A rush of heat licks my body, then the flames roar to the ceiling as Jackson grips his cock harder, his hand shuttling up and down his length.
“Look at you,” I groan, lifting my hips, desperate for him. His big hand is curled tight around his thick shaft. The head of his cock is slick with his arousal.
His other hand cups his balls.
I have a front-row seat to the hottest porn video ever. Only it’s real. It’s happening. It’s playing out in front of me. The man who turns me on more than anyone ever has in the history of my life is turning himself on.
I’m burning up with desire. “You’re so close,” I murmur.
His jaw clenches, and his breath comes in stutters as his hand flies. “You ready to get off?” he asks.
“So fucking ready.”
“I’m gonna help you out,” he grunts, his hand racing in a blur. “Give you something to jerk with.”
He pumps his hips into his hand, snapping them so fast, so furiously that I nearly come from the sight of him chasing that high.
“Here,” he growls, as he jerks himself off.
On. My. Dick.
Hot jets of come shoot onto my cock as he unleashes his climax on me, and I am down for this.
Oh yes, I am motherfucking down for this.
“Now,” he commands as he’s still panting, still groaning.
Don’t need to tell me twice.
I grip my dick, all nice and slick with his hot come, and I stroke myself. Dirty bliss rips through me, torching my veins. “Thanks for the lube,” I say as my hand rockets up and down my shaft, and I’m nearly there myself. I’m nearly at the cliff because it’s so insanely arousing to jack myself off with his release.
It’s such a turn-on I don’t know how the hell I will keep my hands off this man for the rest of the day.
I don’t know how I won’t touch him in public. How I won’t kiss him at the game like I want to.
But I let all the forbidden fade away on an upstroke as pleasure pounds through me, as it roars down my spine, and I come in a blur of heat and lust.
I’m panting, spent, and so damn blissed out.
Certain, too, that all this sex will keep my heart safe.
Trouble is, he bends close to me, kissing me in that tender, gentle way he has, and I’m so far gone already that my heart is climbing out of my chest to throw itself into his arms.
Even sex tricks aren’t working.
When he breaks the kiss, he runs his thumb along my jaw. “You were so sexy just now, Stone,” he says, his intense gaze meeting mine.
“That so?” I can barely get words out with the way he makes me feel as he looks at me.
“I don’t know what to do with how much you excite me,” he whispers.
“Keep letting me excite you,” I suggest. I’m helpful like that.
His lips curve into a soft smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
And it sounds like we’re talking about sex and not about sex at the same damn time.
What the hell is this epic shit?
I leap to my feet. “That was pass interference. That was the worst pass interference!” I shout at the glass window in the private suite, giving hell to the ref on the field.
“That was beyond PI,” Jackson seconds, pacing too.
“He missed the offsides call earlier,” my grandma chimes in, shaking her head in disgust.
I flap my hand at the window. “Are these the worst refs ever?” I hunt for Nadia, spotting her chatting with Eliza by a tray of appetizers. “Nadia, your refs suck.”
She rolls her eyes. “News flash. We don’t employ the refs. The league does.”
“Even so, you need to fire them,” Jackson chimes in.
“Send them back to school,” Grams adds.
“Ref retraining. That’s what we need.” That comment comes from Zane as he cracks open a can of soda and returns to his seat by the window of the private suite. We’re huddled in the first row, watching the action in the third quarter. A backup bodyguard is stationed by the door, since Jackson is off duty.
The game play resumes. “Fourteen’s a lot of points to make up,” I huff to Jackson.
He snorts, casting a derisive glance to the field. “These refs blew a call the other week in the Miami game.”
My brow knits. “You track the refs?”
“Gotta know the enemy.”
“Smart, man. That helps predict how things are going to shake out for your team,” Zane offers, then lifts his Diet Coke in a toast. “Hey, Jackson, maybe you can share your ref intel with Grams. She can use that to make some better fantasy football picks. What do you say, Grams?”
She peers at Zane over her red glasses. “I’m not kicking your butt enough in our fantasy football league? You’re a glutton for punishment, kid.”
He rests his head on her shoulder. “I am indeed. But only with you.”
She pats his dark hair. “You’re my favorite grandson,” she coos.
I catch Jackson’s eye, stage-whispering over their heads, “She lies. She tells vicious lies. I’m her favorite.”
Jackson shrugs. “That’s not what the woman says, Stone.”
Zane wiggles his brows, his eyes flashing with cockiness. “Face it, bro. I’m younger and better looking.”
My jaw drops. “No way.” I jerk my gaze to Jackson. “Is he better looking? Say he’s not.”
A laugh seems to burst from my guy’s chest. Then he lifts his hands in surrender. “Not touching that with a fifty-yard pole.”
Zane swings his eyes to mine, his irises flickering with do tell.
And . . . I might have dropped an anvil-sized hint that my bodyguard and I are more than coworkers. More than friends.
That’s no good.
“Grams, tell me more about how you’re kicking Zane’s butt in fantasy football,” I say, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground—away from this unruly mess of feelings I have for the man here at the game with me.
I’m saved by another bad call on the field. Grams’s and Zane’s attention diverts to the game, and I slink away to join Nadia by the veggie trays, now that Eliza has taken off.
I grab a carrot and crunch into it as Nadia shoots me a look that says spill.
“What?” I act dumb.
Her eyes slide toward my crew, her voice quiet. “How is your bet with Zane going?”
“Great. So great,” I say, injecting lots of pep in my voice.
But that’s weird.
I’m not peppy. I’m an outgoing guy, but I’m chill, not cheery.
Nadia knows it too, hissing out, “Liar.”
I flinch. “What do you mean?”
She rolls her eyes, tipping her forehead to Jackson. “You two get on great.”
Is it that obvious?
Oh, yes, it is, you dipshit.
I scramble for an excuse. I don’t want to serve up the truth. One, Jackson doesn’t want me to. Second, it’s private. But still, I do kind of wish we could just be here together the way I want to be.
“We’ve always gotten along,” I say.
One brow climbs. “Always? You used to give each other a hard time.”
“We still do.” In many ways.
She pops a carrot in her mouth, nodding a few times. “Right. Sure.”