I touch his arm, nerves kicking in. “Jax. I don’t want this to mess with your playoffs. We can… postpone if it’s a distraction.”
“No.” He says it too fast, too certain. “I don’t think sex is going to mess with my game. Some of the guys swear it helps. Eases tension, and I’ll need that because we’ll be going flat out with the finals.”
“But this isn’t just sex. You’ll be teaching me. That sounds stressful. Like if I’m, I don’t know, down on my knees, mouth open, trying to follow instructions and accidentally?—”
A deep, tortured sound rumbles out of his throat.
“Are you okay?” I ask, wide-eyed.
“Row,” he growls, “My dick is hard, and right now, with me driving, I’m not sure that’s okay.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Because of, uh… what I said?”
“Yes. Exactly. That mental picture is now permanently installed, and I’m going to be useless for the rest of the day.”
“I’m sorry.” I cover my face with my hands. “See? This is what I mean. It’s going to mess with your game.”
“Finals start in three days, and what’s going to mess with my game,” he says roughly, “is not following through with this. Because, babe, I really, really want to put my cock in your mouth.”
My whole body goes still. Then warm. Then melty.
The sheer confidence in his tone makes something flutter deep inside me. For once, I don’t feel awkward or inexperienced—I feel wanted. Desired.
Touch-worthy.
“You’re not just saying that?” I ask quietly, my old insecurities creeping out before I can shove them back down.
He grabs my hand and presses it over the front of his jeans. “Does this feel like I’m just saying it?”
“Oh.” My voice comes out soft. “That’s… convincing evidence.”
“Yeah,” he rasps. “I’m being one hundred percent honest with you, Row.”
I swallow. “So, you like blow jobs, huh?”
He makes a strangled sound, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Oh my fucking God.”
I bite back a laugh, the giddy kind that comes when you realize you have power—tiny, brand-new, terrifying power. I don’t think I’ve ever made a man react like this before.
“For someone who claims to be inexperienced,” he mutters. “You have a real talent for saying things that get me hard.”
“Guess I’m a natural,” I tease, proud and a little breathless.
His eyes darken, voice dropping lower. “Here’s the thing, Row. I get to do things to you too. That’s part of the deal.”
My pulse skips. “What kind of things?”
He shoots me a wicked grin. “The kind where my mouth ends up between your legs. If we’re doing this, it’s not just about you learning how to please some coffee shop guy. It’s about you. Your desire. Your pleasure. I want to touch you, taste you, learn what makes you come apart. And you’re going to tell me what you like.”
“What…why?” My entire body heats. The car suddenly feels about a thousand degrees warmer. I shift in my seat, clenching my thighs together in a desperate attempt to calm the ache that blooms there. He notices. Of course he does.
“Because I said so.”
“O…kay.”
“You like me a little bossy, huh?” he murmurs, smug and amused.
“Don’t hate it,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy. But if this is going to work, then we both need to be honest with what we like and don’t like and up until a second ago I didn’t know I liked bossy.