Page 40 of Puck Tease
But under the blanket, his arm was a piston, tireless and unyielding.
He found a rhythm, slow and deep, long strokes that pulled from the root to the tip. At the top of each stroke, he twisted hishand slightly, wringing every last drop of pleasure and torment from me.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted iron, a coppery tang on my tongue. I focused on my breathing, trying to make it shallow, silent.In. Out. In. Out.I had to stay quiet. If a moan escaped, if a ragged pant came, someone would hear. The profound silence of the bus was not a comfort; it was a trap.
"You like the risk," Jax whispered, his eyes still closed, his voice a low thrum that seemed to vibrate directly into my core. He spoke into the darkness between us, as if sharing a secret only we could hear. "I can feel your heart beating. It's racing."
His thumb moved, rubbing over the slit of my cock, smearing the fluid around, intensifying the sensation.
"You're wondering if Miller is going to wake up," he continued, a cruel edge to his tone. "You're wondering if Coach is going to walk down the aisle and see the blanket moving."
He pumped faster, the rhythm picking up.
"Imagine if they saw. Imagine if I pulled the blanket off right now."
My hips bucked involuntarily, a sudden, desperate movement against his hand. "No," I whimpered, the sound barely audible, a strangled whisper.
"No? You sure? You're getting harder."
He was right. My cock was raging, thick and throbbing. The fear, sharp and cold, mixed with the shame and the raw, undeniable pleasure, creating a toxic, addictive cocktail that surged through my veins. I was trapped in a sixty-foot metal box, surrounded by forty men, getting expertly fucked by the Captain, and I couldn't do a damn thing but take it.
Suddenly, footsteps.
My entire body went rigid, every muscle locking. Someone was walking down the aisle. Heavy, shuffling steps, slow and deliberate.
Jax didn't stop. He didn't even slow the relentless rhythm of his hand. He kept pumping, his grip steady, his face a perfect mask of feigned, deep sleep.
The footsteps drew closer.
I squeezed my eyes shut tight, pressing my eyelids together until white spots danced behind them.Please don't stop. Please stop. Please don't see.
The steps paused. Right next to our row.
I held my breath, my lungs burning, a desperate, silent scream building in my chest.
"Carter?"
It was Johnson, a rookie winger, his voice a soft, uncertain whisper.
Jax opened one eye. Slowly. A flicker of irritation tightened the corner of his mouth, a subtle grimace that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"What?" he grumbled, his voice thick with a convincing pretense of sleep-addled annoyance.
"Sorry, Cap," Johnson whispered again. "Just... is the bathroom open? The light isn't on."
"How the fuck should I know?" Jax snapped, his voice rougher now, genuinely annoyed. "Go check."
"Right. Sorry."
Johnson shuffled past us, the sound of his footsteps receding towards the back of the bus.
Under the blanket, Jax’s hand squeezed my cock so hard I almost screamed. He crushed it, holding the erection captive, burning, throbbing, while he spoke to the rookie. The pressure was excruciating, a silent, brutal punishment.
As soon as Johnson was in the bathroom and the faint click of the latch echoed, Jax released the pressure. The sudden relief was almost as painful as the squeeze.
He smirked like a guy who’d just decided how hard he was going to wreck me.
"That was close," he whispered. "Bet that got your blood up."
