Free Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance by Aubrey Irons Page B

the shower.
    Yeah, I could go for some seconds right about now.
    I swing my legs out of bed and stand shakily, my cock bobbing in the air in front of me as I stretch and then stalk towards the half-cracked bathroom door. I’ve woken up in unfamiliar beds a hundred times after charming my way into a hundred different unfamiliar hotel rooms. But there’s something about last night and the way I’m raring to go again this morning that has my dick leading me to the bathroom and the naked girl I can imagine standing within.
    Because last night was fucking awesome . Okay, all sex is awesome, especially when I’m sliding inside a new girl for the first time - watching the look of bliss on her face as she takes every inch of me. But there’s something standing out about last night that won’t get its hooks out of me. Maybe it’s the extra level of “wrong” in her being who she is, and who her father is. Maybe I’m a little impressed with the way a girl half my size met me drink-for-drink without blacking out at the restaurant.
    Or maybe it’s that the taste I had of her last night is possibly some of - if not the - greatest sex I’ve ever had.
    That’s bullshit .
    I shake the thought from my head as I pause outside the bathroom door. I’m skewing the memory of last night because it’s fresh - because it just happened. And I’m putting her and the mind-blowing fucking that went down last night on a pedestal because of my frustrating and wildly uncharacteristic dry spell of the last month before it.
    Being the life of the party gets you laid. Being a full-time, fall-down drunk does not .
    My mind drifts again to the memory of last night - to the visual still dancing through my head of her small body riding mine; to the feel of her hips eagerly rocking back and forth and of that tight, curvy ass bucking as she swallows every inch of my cock again and again until she’s exploding around me.
    And I am now hard as iron standing there outside the bathroom listening to the water cascade over her nude body. I’m suddenly wondering if this comes as part of the package with moving to Houston.
    Yeah, it’s time for round two.
    My hand is on the doorknob to the not-quite-closed door when the shower stops abruptly. I pause, frowning at the missed opportunity to get in there with her, when the door suddenly swings open.
    She’s wrapped in a towel, her wet hair cascading in a tangled mess over her shoulders and over the tops of her breasts tucked behind that towel. She looks surprised to see me standing there, and when her eyes drop to realize I’m nude and fully hard as well, that pink blush creeps into her cheeks as her mouth opens slightly.
    I grin as I step towards her, ready to pull that towel off and get another taste of her when she looks up sharply.
    “Do you need the shower next?" she asks, all business.
    She’s formal, looking me dead in the eye without a trace of the steam and heat from the night before.
    I shove the thought aside as I grin at her.
    "Yeah, I worked up a bit of a sweat last night,” I drawl, arching a brow at her and waiting for her to grin or blush or whatever.
    She doesn’t.
    She merely smiles professionally, like we’re making acquaintances in a board meeting, and steps aside.
    “Well, shower is free if you want it.”
    She brushes right past me, padding across the hotel room towards her suitcase lying open by the dresser.
    I frown, reaching up to scratch my head as I watch her start to paw through her clothes. She stops and glances over her shoulder at me.
    “Did you not want the shower? I need to get dressed, so if you don’t want it, I’ll just change in there.”
    I grin hungrily at her, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the bathroom doorframe with my cock still bobbing in front of me.
    “You can get changed right here if you want, sugar. Nothing I haven’t seen.”
    There’s the hint of a blush on her face, but London says nothing, her face betraying