Jock Road (Jock Hard) - Sara Ney Page 0,78

both the ends tipped up into a natural smirk, kind of like the joker. Or the Grinch.

It’s a sassy mouth, ready for sarcasm and banter, not always pleasant, I’m sure. Jackson has never directed any curse words in my direction, but I can’t imagine he’s always this sweet and pleasant. Or nice.

In fact, I have a feeling he’s a real asshole with most people.

A giant douchebag because his guard is always up.

Everything about him turns me on. Everything.

I kiss his mouth, and he accepts it, meeting my tongue.

Suddenly, it’s different. Better. We care about each other—and that makes all the difference. His touch makes me tingle in a way it didn’t just hours ago.

He loves me.

It’s intoxicating knowledge to have. Makes me bask, knowing I can touch him freely, knowing nothing is off limits now that we’ve established how we feel.

Nothing is off limits.

Including S-E-X?

Guess we’ll find out…

I kiss his majestic nose again. Again. Loving every second of it, cherishing this moment, hoping to remember it forever, no matter what ends up happening with us. We may not have a happily ever after—only time will tell—but we’re happy now, and I want to touch his soul—and his body.

He smells delicious. His incredible body is pressed against my front, breasts smashed against his broad chest. There’s hair there; Jackson isn’t the kind of guy who grooms or manscapes—he is who he is and doesn’t make a fuss about it. He’s masculine and wonderfully male, which is the same thing, I get it, but whatever. He’s sexy and I love it.

The hair on his chest tickles my boobs, but in the best way, and I wiggle a bit so I’m rubbing over him. Lean in and find the pulse in his neck, sucking the skin below his ear.

He shivers. Grips my hips and tugs.

Runs his hand over my hip, down to my ass, pressing into my skin along the way. Grips my butt in his big palm. Squeezes. Moans.

Mmm.

Our mouths somehow discover their way together in the dark, locking. Opening, two simultaneous moans filling the space between us, creating tension that wasn’t there before.

Sweet, sweet sexual tension.

The longer we make out, the harder Jackson’s dick becomes; it’s long and hot against my thigh, but he makes no move to grind on me or grab my hand and draw it down south.

The longer we make out, the wetter I become downstairs. I’m hot and impatient, wanting more than this innocent kissing. Okay, not so innocent since we’re mostly unclothed, in bed together, in a dark room and not officially in a relationship.

But we’ve known each other for weeks, possibly our whole lives, my brain argues. You’re ready for whatever Jackson wants.

I know he’s not going anywhere—I wouldn’t be here with him now if he wasn’t interested. He’s gone twenty-two years without so much as having sex with someone, and he isn’t taking this ‘thing’ with me lightly.

So I push.

Do a little gyrating to see how he responds. Where will he move his hands if I do the seducing?

I’m still wearing my bra—he hasn’t touched my bare breasts, or seen me completely naked. I’ve seen his dick in the near dark but haven’t had it near my center.

You couldn’t fit a dime between us, so inching closer is impossible, but I take a palm and press it against his pec, pushing a bit so he knows I want him on his back.

Reach for the bedside table and feel around for the small lamp I know is there, fumble for the switch. Its low glow gives off just enough light for me to see his expression, and I want him to see me. I want him to watch when I climb on top of him and remove my bra.

Watch his face change when my arms reach behind my back and release the tiny clasp. Work the straps down my shoulders, letting them sag over my upper arms before shimmying them all the way down.

I’m sitting on top of him as if I’m in a saddle, tossing my bra to the floor; it lands somewhere nearby. Jackson isn’t wearing a shirt, so when I move my body forward and let my boobs smash his chest, he inhales. A sharp intake of breath that spurs me on.

I line up our privates; only our underwear separates us, and let’s be honest, mine is merely a scrap of material that conceals nothing. I feel everything—the head of his dick, the shaft, his balls.

The tip rubs my clit in the