Jock Road (Jock Hard) - Sara Ney Page 0,64

know what I’m tryin’ to say, Charlotte?”

Yes, but I want to hear you say it. “Not really? Could you be more clear?”

Jackson’s face turns as red as a beet. “I’m sayin’… Shit, I’m sayin’ I want to spend time with you. In a romantic capacity.”

Romantic capacity? Welp, that’s the most unromantic way to put it, but beggars can’t be choosers, and the poor boy looks as if he’s going to shit himself.

Plus, he’s from the South, and don’t they say flowery shit like that? No offense.

“We already have a head start since we’ve already been on our first date.” I bite my lower lip, remembering how fun that date was. The pumpkins and the boys who live in this house crashing the entire thing. Giant children, the entire lot of them. If I dated Jackson, I’d be spending more time with the football team.

“I’ll probably fuck most of this up. I won’t have any idea what I’m doing.”

“Who does?”

“Plenty of people.”

“Jackson, all you have to do is be sweet and, uh…kiss me when you want to.” I straighten my spine against the headboard, knowing—expecting—him to take the hint. Expecting him to seize the moment and plant one on me.

“Whenever I want to, eh?”

“Eh.”

“I can do that?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” We watch each other until the energy inside the room crackles. Until he moves his hand from my palm to my thigh, sliding it up my jeans, causing my breath to hitch—it’s so unexpected.

Our shoulders bump when he tries to lean in and kiss me, and we’re in such an awkward position—side by side—making it difficult. His shoulders are way too wide. Even when he tries twisting his torso to reposition himself, it’s just as uncomfortable. And impossible.

Maybe not for someone with experience, but it is for us, because Jackson has none.

All this is so new to him; I don’t want him to get discouraged and stop because we’re plopped on the bed like morons.

So.

I do the only thing a girl can do in this situation: shift out of the spot I’m in, get on my knees, and crawl over to him. Straddle his legs so we’re face t0 face, my ass resting on his thighs.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” His voice is gruff, and his hands? He’s not quite sure what to do with them. Nature takes over a few seconds later, though, and those big paws get planted on my hips. Gripping them gently, holding me steady.

“Is this okay?” I ask. “I feel like I’m manhandling you.”

“If I’d known you were this bossy…”

“You would have what?”

“Invited you over weeks ago.”

“You didn’t know me weeks ago.”

“But I know you now.”

Jackson is still, eyes fastened on my mouth. His chest heaves up and down, a physical sign his heart is racing—like mine is.

“You know…” I lean in close—so close. My loose hair hangs around my face, brushing his chest as I whisper, “At some point, you’re going to have to be the one to kiss me. I’m not going to make the first move all the time.”

He gives a definitive jerk of the head. “Deal.”

Then.

I kiss him.

Cup his beautiful face in my delicate hands and kiss him square on the mouth. My palms slide over his skin, relishing how warm it is. His ruddy cheeks, burned from the sun. Freckles on the bridge of a nose that looks like it’s been broken in a few places and probably has.

I kiss the freckles. I kiss the sunburn.

The corner of his bushy eyebrow, first one, then the other. They’re dirty blond, like he is, and unkempt—like he is. Jackson needs a haircut, and I weave my fingers through the longish locks, pulling them back as if I’m going to tie them with an elastic band.

I have one on my wrist, but I don’t use it, instead letting his silky strands slip through. Again. And again.

My body dips so my lips can kiss the column of his neck, just below his ears, and Jackson groans when they make contact. Mouth brushing along the sensitive skin just below the lobe. Give it a teasing nip and suck.

“Do you like that?” I whisper.

His reply is a jerky nod.

I can feel him getting hard, the valley between my thighs settled straight on his dick; he’s wearing thin athletic pants that do nothing to conceal the erection, and I wish I’d worn yoga pants and not denim.

So I could feel every inch of it.

Our mouths connect again, this time because Jackson can’t wait to taste me. Bless his hands, they begin to wander, straying up