The Jock by J.L. Beck Page 0,47

All I want is friction and relief from the throbbing ache between my thighs. As if he can read my mind, his hand disappears under my dress, trailing against my thigh before finding its way to my panty covered sex. Clinging to him like my life depends on it, I part my legs without even realizing it.

Cage is all around me, everywhere, shielding me from the world. I feel safe in his arms, safe in his presence, and for the first time ever, I’m free. I’m not worried about a man making me feel less than him. I’m living.

“Please,” I whimper, not sure what I’m begging for. All I know is I don’t want him to stop. He gently pulls the thin fabric aside, and the rough pads of his fingers land on my now exposed clit. A jolt of pleasure zings through me at the touch, and I almost come undone right there. No one has ever touched me like this, and nothing has ever felt this good.

“You’re wet for me,” his husky voice finds my ear.

He’s breathing deeply and starts rubbing little circles over the small bundle of nerves.

“Mmmhhh,” is all I can manage to get out. I’m beyond words, beyond coherent thought.

His touch is gentle but possessive at the same time, and he holds me, touches me like a fragile jewel. I feel the orgasm building deep in my abdomen, and I’m almost scared of the intensity. I’m almost there, right at the edge, and then he moves, dipping his fingers lower.

I gasp softly as he presses into my opening. I’m so wet, he slides in with ease.

That’s when I come apart. Shattering into a thousand pieces, I’m positive I’ll never find all of them. Falling off the cliff, I continue my descent, never hitting the bottom.

I’m still trembling when I finally pry my eyes open. I’m plastered against the wall, and Cage is holding the rest of my weight. Both of his hands are placed firmly on my hips now. Which is perfect because my legs are utterly useless at this moment.

Pulling away, he peers down, inspecting me. I look up at his face, and that’s when reality hits me. I just let Cage Wilder, the infamous playboy, finger me. Worse yet, in the hallway of a frat house. But that’s not the worst part, the worst is that I don’t care. Like a horned-up teenager, all I can think is I want more.

Licking my lips, I bat my eyes at him.

“I want you to take me downstairs…”

Conflict flickers in his dark gaze. The devil and angel hang on his shoulder, and I wonder which will win out. I want him, but do I want him bad enough to give him my virginity in some dark basement.

Shaking his head, he gives me a pained expression. “No, you don’t. You don’t want this. Hell, I don’t even want this. We’re just friends, remember?”

I nod. I know he’s right, but that doesn’t lessen the rejection. He doesn’t want me. For some stupid reason, my heart feels as if it’s being ripped in two.

As if I’m bleeding out sadness, Cage moves his hands from my hips and cups me by the cheeks, peering into my eyes.

I can smell the beer on his breath, and his spicy, manly scent makes it hard to think straight. I want him to touch me again. The booze I consumed is wearing off, and I’m feeling less fearless now, so no way would I make the first move, and especially not after the way he just rejected me.

“If you think for one second, the reason I don’t want to take you down there has to do with not wanting you, then you obviously haven’t been paying attention. I want you so bad, so fucking bad my balls ache to empty inside you, but this…” he pulls a hand away and gestures between us, “this is not what you need. I’m not what you need. I’m not going to cheapen your virginity with alcohol and a dark basement. If you had asked me any other time, I would probably take you up on your offer, but not right now. Plus, how can we stay friends if we’re screwing?” He winks. His response lessens the blow to my fragile ego but doesn’t ease the tension around my heart.

“I think…I want to go home now.” I look down, trying to forget about the way he just made me feel and the swarm of butterflies in my belly.

“I