Jock Row

He looks unsure, oddly vulnerable. Smells so damn terrific. “I’m not trying to be funny. I’m…”

“You’re what?”

“I’m trying to get you to kiss me. Why is it so damn difficult?”

My mouth forms an O.

He sets his cup down on the table in front of us, leaning forward to invade my personal space.

I let him.

I let him lean over, big body facing mine, torso twisted. Large hands slide up my bare arms to my shoulders.

“Never have I ever stared at someone’s lips so fucking hard in my entire life.” He pauses. “Never have I ever put the moves on someone and been so fucking nervous.”

“You’re nervous?”

“Yes,” he rumbles.

“So am I.”

Our faces are inches apart, hot breaths mingling.

My voice catches. “Sterling, don’t ever play games with me.”

I’m at a loss for words.

“This isn’t part of the game, Scarlett.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” The tip of his nose brushes mine and the rumble of his chuckle is low. “I have never, in my whole goddamn life, worked so hard to get someone to put their mouth on mine.”

“Are you drunk?” I murmur.

Because I am, buzzing with nervous energy and anticipation. Drunk on his cologne and the tingle from his strong forearms breezing up my body.

“Maybe not on alcohol, but on something else entirely,” he admits. “Are you?”

My eyes close when his nose slides across my cheekbone, down my jawline, nuzzling my neck. He can’t see it, but my eyes roll back into my head from the contact.

Jesus he feels so good.

“A little.”

His breath. His nose.

His mouth.

It brushes the shell of my ear, hot breath making me crazy.

“We can blame it on the alcohol in the morning if we want to, yeah?” His voice is husky, vibrating my nerves, just at the base of my ear.

I tilt my neck. “We could.”

Instead of pressing his mouth to mine, Rowdy drags it down the column of my neck where the skin is bare. Kisses my clavicle, sucking gently. Grazes his way up my chin, the divot of my bottom lip.

My lips part, breath coming quicker, chest heaving.

“You smell so fucking good,” he says into my temple.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“Good, ’cause I showered tonight, just for you.”

That makes me laugh, not because it’s funny, but because he mentioned it—as if I couldn’t tell he smelled like soap and a little extra effort.

The alcohol has gone to my head—I’m a total lightweight—but alcohol isn’t what has me tipping my head back, isn’t what has me biting back a small moan when Rowdy kisses the sensitive skin next to my right eye.

When he drags his nose down mine and kisses the tip of it, my eyes shut. Lashes flutter when those callused hands of his graze my biceps, thumbs smoothing along my collarbone.

I know what’s coming next and I want it.

Want it more than anything I’ve wanted in a really long time.

The couch cushions dip when we lean into each other farther, my breasts gently rubbing his pecs through his thin shirt. I’m grateful for it, relishing the heat and hardness of him.

Then…

His mouth is on mine, the light kiss scarcely touching my lips. It’s a hot, searing form of torture.

My heart is beating so fast, pounding inside my chest so hard I can hear it in my ears, echoing in time with every breath I take.

Ba bum, ba bum, ba bum.

Rowdy is hesitating, waiting to really lay one on me, his penetrating green eyes roaming my face. Lips. Hair. I lean back to study his face, too, wondering what he sees when he looks at me. Study his dilated irises and pouty bottom lip. His cheekbones and the stubble on his cheeks from the day’s growth.

So handsome and serious.

“What are you waiting for, Sterling?” I whisper.

“I don’t know.”

With a temperate nudge, I give his strapping shoulders a push, urging him back against the cushions, legs spread, hands at his sides.

I don’t know what comes over me—sexual repression, probably—but I find myself straddling his wide hips, sitting my ass right on top of his thick thighs as if it has a right to be there.

My eager palms rest on his chest, easing up the smooth fabric of his shirt, every tendon in his body beneath my fingertips. At my mercy when I pin him down.

“Hands behind your head,” I murmur into his ear, dragging my nose up and down the shell of it, his hair tickling my nostrils.

He complies quickly and without protest, clasping those great, masculine hands of his behind his head, lacing them together. His biceps bulge, whiter than the rest of him, veins blue and prominent.

I graze my fingertips along the sensitive skin there, relishing how soft it is. How strong and solid the muscles are. Firm. Flattening my palms, they skim Rowdy’s flesh, over his armpits and down his ribcage.

He’s breathing hard, squirming under me.

“What do you daydream about the most?”

“You.”

Good answer.

I kiss his neck, just below his jawline.

“What is your best physical feature?” I whisper.

“My…” He swallows, debating. There are so many choices. “My arms.”

I agree. I kiss the flesh of his powerful underarm.

“If you were given the chance to become invisible for one day, what would you do with this ability?”

“I…” he begins. Swallows. “I would spend it watching you walk around naked.”

“You think I walk around naked an entire day? My, my, what wishful thinking.”

Nevertheless, I kiss the space next to his eye, where it’s tender, kiss his laugh lines.

His eyes widen when my hands cradle his face, fingers flexing behind his head.

Rowdy is so damn adorable; I want to eat him up. So huge, my five-foot five-inch frame feels so petite in his lap. With my front row seat, my fingers brush his jawline, stroking upward over the unshaven bristles. Over his pouty bottom lip.

“Do it, Scarlett.” His fingers squeeze my waist to prompt me along, begging me to kiss him on the mouth. “Fucking do it already.”

“Stop being so bossy. I’ll get to it.”

Never would I ever have thought I’d be doing this with him, not in a million years…

“You can take your hands down now,” I inform him magnanimously, orienting myself so I can rub my breasts along his chest.

The first brush of my mouth against his is brief, sweeping. Soft.

Electric.

Zap.

Sizzle.

Startled, I pull back. “Did you feel that?”

A short nod. “Yes.”

He licks his gorgeous lips, lips still parted expectantly.

“Do it again.”

His hands grip my backside, fanned out on my spine.

When our mouths finally fuse, I lose myself in him a bit. One small piece of my soul becomes Sterling Wade’s, whether he wants it or not.

Up my back, one of his hands roams. Up my spine, strong and splayed. Up the column of my neck, fingers spread, plunging through my hair as his tongue plunges into my mouth, meeting mine.

The other is firmly planted on my ass.

This kiss is…

Shock and shiver and memorable. Insanity. Divine torment.

I cannot get my tongue far enough down his throat, body electrically charged, intensely aware of the throbbing member between my legs.

I will not grind on his cock, I will not grind on his cock, I will not…

Too late. My hips roll of their own accord; they can’t help themselves, wanting him as much as I do. His thick shaft is nestled snuggly between my legs, begging for attention the way Rowdy was begging for my kisses.

Greedy. Needy.

Hot and sexy, our tongues and lips are wet, dipping into each other as if it’s the only time we’ll have the chance.

It’s madness.

I want to tear his clothes off and bang him on my living room floor.

Weeks of mutual, pent-up sexual tension have me reaching for the hem of his shirt and sliding my hands underneath. Aching and desperate to feel the weight of his skin, my fingertips glide over Rowdy’s textbook washboard abs.