Page 14 of Puck Tease
I tried. I took shallow, jagged breaths. My body was trying to reject him, my muscles clamping down in a panic.
"Loosen up," he growled. He slapped my ass. Hard.
The sting shocked my system. I gasped, and in that moment of distraction, my muscles relaxed just a fraction.
Jax took advantage. He pulled back, almost all the way out, and then slammed back in.
The impact rattled my teeth. My forehead knocked against the headboard.
He began to move.
No caress, no whisper of tenderness. This was not lovemaking, barely even sex. This was a piston-like rhythm, a blunt instrument of friction and release. He fucked me with cruel efficiency, his hips snapping forward, his pelvis slapping against my ass cheeks with a wet, meaty thwack that cut through the strained silence of the room.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
"Take it," he snarled. "Take every inch."
I whimpered, my fingers clawing at the sheets. The pain was receding, replaced by an overwhelming, terrifying fullness. Every thrust hit a spot deep inside me—that dormant, shameful bundle of nerves that turned agony into white-hot static.
"Jax..."
"Shut up," he panted. "Don't talk to me. Just take it."
His hand snaked down, grabbing a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back, then shoving my face down into the mattress. My cries became muffled groans, absorbed by the duvet. He didn't want my voice, didn't want my eyes on him. He wanted only the raw, unadulterated friction. He shifted his angle, driving deeper, grinding against my prostate on the downstroke.
A slick warmth bloomed on the sheets beneath my cock. My hands remained flat on the duvet, Jax’s hands far from me, yet the internal friction, the relentless deep thrusts, had wrung this response from me. I was dripping, a wet testament to my body’s involuntary compliance, a shameful confirmation of his power.
Jax’s hips paused, a subtle shift in his rhythm. He must have felt the slight give in my muscles, the way my body began to mold itself around him.
"Yeah," he grunted. "There it is. Greedy little hole. Trying to milk me?"
He picked up the pace, a frantic, driving rhythm. Sweat streamed from his face, hot droplets splattering onto my back. The scent of aggression and raw salt filled my nostrils, thick and dizzying, pulling me deeper into the current of his force. He was getting close. I could feel the change in his rhythm—it became erratic, desperate. He abandoned all technique and just pounded into me, chasing his release.
"Fuck," he roared. "Fuck!"
He let go of my hair. He grabbed my hips with both hands, anchoring me in place.
He slammed deep, bottoming out, and froze.
I felt his entire body go rigid. I felt the twitch of his cock inside me.
And then the flood.
He came hard. I felt the pulses, hot and thick, shooting deep inside me. He groaned, a long, broken sound that echoed in the small room, a sound of almost painful relief. He poured himself into me, emptying days of frustration and stress into my gut. A shudder ran through my entire frame, a tremor born of being utterly, completely filled. My brain short-circuited, every thought dissolving into a blank, visceral acceptance of his presence deep within me. My own cock throbbed, desperate for release. I bucked my hips, rubbing against the sheets, trying to get some friction.
A subtle shift in Jax’s weight, a tensing of the muscles in his legs, registered my movement.
He pulled out.
The loss was immediate. I felt gaping, empty, and cold.
I collapsed onto the bed, panting.
Jax pushed himself upright, his breath coming in ragged gasps, hands braced on his hips. He stared down at my prone form, his face slack with exhaustion, a faint, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of his mouth. He saw me grinding my hips against the mattress.
"Stop," he said.
I froze. I looked up at him over my shoulder. My eyes were wet. My face was flushed.
