Jock Rule Read Online Sara Ney (Jock Hard #2)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, College, Funny, New Adult, Romance, Sports, Young Adult Tags Authors: Series: Jock Hard Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
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“Shake on it?” When I stick out my callused hand, she draws hers back.

Pushes an errant hair behind her ear, glancing down at her feet. “We’re good.”

She’s not scared of me, is she? I shove my hands inside the pockets of my cargo shorts.

“Shower?”

“I…yeah. I want to say no, because this whole thing is just so awkward for me, but since I’m starting to stink like a distillery, I probably should.”

“You already stank in the car.” My lips twitch at her shocked expression.

Her nose wrinkles. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m just fucking with you.”

“Okay, well…” She hoists her clean clothes in the air. “Lead the way, I guess.”

I don’t. Instead, I point toward the staircase and flick my finger in that general direction. “Up the stairs, first door on the right. Root around for towels—I think there are some in there.”

There should be, because my mom and sister came one weekend and didn’t leave until the place was stocked and spotless. I had everything I needed when I moved in, like the pampered son of a billionaire would.

God I hope Teddy doesn’t get all weird on me after she spends the night.

I listen to her softly padding away, her bare feet climbing to the second story then the door to the guest bathroom clicking closed.

The sound of the lock being turned.

I grin at that—her caution—leaning back against the counter, scratching at my stomach. Rise to my full height and stretch. Make my own way up the stairs to the master bedroom, intent on washing the filth off myself.

Which I’m used to—I’ve never left a house party without being covered in something disgusting, just like I’ve never left the rugby field without being caked in mud, grass stains, and dirt.

The hot water sluices off my body, my mind wandering to the girl in the shower down the hallway. She’s not overtly sexy in any way, but I’ve never had a girl in my house, so naturally my hand strays south of the border.

I don’t purposely picture her curvy hips in my mind, or the shape of her breasts pressed against the pale, thin fabric of her cheaply made dress.

It just…happens.

It also just so happens that I haven’t had sex in—Jesus, I don’t even know how long. Since sophomore year, if I had to guestimate. The year I decided I didn’t want to be fucked simply because of my face or my last name, the year I grew the beard and let my hair get long and developed a chip on my shoulder because of the fairer sex.

It’s not their fault—it’s mine for believing a few of them actually gave a shit about me.

The boner grows between my legs when I stroke it slowly, water lubricating—wet and warm—my eyes sliding closed as my fingers grip the base of my shaft.

For a tall guy, it’s average as far as cocks go, but it’s thick and always ready for a pull.

An arm goes up against the tile wall, empty hand bracing my body as the other one strokes. Glides up and down, up and down.

I moan, picturing Teddy in my shower, naked skin, tits and ass. Wondering if her pussy is shaved, waxed, or natural. Picturing her nipples in my mind, the color of her areolas. Their size. Whether she gets off on having them sucked…

I moan.

Mouth falls open, obviously, because it feels fucking great pumping away at my own cock. Yeah, I feel like kind of a pervert, but it’s not my fault I’m suddenly having fantasies about her—I’m a warm-blooded, hormone-filled male, and there is a naked female in my house that I cannot—and will not—ever fuck.

Plus, I’m horny.

A hand is one thing, a pussy another entirely, and I haven’t banged one in so long. Too long.

I barely remember what it feels like to sink inside one, so there is no reason I should be hard over Teddy…whatever her last name is.

She’s cute, but not gorgeous. Wholesome, like the girl next door. Studious. Hardworking, if I have her pegged right—probably here on a scholarship.

I know her type.

Cheap clothes. Cheap jewelry. No car.

Worried about what her friends think and too afraid to tell them to fuck off.

I’m surprised she doesn’t have more of a backbone, honestly. Her type usually does—the ones who have to fend for themselves, have to make their way in the world without the help of their parents.

My head dips, bowing, shoulders hunched as I stroke my slippery dick, tongue darting out to run along my bottom lip. Teeth biting down.

Eyes still squeezed shut.

Teddy filling the void behind my lids.

My cock filling the void in my cupped hand.

It’s not enough, and I stroke harder. Rough. The grunt from my throat is low, echoing off the tiles in my shower, and I refuse to say the name tripping off the tip of my tongue.

Don’t say it.


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