Page 59 of Puck Tease
Jax leaned down, his lips brushing against my wet cheeks. He kissed them away, licking the salt from my skin while he hammered into me, relentless.
"Don't cry," he murmured against my lips, his voice choked. "I've got you. I'm not letting go."
He released my hands, sliding his arms under my back, lifting me slightly, pulling me tight against his chest. We were skin-to-skin, chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart, grinding together, a frantic, desperate dance.
I could feel him swelling inside me, a sudden, powerful expansion.
"Tom," he choked out, his voice thick, rough. "Tom, I'm gonna..."
"Do it," I sobbed, my voice breaking. "Fill me up."
He roared.
It wasn't a word. It was a sound torn from his very core, a guttural, primal claim.
He unloaded. He pulsed inside me, hot and endless, a burning wave. I felt him pour his fear, his obsession, and his apology into my gut, filling the space he’d almost lost.
I came seconds later, clutching his sweaty back, my nails digging into his skin, screaming his name into the empty apartment, the sound swallowed by the thick air.
We collapsed.
Jax fell on top of me, a heavy, crushing weight, squeezing the air from my lungs. But I didn't push him off. I held him, my armswrapped around his broad back, my face buried in the damp skin of his neck.
We lay there for a long time, the only sounds the ragged catch of our breaths, the distant hum of the refrigerator. The sweat cooled on our skin, raising goosebumps. The smell of sex was thick, cloying in the room.
My duffel bag lay forgotten on the floor, clothes spilling out like discarded secrets. The phone remained where it had fallen, a dark, silent rectangle on the carpet.
Jax finally lifted his head. He looked at me, his eyes clear, the frantic edge gone, replaced by a deep, unwavering intensity.
"I'm deleting it," he said, his voice quiet, firm.
"Okay." My own voice was a soft whisper.
"I mean it. I don't need it."
He kissed me. Softly this time. A feather-light touch, a promise. "You're not leaving."
"No," I whispered, pressing my face into his neck. "I'm not leaving."
He rolled off me, but didn't go far, pulling me against his side, his arm a warm, heavy weight across my waist.
"The dinner," he said, staring at the ceiling, his voice rough. "Forget it. I'm not going."
"Jax, it's the team dinner."
"Fuck the team," he said, the words dismissive, final. "I'm staying here. I'm going to help you study."
I laughed, a weak, watery sound that still held a tremor of disbelief. "You don't know anything about Macroeconomics."
"I know," he said, turning his head, looking down at me, a faint, tired smile playing on his lips. "But I make good coffee. And I can keep you awake."
He reached out, his fingers finding mine, interlacing them. He squeezed.
"And if you pass..." he smirked, the old Jax flickering back to life, but softer, gentler this time. "If you get an A... maybe I'll let you wear the jersey again."
I squeezed his hand back, a silent understanding passing between us.
"Deal."
