseball.”

  Is she for real? “No, it’s football.”

  “Hmm.” She purses her lips. “Agree to disagree.”

  “Do you even watch baseball?”

  I can see her blushing from here. “No.”

  Her disgruntled reply makes me laugh, and without thinking, I reach for her, extending my arm and resting my large palm on her bare shoulder.

  We both freeze.

  It’s my knee-jerk reaction to apologize, but Charlie isn’t giving me a look of disgust. Nope. She’s biting her lip and smiling, white teeth illuminating her face.

  God she’s so pretty.

  Palm splayed, my fingers fan out. Stroke her soft skin, thumb moving over her clavicle. I knew girls were softer and more delicate, but I’ve never actually touched one like this.

  Charlie’s face changes the longer my hand stays on her body; I watch it go from surprised to fascinated to…turned on? Her pupils are dilating and her chest is starting to heave, which is weird. Is that right? My hand on her shoulder is actually getting her aroused?

  Shit. This is too easy. Maybe I don’t have to have much experience—maybe it has to do with the person you’re with. Maybe if you’re really into someone, you don’t have to be smooth or suave—maybe just being myself is enough.

  I test the theory. Move my hand south.

  Charlie’s nostrils flare as her eyelids dro
op.

  Huh.

  “Tired?” I move my hand back up to her shoulder. Let it trail down her upper arm.

  “Um…not really.”

  Man her skin feels amazing. Mine is sunburned and chafed and rough in comparison. I could touch her all night, and I’m confident now that she’d let me.

  She continues watching me, still rolled to her side. Boobs still deliciously squished together and on display, her stark white bra a lacy little number that leaves little to my imagination— I can see her dark nipples through the fabric. Try not to notice them pucker when I let the pads of my fingertips linger on her bicep.

  We lie like this for who knows how long, my hand resting in the same spot, fingers exploring but not to their full potential. I don’t have the balls to put my hands anywhere else; what if she slugs me? What if she likes it and I don’t know how to handle it?

  What if, what if, what if.

  Fuck!

  “Jackson. Stop overthinking everything.” She’s whispering, and it’s sexy as fuck despite the words being cajoling. “You’re not going to screw it up.”

  How does she know what’s on my mind? Is it that obvious?

  “You’re so cute,” she adds.

  “I’m cute?” No I’m not. Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. Babies are cute. I’m Goliath. A huge bastard who fights battles on the grass—a guy who happens to have raw talent and not much else going for him.

  “Say, ‘Thank you, Charlie.’” I roll my eyes.

  “Say, ‘I’m cute.’”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  Charlie narrows her beautiful blue eyes. “Say it and I’ll move closer to you.”

  That has my attention. “How close we talkin’?”

  She wiggles her eyebrows, lending a smarmy air to her comment. “Real close.”

  “I’m cute.” I punctuate the sentence with another eye roll, but a smile has bloomed on my mouth. The little shit could probably get me to do anything, include eating a pile of shit.

  “You are cute,” she agrees, inching forward. “Real, real cute.” Charlie has to push back the covers so she can get her body closer—so she doesn’t get wrapped in them—and when she does, I get a full body shot. An up-close-and-personal introduction to her tits. Stomach. Hips. Skimpy underwear.

  Oh my fucking god.

  My dick? He’s noticed, too, and he fucking loves it.

  Charlie scoots across the mattress, across my navy sheets. Sliding inch by inch with her beautiful, perfect body that’s not perfect at all, until her tits are against my chest. The only parts of us that are joined.

  Our faces are inches apart.

  “So now what are you going to do?” She’s challenging me.

  When my palm finally finds her hip beneath the covers, Charlie moans deep in her throat—as if her body’s been waiting for it to happen and sighs, too. Moans again when my palm glides down to her ass cheek and slowly caresses her there. Pulls her in closer so our pelvises meet, my cock wanting to burrow in the space between her thighs.

  “You feel so good,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss my mouth, bringing an arm up and running her fingers through my hair. Nails gently scraping my scalp.

  She’s adorable and fucking sexy and I love when she teases me.

  “I like you so much, Jackson.” Her fingers graze my cheek. “You don’t even realize…” By the look on her face, I’d say she means every word. The hand cupping my face is as tender as the soft set of her eyes.

  We lean in at the same time, mouths connecting. Lips pressed together, they open simultaneously. Tongues unhurriedly dragging and languid, like a drug. Intoxicating and delicious, like toothpaste and arousal.

  I remember her mouth on my dick, which is already stiff, and the thought makes the blood pumping through my body completely harden it.

  Charlie’s soft groan spurs me on, and my hand roams from her hip to her ribcage. Up and over, my thumb catches a glorious amount of side boob, and her tongue goes deeper into my mouth. It’s wet and hot. Wanton.

  I hesitate briefly; I’ve never felt a girl up, and I’ve certainly never removed anyone’s bra.

  Sliding my hand over her breast, cupping it in my palm, I swear to fucking God, my balls tighten painfully. And when Charlie disconnects from my kiss to tip her head back, I seize the opportunity to latch onto her throat. Kiss the column of her neck, inhaling her perfume and lingering on her pulse point.

  Kiss my way down. Collarbone. Valley between her breasts.

  Hook the strap of her bra with my thumb and drag it down her shoulder.

  Charlie’s breast is hot. Everything I pictured the times I pictured her naked. Round, with dark, rosy nipples. Pert and puckered, it wants my mouth on it.

  I inch down on the mattress, pulling the lacy material aside.

  Know I’m making all the right moves because Charlie inhales a breath and jams her fingers into my hair as my lips latch onto her nipple. Lick it and blow, watching the skin tighten with fascination. Run my thumb over the hardened nub, around and around, before flattening my tongue and dragging it over the perky tip.

  Another inhaled breath. A sigh. My name. “Oh Jackson.”

  Oh Jackson—goddamn right, that’s my name.

  Charlie rolls so she’s flat on her back, arching her spine, giving me full access to her flesh, fingers still buried in my hair. Twirling the longer strands around the index, languishing under my touch.

  I explore, raising my head and letting my hand drift. Trailing it down her bare torso, palm gliding toward her panties. They match her bra—white lace, a bit see-through. I glimpse the dark hair between her legs.

  Slowly hitch the waistband and raise it to peek at what lies underneath.

  Charlie grips the bedspread, breath catching with every movement I make inside her drawers.

  She has hair down there.

  It’s dim inside the bedroom, but I can still see it. Neatly trimmed but still—hair.

  “Is that okay?” she timidly asks.

  “It’s not my body,” I gruffly reply, not caring that she isn’t bare.

  “I know, but still. Does it bother y-you?”

  “Why would it bother me?”

  I catch her shrug. “You know—if you put your mouth down there?”

  Oh, I’m definitely putting my mouth down there…

  She pushes the point. “If you want me to shave it, I will.”

  “Darlin’, I don’t think I mind a little grass on the playin’ field.”

  She giggles, a nervous laugh made prominent by the mood.

  “And I don’t need ya to shave it.” I slide my palm over the soft patch of fuzz between her legs. “It’s sexy.”

  It’s the first pussy I’ve had my hand on, and I’m insatiably curious, index finger running up and down the hot, slick slit heating up her thighs. My thumb begins a steady rotation at that spot right at the top—exactly the same spot I see actors in porn rub. My hands are so huge, that thumb covers a lot of ground, digging a bit deeper as it parts her the smallest bit.

  The friction has Charlie moaning. Her thighs squirm.

  Spreading her legs, I wedge myself between her thighs, elbows nudging her wider. Resting on my arms, I take two thumbs and gently spread her pussy. Stare, fascinated, at the parts of Charlie that make her a woman: clit, vulva. The spot above her asshole that I’m tempted to touch.

  Using my right thumb, I run it over her labia.

  “Jesus, Jackson, would you stop staring at it!”

  “I can’t help it—I’ve never seen one up close.”

  She throws an arm over her eyes and groans miserably. “It’s so embarrassing.”

  “Why? Your clit is fuckin’ sexy.”

  “Oh my god, shut up. Clits are not sexy.”

  “Fuckin’ yes they are.”

  If I looked up, I know I’d catch her rolling those pretty blue eyes. “You’re only saying that because you’ve never had sex with one,” she grumbles.

  “Why do you have to ru
b it in?”

  “Because, if you don’t stop staring at it, I’m going to make you rub one out instead.”

  Rub one out. Jerk off. Masturbate. My girl is clever.

  Say your prayers, Charlie Edmonds. I might be a virgin, but I’m about to make up for lost time, starting with worshiping at the altar of your delicious pussy.

  “You better give your heart to Jesus, ’cause your ass is about to be mine.”

  She raises her head and looks down at me. “Huh?”

  I lower my mouth and make contact, flattening my tongue and dragging it straight down the center. Give my head a shake, like I’ve seen them do in pornos. I dig in deeper.

  Everything I learned I learned from porn…

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Just like everything I do, I put every last bit of effort into going down on Charlie, relying on her sounds for feedback, knowing I’m doing a damn good job when she loudly gasps and pulls at my shoulders.

  Spreads her legs wider, bending at the knees. I grab an ankle and prop it on my shoulder. “Oh J-Jesus.”

  That’s right, darlin’. Pray to Jesus.

  Charlie’s hips rise off the mattress and I seize the opportunity, sliding my hands under her ass. Bury my face and go to town. My mission: make her moan and beg for it.

  It doesn’t even take two minutes; the sounds coming from Charlie’s throat—from her mouth—are loud, almost tortured. I shush her, not wanting to lift my head and ruin the moment, but fuck, she’s noisy.

  I don’t have time to worry about it or be embarrassed, because when I start sucking on her clit, Charlie makes the tell-tale sound of a girl who’s about to orgasm. Thrashes her head on the pillow and grasps for my head, giving my hair a tug. Pushes at me, trying to inch away.

  I know better—I’ve seen the movie.

  I know how this ends, have envisioned it so many times in my mind the past few weeks since I met her—how’d she’d look when I made her come. Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I’m a virgin, not dead below the waist.

  “Jackson, oh my god Jackson.”

  My tongue swirls. Dips. Licks.

  “Oh shit.” She groans, guttural—a sound I wouldn’t imagine a girl making. “Fuck.”

  I love the dirty talk—it’s erotic and unexpected. I’ve never heard Charlie talk dirty, and the fact that she’s doing it during sex—or, oral—is hot as hell.