Page 73 of Puck Tease
Then came the weight.
Something heavy and cold pressed into the very center of my sternum. Each breath I drew caused it to shift, a jagged, metallic anchor on my bare chest. The chain threaded through it, a cool slither of silver, tickled the sensitive skin of my neck.
I cracked one eye open.
The championship ring. It lay there, a massive knot of diamonds and silver, a solid, undeniable presence. Its encrustedsurface reflected the harsh morning light into my face. The chain was a tangled mess, woven into the pristine white sheets. A tremor ran through me as I tried to push myself up, but a heavy arm, solid and unyielding, tightened around my waist. It cinched me to the mattress, a human tether.
"Don't move," a low voice rumbled, the sound vibrating directly against my ear. "You're letting the heat out."
Jax.
His body was a solid wall of warmth against my back, spooning me close. His legs were a warm, heavy tangle with mine, his breath a soft current ghosting over the nape of my neck.
My muscles locked. The ingrained response of the past months flared, a cold coil tightening in my stomach. Rule Number One:Availability. Don't move until he says so.My breath hitched, held captive in my chest, waiting.
But the air in the room didn't hum with the usual frantic tension. No sharp edges, no buzzing energy. It hung still, quiet, almost soft. The usual demanding pulse of the season had vanished, replaced by a deep, resonant calm.
"Jax," I croaked, the sound rough and grating, as if my vocal cords had been scraped raw. My throat burned. The echoes of last night's screams—from the game, from the bed—still clung to its ragged edges. "It's bright."
"Yeah," he murmured, his nose burrowing into my hair, his lips brushing my scalp. "Sun's up. World's still turning. Unfortunately."
He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. The movement tugged the sheet down, peeling it away from my chest. A chill, brisk from the air conditioning, kissed my exposed skin.
He looked down at me.
His hair was a wild, dark tangle, sticking up in tufts, some strands plastered to his forehead with sweat. Sleep lines, deep and insistent, creased one cheek. His eyes were heavy-lidded, lazy blue slits, unfocused in the morning light. They lacked the usual sharp intensity, the calculating glint. He didn't carry the coiled tension of a predator, the predatory gleam that had haunted my nights and dragged me into closets and shower stalls. Instead, a softness had settled around his features, a slackness in his jaw, as if a great, relentless weight had finally lifted. He looked like a man who had climbed the highest peak, planted his flag, and was now simply resting on the summit.
He reached out, his fingers brushing the championship ring on my chest. He traced the cool, jagged edge of the diamond setting, his touch light.
"Heavy?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
"A little," I managed, my own voice still raspy.
"Good. Keeps you grounded."
His hand drifted lower, down my stomach. My skin felt sticky, tacky, a thin film of dried champagne clinging to every pore. The sheets around us were a disaster zone: dark wine stains blotched the white fabric, mingled with faint, darker smears that spoke of other fluids, other passions.
"We're gross," I noted, a faint grimace touching my lips.
Jax smirked, a slow, lazy curve. "Speak for yourself. I smell like a champion."
He leaned down, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my shoulder. It wasn't a bite, didn't leave a stinging mark. It was simply a kiss, warm and unexpected.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"Starving." My stomach gave a loud, protesting growl, confirming the truth.
"Room service," he decided, a new energy stirring in his voice. "I'm ordering everything. Pancakes. Eggs. Steak. We're not leaving this room until checkout."
He rolled away from me, the sheet falling completely, exposing his back to the morning light. My gaze snagged on the sight. It was a canvas of crimson: long, angry scratch marks, like clawed trails, ran from the broad expanse of his shoulders down to his hips.
My breath caught.I did that.A flush, hot and quick, bloomed across my cheeks. I remembered the frenzied clawing, the desperate grip on his skin, as he drove into me, claiming me piece by piece.
Jax ordered enough food to feed the entire offensive line, his voice rumbling instructions into the phone. He hung up, then turned back, his eyes catching me staring at his back.
He flexed, the muscles rippling under the fresh, red welts.
"You marked me," he said, his voice devoid of anger. A hint of something else, a possessive satisfaction, curved his lips.
