Page 78 of Puck Tease
He entered me slowly.
It wasn't the violent, claiming thrust of the championship night. This was a slow, heavy slide, a deliberate invasion. He filled me inch by inch, taking his time, letting my body stretch, accommodate, accept him. A deep groan rumbled in my chest, my head falling back against the pillows. "Jax..."
"I'm here," he whispered, his voice a low comfort.
He buried himself to the hilt, a heavy weight filling me completely. He stayed there, still, letting our bodies sync, letting the warmth bleed from him into me.
Then, he started to rock.
It was lazy sex, languid and unhurried. The sunlight poured over us, the Sunday morning stillness a soft blanket. But even in its slowness, the dominance remained.
He controlled every angle, every depth. He held my hips in his large hands, his fingers digging in, grounding me, steering me, dictating the rhythm.
His eyes never left my face. He watched my eyes roll back, saw my mouth fall open in a silent gasp of pleasure.
"You like that?" he asked softly, a low murmur.
"Yes."
"You like me inside you?"
"Yes."
"Tell me."
"I love it," I gasped, my voice ragged. "I love having you inside me."
He thrust deeper, hitting a spot that sent a fresh wave of pleasure in my groin.
"You're going to take this every morning," he said, his voice firm, laying out the terms of our future. "Before practice. Before games. Before class. You wake up, you spread your legs, and you take me."
"Yes, Sir."
"And at night," he continued, his rhythm picking up slightly, a relentless promise, "you take me again. To help me sleep. To help me come down."
"Yes."
"And if I have a bad game?" He ground his hips, a possessive friction. "If I'm angry?"
"You use me," I said, the words coming easily, flowing from my lips with a natural ease. No shame, no hesitation. Just the simple, undeniable truth. "You use me however you need to."
Jax smiled. It was the softest smile I had ever seen on his face, a gentle crinkle at the corners of his eyes, a genuine warmth that radiated from him.
"That's my boy."
He leaned forward, pressing my knees toward my ears, folding me in half, a compact, yielding package. He drove into me, deep and true, hitting the deepest point of penetration.
He didn't race for the finish. He took his time, playing me like an instrument. He edged me with his own body, slowing down when he felt my muscles clench, speeding up when a whimper escaped my throat.
"Jax, please," I begged eventually, my voice hoarse, my body writhing. "I need to..."
"Not yet."
He held out for another ten minutes, a cruel, maddening high. He waited until sweat beaded on my forehead, until I was thrashing against the sheets, until I was begging him in broken sentences, my body vibrating with desperate need.
Then, he reached between us.
He wrapped his hand around my cock.
