Must Love Jogs (Must Love Series Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  “Do you love it enough to actually go jogging with me today?”

  I immediately sneer.

  “Come on,” he tries to goad. “You were a slugabed this morning. A start this late to the morning should be made right with a good run.”

  My inquisitiveness is instant. “Slugabed?”

  “You don’t know what that is?”

  “I know exactly the definition of the word. I’m confused as to why you just used it nonchalantly in this conversation.”

  “Downloaded the dictionary app. Thought I could…extend my vocabulary.”

  The effort to appear more knowledgeable pangs my chest as I recall his recent confession over not feeling good enough to date someone like me. Which is crazy. If anything, it’s me who is not good enough for him.

  With a sweet smile, I shake my head. “You don’t have to impress me, Tiny Dancer. I’m already yours.”

  His beautiful smile brightens like the words were exactly what he needed to hear. “Mine huh? Then how about you try joggin’ with me. You might actually love it.”

  “I won’t. I ran, well, walked, that stupid race in January and came in dead last. Plus, I think it gave me asthma.”

  “Exercising doesn’t give you asthma.”

  “Tell that to my lungs.”

  Blake leans forward eyes pinned on my chest. “It doesn’t give you asthma.”

  With a small laugh, I unlink our hands to give him a playful swat.

  “Come on, Angel. One walk slash jog session. I won’t leave your side the entire time. I’ll even give you a foot massage afterwards.”

  My lips squeeze together in temptation. “Okay…if you agree to let me pick the music.”

  He groans his discontent. “You’re gonna pick something like Bach or Handel, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Impressed he remembers more than just the ones he should’ve learned in elementary school.

  His head bobs around in brief contemplation, giving me momentary hope he’ll back down. He lets his eyes pierce mine and declares, “Deal.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Get changed and grab your shoes, Angel. We’re goin’ joggin’.”

  The look of irritation on my face is as prevalent as the look of victory on his.

  This is going to be a terrible idea. I just know it.

  After a quick change into sweats and an obviously rehearsed motivational speech from Blake, the two of us are in my driveway exchanging very opposite expressions.

  My boyfriend leans to one side with a grin bright enough to piss off the sun. “You need to stretch before we start, Angel.”

  “How long are we going to be doing this?”

  “Twenty-one minutes.”

  “Twenty-one minutes?!” I grouse.

  “That’s…like…fifteen minutes too long.”

  He chuckles while he continues warming his body up. When he’s finished, he crosses over, and runs his hands along my hips. I try not to shudder, but it’s useless. His touch is irresistible, making my currently intact virginity borderline on miraculous. Blake leaves one hand pinned on my hip and glides the other upward to my arm. Once it’s there he gently stretches it to the sky and leans me over.

  I do my best to stabilize my breathing. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you stretch,” he replies at the same time he puts my arm down to repeat the movement to the other side.

  As soon as he’s done with my arms, he presses his body firmly against mine, and slightly turns us to the side. A moan gets repressed behind my lips. “I think you’re just making excuses to touch me.”

  Blake wets his lips, angles us the other direction, and questions, “Could you blame me if I was?”

  No. Absolutely not. I find myself going out of my way to make sure he does touch me, which is not how I was raised. Our household lacked affection of all kinds. A job well done was a pat on the head. Verbal praise was saved for only real accomplishments. Hugs? Absolutely not. Kisses? A ridiculous idea. I’ve never seen my parents be warm to one another either. They’re not those people and the fact I want to be one almost feels like a betrayal. Is it so wrong to want something opposite of what you’ve always known?

  He slips himself behind me and runs his hand along my spine. I gasp at the touch, but he pushes me forward, so I drop to touch my toes leaving my ass pressed snuggly against the hard on he isn’t bothering to conceal.

  I grind against him as punishment. “You can’t honestly tell me working out turns you on.”

  Blake swiftly helps me back up and spins me around to face him. “It does because it’s with you.”

  Shaking my head, I continue to complain, “I’m not fast. I’m going to be like miles behind you.”

  “No,” he denies. “We’re doing this together. That’s the whole point, Angel. I’m going to be by your side, going your speed, right there to support you and cheer you on while we listen to….” His face contorts as if trying to remember whether or not I decided on music. “What are we listening to?”

  “Chopin.”

  “Sounds exciting,” he teases and pulls out his phone. “You lead the way with the music, I’ll lead the way with the jog.”

  I groan again. “I can’t run twenty-one minutes in a row. I can barely walk twenty-one minutes in a row.”

  “We’re not running for twenty-one minutes straight. Five minutes power walking. Two minutes power jogging. Rinse and repeat.”

  “Until I’ve collapsed in someone’s front yard and you have to use your Hercules like strength to carry me home.”

  Blake laughs with a shake of his head. “It’s not going to be that bad.”

  “You said the same thing about bowling and I couldn’t lift my cappuccino cup or my bow without groaning in discomfort first.”

  “Yeah, but didn’t you have fun bowling?”

  Actually yes. I thought double dating with Dana and Hugh would be terrifying, but it turned out to be one of the best times we’ve had together since college when she convinced me to stop studying to enjoy an all you can eat pancake night at a local diner. Dana loved meeting him, loved his love of pop culture, but claims what she loved most was the person he brought out in me. The person she claims she’s been trying to coerce to come to the light since we met. The person she says is the real me I try to hide because I think it clashes with the professional I’ve been since I learned my ABCs.

  “For the sake of this argument, I’m going to say not enough to counter the pain.”

  He chuckles once more and presses his lip against mine. On impact, I softly sigh and give his tongue immediate access to mine. My tongue follows his lead while his hand gives my gray sweat pants covered butt a good squeeze. I moan from the touch and grip his shirt in desperation for more.

  Always. I always want more. I’ve gone from keeping my sexual desires locked neatly away in my top drawer to tossing them around like confetti.

  Blake pulls back to feather his lips on mine. “Trust me, Angel. It’ll be worth it. I know you better than you think.”

  Not sure if that’s true, but having learned it’s better to sometimes suppress the urge to argue, I offer him a sweet smile in response. Quickly, I sync up our playlist on our individual phones and we put our ear buds into action.

  The beginning of the jog isn’t as painful as I had been picturing. My body bounces more than I am comfortable with, but doesn’t seem to turn Blake off like I’m always convinced it will. With Chopin invading my senses, I concentrate my energy on getting this accomplished. On putting one more normal win in the bank of Abby. I grab a glimpse of Blake who has eyes locked on the empty sidewalk ahead. His arms are bent and swaying. His posture is poised. His breathing seems centered and focused. Knowing the best way to learn a new skill is by practicing as well as studying those who have perfected it, I do everything I can to mimic his movements. Often he catches me, but doesn’t redirect my intentions or explain to me what I should do. He leaves the choice of learning in my hands and
it makes my heart pound harder with love.

  Patience is a skill I possess, yet over time it’s one I’ve discovered people lack when I am factored into the equation. His consistent choice to slow his world down to my speed is exhilarating.

  My attention oscillates back and forth between Blake and the direction we’re going. I don’t get distracted by the nice suburban neighborhood I drive through every day, but knowing Blake prefers to have his jogs here rather than the busy downtown streets makes me grin to myself.

  Before I know it, our slow but steady movements bring us back to the driveway of my house.

  Blake pulls the buds from his ear, breath even and smile brighter than when we started. “All done.”

  I copy the action at the same time I take a long deep breath. “We’re finished?”

  He nods slowly.

  A sense of pride covers me as I drop my hands on my hips.

  How the hell did that happen?

  “See,” he says cockily. “Not as painful as you made it out to be.”

  “Not yet,” I mock.

  Blake lightly laughs and pulls my body against his. With a pleased hum, he states, “You’re hot…sweaty…sticky…” His hand lands on the top of my butt. “All my favorite things.”

  Hearing the words in a deliciously intended tone awakens a familiar longing between my thighs.

  All of a sudden my mind flashes to the way he woke me up this morning. Visions of his face buried in my pussy, his hands locked on my ass, and sweat covering every inch of my skin waiting for his licks to lap it up sends an impromptu whimper from my lips.

  He groans in response, nips my bottom lip, and declares, “Let’s go shower off, Angel.”

  Our journey from the driveway to the bathroom is an erotic one. The moment the front door shuts, he presses me against it and reconnects our lips. His heated kiss is proceeded with me pawing to remove the fabric I love to watch cling to him, but love watching fall to the floor more. Blake lets his mouth falter to puncture the air in my home with grumbles of approval from my hands caressing his abs.

  They’re chiseled like they were stolen from a Greek statue and somehow infused in his flesh. If he wasn’t constantly praising his love for my cushiony curves my insecurity over being naked next to him would soar through the roof.

  I guide us towards my bedroom with a tug of his hand. Along the way, my shirt gets abandoned. Our shoes discarded. My bra lands on the edge of the couch. By the time we actually arrive in the bathroom, we’re breathless and anxiously trying to free one another from the confines of our remaining clothes. Pulling myself out of his grip, I connect our hands again and lead us across the beige colored tiles to the glass walk in shower.

  Inside, Blake’s hands curl around my shoulders while he buries his face in the crook of my neck. My hands do their best to turn the nozzles despite my brain being transformed to mush. Warm waters rains down over the two of us at the same time he gives my earlobe a nip. A moan of satisfaction reverberates off the walls, which only seems to make Blake hungrier. The combination of the hot water with his even hotter touches has my mouth softly praising his name nonstop. He grinds against me as he gently pulls my nipples. I moan louder at the feeling of his hard on grazing the crack of my ass. Suddenly, the perfect idea pops into my head. In one quick, but careful maneuver, Blake’s under the water and my hands are the ones exploring his front.

  He wildly grins at the unexpected change.

  With a mischievous smile, I lower my knees to the water and curl one hand around his cock.

  His initial response is a delicious, deep exhale, but the follow up is a painful look of worry. “Angel, you don’t-”

  My tongue ends the plea with the smallest swirl around the tip of his cock. Warm water mixes with the salty flavor leaving me with a heightened curiosity.

  Blake’s hand braces itself against the tile wall for support. “You really wanna do this?”

  I extend my tongue to repeat the previous action.

  He grumbles a curse word and hits the tile. “Just…go slow…It’s not a movie. You don’t have to deep throat it for it to be good.”

  Then why is that all they do in the pornography I’ve stumbled across? Movie magic aside, it seems that’s what men want, isn’t it? To be half way down a woman’s esophagus until she’s spewing spit everywhere. I’ve never found the idea sexy, but I’ve also never had a male to question on the subject. The last thing I want is for my first blow job to be awful and for Blake to regret letting a virgin anywhere near his cock.

  My hand grips his member harder as I shove as much of it in my mouth as possible.

  Blake flinches and nearly slips backwards. “Teeth!”

  Like I’ve accidentally wounded an animal instead of a person, I surrender both hands in the air and let his shaft fall from my mouth. Panic painfully pumps through my veins as water invades my eyes unwelcomingly. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  The expression on his face matches mine instantly. His voice is overtaken with alarm, “Oh no, Angel, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “This was a mistake,” I mumble preparing to stand when his hand rushes to my shoulder.

  “Wait-”

  “This, like everything else I spontaneously try, is a disaster.”

  “Relax, Abby,” he commands, touch now migrating to my cheek. “Less pressure on yourself, okay?” When I nod, he instructs, “Open wide. Suck slow. Move your tongue. Avoid your teeth.”

  Thrill from being dominated in a new way has my pussy pleading for me to abandon this idea and let him be the one to pacify my need for an orgasm. I push the selfish thought aside and unhinge my jaw. Blake cruises his cock past my parted lips with perfect precision. The moment my tongue lifts to caress his stiffness a primal growl is released. His excitement spurs mine and the pleased hum causes his dick to swell in my mouth. I give myself a moment to get accustomed with the thickness before tightening my cheeks slightly.

  “Damn…” falls from his lips as he shuts his eyes tight.

  Elated with my progress, I repeat the tightening action, this time carefully sliding back and forth. Blake’s body tenses and I keep my eyes planted upwards to study every move that makes him groan. My fingers guide themselves up the back of his thighs to anchor onto his tight ass for stability. I begin a gentle bob, eventually dragging my tongue around his tip at unpredicted intervals. His groaning increases and so does the trembling in his legs.

  All of a sudden, Blake encourages in a faint voice, “You can taste the boys too…”

  My mouth swiftly makes the replacement before I have a chance to over think it.

  A slew of curse words ping off the glass while I allow my tongue to become acquainted with the heaviness they’ve just acquired. I take turns sucking both, testing how much intensity he enjoys. Blake doesn’t permit my desire for discovery to go too in depth. His fingers wind through my wet locks and guide my mouth back to where it rightfully belongs. He pushes it a bit deeper than I had been going, and I will myself to withstand the change. Blake’s steady pumping causes my actions to become a bit more brazen. Our increased speed combined with my lips squeezing tighter and tighter seems to be too much for him to bear. His jaw clenches so harshly I fear his teeth might shatter. The moment my hand moves to cup his balls everything changes.

  There’s an unsteady, rife roar of satisfaction just seconds prior to my mouth being flooded. It’s new. It’s hot. It’s overwhelming. The bitter taste glides down the back of my throat sparking a new sexual starvation in the process.

  I want more. I need more. Of this. Of him. Of us…

  Blake’s body quivers in my clutches during the departure from my mouth. As soon as he’s free, he melts against the glass, aftershocks clearly still rolling through him at a rapid rate.

  Pride pulls the corners of my lips upward.

  I did this to him….I made him a shaky mess. Yes. It was a rough start, but the beautiful ending has me ready to go all over again, ready to lear
n more, and experience everything possible. Dana warned me once I started being open to sexual exploration there was a chance I would want to ‘test the waters’ with other people, but I don’t. The only person I want, the only person I crave, is Blake Shaw. All the time. In all ways possible…

  My fingers finish the final words of the email just as the 2 Cellos’ song ends.

  “Was that the instrumental version of High Way to Hell?” Ford asks from the doorway of my office.

  I smile, turn down the speaker, and reply, “Not exactly. It was this version 2 Cellos did. They’re this duo of cellist who not only create their own songs, but also cover different popular genre songs on the cello.”