Jock Romeo

by Sara Ney

  “I mean…we all have our baggage, Roman. Mine is feeling rejected because of my upbringing. And it certainly doesn’t help that I choose guys who don’t want to stick around when things get complicated. Like it did with us.” She motions between our bodies with her hand. “It didn’t go so great the first time we had sex, but so what? We’re just getting to know each other. Were you expecting it to be perfect?”

  “Kind of.”

  That makes her laugh. “Well fortunately for you, I wasn’t. It never is with someone new.” She shoots me a look. “That didn’t come out right. What I meant was, people aren’t perfect. No one gets it right one hundred percent of the time. Not even you.”

  I don’t try to be perfect one hundred percent of the time.”

  “You don’t?”

  Okay fine—I do. “Not on purpose. It was drilled into me by my parents.”

  “Right. Exactly. But some things, by nature, aren’t ever going to be. Like sex. It’s…” She waves her hands around. “Messy and unpredictable. Sometimes it’s too slow and sometimes it’s too fast and sometimes it’s just right—but who’s to say when that will be?”

  Why is she making absolute perfect sense? “You’re not pissed I…” I swallow, unable to finish the sentence.

  “That you…were so excited you came before I did?”

  That’s putting it gently. “I didn’t just come before you did. I came like—after thirty seconds.”

  Why I feel the need to point this out is beyond me.

  But oddly enough, I don’t feel so self-conscious about it anymore now that I’m sitting here with her discussing it.

  Imagine that.

  Lilly laughs, a delighted little trill. “See! At least we can talk about it.” She looks so pleased. “This is what I wanted—this is why I kept trying to get you to talk to me, for this.” More motioning back and forth between our bodies with her hands.

  She is animated tonight—so much more than at the dinner table earlier. I knew she wasn’t sure how to behave in front of me and in front of my family considering the tension I’ve created.

  Yeah—this was all my fault, but she’s here giving me a chance to fix it.

  I wring my hands nervously, in uncharted territory.

  “So you’re not upset that I came too quickly?” I cannot believe those words just left my mouth and I didn’t choke on them.

  Lilly takes a second to think about her answer, shifting her position from legs crossed to hugging her knees. She looks vulnerable but also comfortable in the space.

  “I wouldn’t say I’m not upset. I think more so than anything, I’m upset about the way you handled the situation and less upset about the actual act itself? If that makes any sense. I don’t like how you reacted—it bothers me.”

  I mull this over in my brain. “I wasn’t sure how to react—obviously I was embarrassed. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before, and if we’re being completely transparent, I don’t have much experience with sex. I wish I did, but I don’t. Maybe that’s what part of the issue was—I got inside my own head.”

  “What do you think I want from you? For you to be a sex god? I slept with you because I feel like we have an emotional attachment—or, a connection I mean. I really…like you, Roman. I like you a lot.”

  Emotional attachment.

  Emotional connection.

  She likes me a lot.

  Like. Said in a weighty way that implies much more.

  I add and subtract and multiply these sentiments over and over in my head, trying to come up with an equation that makes sense in my brain. Lilly is effervescent and beautiful and full of life, and she’s choosing to be with someone like me to break her guy detox with. I am an intellectual who values science and engineering and logic over athletics and physical fitness. It’s not that I don’t believe I need to be physically fit, but I don’t obsess over it, and occasionally? I have a dad bod.

  Lilly isn’t done pouring her heart out. “I like you a lot, Roman. I mean…with all my heart. You are my friend. You make me feel beautiful and smart and…” She fiddles with her fingers, twisting a gold ring she wears on the index of her left hand. “I don’t know.”

  She glances up at me bashfully, beautiful in my mom’s navy pajamas that are a bit too big on her, expression tugging at my heart.

  It constricts, pumping.

  I am not built for this; I still have lots of work to do on myself and confidence to gain before I’m completely comfortable confessing all my wants and desires to a pretty girl I have feelings for—but for Lilly, I will have to try.

  I clear my throat, shifting closer to her on the mattress, leaning back so we’re not far apart.

  “I haven’t had many relationships at all. The majority of them were based on curiosity.” That sounded bad. “Based on friendship, mostly—I’ve never been…” in love.

  Say the words, Roman.

  Say anything—she’s waiting. Staring at me, actually.

  “Um.”

  No, not that.

  “I’ve never had a romantic relationship is what I’m trying to say.”

  There.

  Better.

  Lilly nods in understanding. “I have, but they weren’t filled with…” She searches for the right adjective. “Respect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…I always had respect for the guys I dated, but I don’t think any of them respected me. I don’t suppose many guys our age know what that looks like, know what I mean?”

  Yeah, I know what she means.

  Mutual respect is one of the hallmarks of a strong relationship, and let’s be real, when you’re dating dudes who smash their heads together as a full-time hobby, they’re not thinking about ways to bond with their girlfriend. They’re thinking about the next big game—the next win. The next championship.

  Don’t blame them, but isn’t it a scientific fact that most men aren’t emotionally mature until they’re like, forty years old?

  That doesn’t bode well for you either, mate—Jack’s voice pops into my head.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?” she asks quietly.

  Friends. The kiss of death or the kiss of possibility?

  “Yes, we’re friends.”

  “Do you trust me, Roman?” Barely a whisper.

  Do I?

  I think I trust Lilly—I must. “Yes. Do you trust me?”

  She nods. “I trust you more than I trust anyone. Is that weird?”

  “No.” Sometimes you just…know. Sometimes you get a sense of who someone is without having known them at all. I want to have someone I can say anything to, share my day with and my frustrations. Tell my ideas to. Sit and talk cross-legged on the bed with them at night, in my parents’ house, after a holiday dinner.

  Lilly is that someone.

  “Do you remember what was going through your head the first night we met?” she asks, repositioning herself so she’s lying back, head on the pillow.

  “Sure. I remember thinking ‘What’s this pretty girl doing wasting her time talking to a nerd like me?’”

  She sits up. “Roman Whitaker, don’t talk like that.”

  I shrug. “You asked what I was thinking, and that’s what was going through my head. That and watching the time. Essentially I was counting down the hours until I could leave.”

  “Yeah, same.” She sighs, lying back down. “If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”

  I hum. “I’m not sure I would live anywhere else, but I’m sure I’ll settle somewhere farther away once I get job offers.”

  Lilly rolls her eyes. “Was that an actual answer?”

  I laugh. “I don’t know, was it?”

  “Not really.” She sighs again, patting the spot beside her. “I’d live in Arizona. I love the heat.”

  When I crawl up the bed and settle in next to her, her hand finds my head and begins absentmindedly playing with my hair.

  “Do you want kids?” I blurt out the question. Kids? Honestly
, Roman, you’re asking her if she wants kids? She’s twenty-one, for fuck’s sake. Jesus, I wish I could facepalm myself without making it too obvious I feel like a freaking idiot.

  “Yes—how ’bout you?”

  “Sure. At least two, but who knows.”

  I pause as I think of another question.

  “Favorite beverage?”

  Lilly scrunches up her face. “Is it lame to say lemonade?”

  “No, that’s cute.” I look over at her, and our eyes meet.

  “You know,” she says slowly, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin of my earlobe. “This feels like the first night we met, when we sat at the top of those stairs and asked each other questions because neither of us wanted to be at that party.” She pauses. “I wondered what it would be like to kiss you. Your glasses were so cute.”

  Okay, that I don’t believe—not for a second. “My glasses?”

  “Yeah.”

  I sit up and roll off the bed, walking to my desk. Open the top drawer and root around for the only glasses I wear these days, my computer glasses. Fit them on my face and turn to face her again.

  “These?”

  Lilly bites down on her bottom lip dramatically. “Rawr.”

  I feel a blush cross my cheeks, warming my face. “Ah shucks.”

  “I’m serious. Get over here. And take off your shirt.”

  Take off my shirt? This is my mom’s house—what if someone walks in?

  Stop being a prude, Whitaker. Take the damn shirt off—it’s not like she’s asking you to shed your knickers.

  I do as she asks and shed the shirt, tossing it to the ground.

  Lilly grins and gets on all fours, tossing her long hair. It’s messy—she had it in a tidy, low ponytail for dinner, classy and elegant. But now…?

  She’s a tigress on her knees crawling toward me, hands going around my waist.

  “I’ve always wanted to kiss a guy wearing glasses.”

  “Is that a hard feat to accomplish?” I mean, how hard could a spectacle-wearing guy be to find?

  “Stop asking questions and kiss me.” Her lips pucker as she tilts her face in my direction so I can easily meet her mouth.

  We roll toward each other, bodies now compelled to be together, lips pressed against lips. Hers are soft, warm—and can you miss a mouth?

  This kiss is like the first one all over again; it feels new and different and exciting. I let my hands go to her backside, the silky fabric from the pajamas letting my hands glide smoothly across her derriere. Lilly’s hands travel up my spine, to my neck, then to my hair—she drags her nails across my scalp like she’s done in the past.

  I never knew how much I loved having my head scratched until she does it now.

  I feel myself getting hard; she apparently does too because she squirms, revolving her pelvis against my front side, teasing my cock.

  “I love your dick,” she murmurs into my mouth.

  “You do?”

  She pulls back so she can see my face. “Um, haven’t you noticed that it’s slightly bigger than average? Like, do you ever look at it and think, ‘Phew, hey God, thanks for the little bit extra.’”

  I chuckle, pulling her closer. “Ha ha, no.”

  “I would.” She snuggles deeper against me. “Let’s get under the covers, I’m cold.”

  We pull back the coverlet on my bed, the blanket, and the flannel sheets and climb underneath, yanking them back up around us, getting back into our snuggle position.

  Kiss some more.

  “You feel so good,” I tell her shyly, the compliment a tad stilted. Still, I want to try to say the things that are on my mind. It’s fair to her and good for me.

  “So do you.” Her hands travel up my stomach and pecs. “I love your chest.”

  Soon, those same hands are sliding into the backside of my sleep pants, the only thing I’ve got on having shed my boxer briefs when I put these pajamas on.

  “Mmm,” she hums happily. “I’m so glad we chatted.” Lilly kisses my collarbone, warm breath causing me to tingle. “Thank you for inviting me tonight.”

  Technically it was my mother who invited her, but I’m glad for it. We wouldn’t be in this position right now if she hadn’t, or if Lilly hadn’t accepted the invite.

  “Thank you for agreeing to come. You didn’t have to.”

  “I’d rather be here with you.” More kisses. “I missed you these past few days. I felt very lonely.”

  I’ve been lonely too, as much as I hate to admit it. I tried to lose myself in homework and studying and this project that is due at the end of the semester but failed miserably. It’s not easy concentrating when there’s someone on your mind, and I’ve never had anyone in my life to worry about other than my parents, aunt, and brother.

  I’m still learning, but I’m coachable. And I know I’m going to fuck up again, but next time I’m not going to hide. I’m going to be an adult about it.

  “I can’t wait to try having sex again,” Lilly whispers in the dark. I just shut off the light so we can attempt to sleep, although that’s laughable. I have a feeling we’re going to be up late into the night talking and fooling around.

  “Oh my god, I would die if somebody heard us or walked in.”

  “Everyone is asleep,” she whispers again, her fingers squeezing my ass cheek.

  “I really don’t want to risk it.”

  “Can I at least…” Her sentence trails off. “I don’t know—blow you?”

  “You’re volunteering to give me a blow job?”

  “You voluntarily went down on me—why wouldn’t I reciprocate?”

  Because as far as I know, girls don’t love blowing dudes—but I’ve been so wrong about so much shit before, so why wouldn’t I be wrong about this, too?

  “I don’t want to make a mess,” I choke out.

  “That’s okay, babe, I’ll swallow. You just relax.” Her fingers grip the waistband of my bottoms beneath the blanket and push it down around my hips, my dick springing free from my pants. “A little help here?”

  “Shit. Right.”

  I kick the sleep pants off until they’re lost in the dark depth of bedding and lie still, anticipation coursing through my veins. Every cell in my body sparks to life, a ripple effect of excitement that has my left leg wanting to bounce.

  My body buzzes.

  Lilly hums, kissing her way from the base of my neck down the center of my chest. Stomach. Belly button. She follows the happy trail until she reaches my cock, disappearing under the blankets. I can’t see her, but I can feel her—can’t see what she’s doing, but I can imagine it.

  Warm lips on my inner thigh.

  Light fingertips tickling my balls, cupping them.

  Shit that feels good.

  This is…

  Fun?

  Is that right?

  The unknown. The slight fear. The thought of getting caught a thrilling element, as much as I’d hate for it to happen.

  Then my dick is in her mouth and she’s sucking gently on the tip before taking me in, inch by inch. Wet and hot. Hands on my shaft, stroking up and down.

  Oh shit.

  I’m never going to last.

  Holy hell her mouth is warm—like dipping my wick in, fuck, I don’t know—chocolate fondue sauce or something. Goddamn what am I even saying?

  A moan escapes my throat; it’s loud and unexpected. Another one comes out when Lilly fingers my taint, pressing on the spot between my balls and my anus as if trying to activate the launch sequence.

  “Yes,” I hear her say. “Make some noise.”

  Erm. Too much noise and the cavalry will arrive; my mother has the ears of a hawk or whatever.

  But I seriously cannot stop the noises from coming, turning my head so they’re muffled by a pillow. Lilly’s hands and mouth sucking and tugging and stroking me into oblivion—the pleasure is so intoxicating my hips come off the mattress for a brief moment, thrusting.

  Do not fuck her mouth, you are not a porn star.
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  I see stars, eyes closing and mouth gaping.

  Oh shit…

  Fuck.

  Without thinking, my hands find her hair and I bury my fingers in the thick mass. I don’t pull, but I’m tempted to, my brain functions not working. Short circuiting.

  Malfunction.

  Loss of power.

  14

  LILLY

  I lick, lapping up Roman’s cock like a lollypop, just as my friends have taught me—okay, honestly it was my friends and ex-boyfriends and tutorials on the internet that taught me.

  It takes a village.

  If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s get a guy off with my hands and mouth, the combination of the two a key component. Judging by the moaning and groaning coming from Roman’s lips, I would say he’s enjoying himself.

  I know I am.

  I feel powerful. Beautiful.

  Sexy.

  I can be in a stadium surrounded by people—men, leering and watching me instead of the football game in front of them—and it has nothing on this moment.

  I feel in control, one hand firmly gripping the hard length of Roman’s gorgeous dick, sucking on the end with my mouth. I use my lips and tongue to draw out another moan.

  Feel the bead of pre-come and smile around his cock.

  He’s going to come soon—better for me since I’m under the blanket and it’s not like I’m getting much fresh air.

  It’s too easy.

  A few more strokes and his fingers tighten their grasp in my hair, gently jerking but not to the point where it hurts. Not that I mind having my hair pulled…

  “Holy shit, I’m g-gonna come,” he stutters adorably, panic in his voice. “Lilly, I’m…shit…oh god…”

  Such sexy noises.

  Mmm.

  I know he thinks I’m going to take my head off his dick, but when he comes, it’s in my mouth, deep in my throat.

  He’s warned me, but I don’t care—I swallow it so there is no mess; he hasn’t got any rags nearby, and the last thing I want to do is get out of bed and get semen off my hands and face and wherever it’s going to unpredictably go.

  This isn’t my first rodeo.

  I do, however, hop out of bed so I can gargle with mouthwash—but it’s an easy task, taking no more than a few seconds—before climbing back in beside a limp Roman.