Page 66 of Puck Tease
He shoved open the sliding door. The cool night air hit me like a revelation, a blessed relief against the sweat slicking my skin.
He didn’t stop on the patio. He walked to the very edge of the yard, where the frat brothers had built a raised wooden deck overlooking the sloping lawn. It was shrouded in deeper shadow, lit only by the distant spill of light from the house and the occasional flicker of a tiki torch.
A few couples were pressed into corners, making out. Smokers huddled in small groups, their cigarettes glowing like fireflies.
Jax walked to the railing. He turned me around, and with a sudden, deliberate motion, slammed my back against the rough wood. The impact jarred my teeth, and the railing dug sharply into my spine. Below us, the lawn dropped away into inky darkness. Behind Jax, the party raged, muted and distorted through the glass.
We were utterly visible. Anyone looking out the window, anyone on the patio, could see us. We were stark silhouettes against the night, a tableau framed for their viewing pleasure.
“Perfect,” Jax whispered, his breath warm against my ear.
He crowded me, pressing his hips against mine. I felt the hard ridge of his denim-clad erection grinding against the soft fabric of my sweatpants, a sudden, insistent pressure.
“Jax, people can see.” The words were a desperate gasp.
“That’s the point.”
He grabbed the collar of my white t-shirt. This time, he didn’t just pull it aside. He ripped it.
The sharp, distinct sound of cotton tearing was loud in the relatively quieter space. He tore the collar down to my left shoulder, exposing a broad expanse of skin.
“They want to talk?” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”
He lowered his head.
He latched onto my neck.
It wasn't a kiss. It was an attack, savage and deliberate. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right over my pulse point, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure through me. He bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to instantly bruise, a sharp, possessive clamp.
“Ah!” I gasped, my hands flying up to clutch at the rough leather of his jacket, my knuckles white with strain.
He worked his way up my throat, a line of dark marks blooming under his mouth. From my collarbone to my jaw, he painted a stark, visible declaration, a brand of deep violet against my pale skin.
“Jax…” The sound was a strangled whimper.
“Quiet,” he hummed against my skin, the vibration deep and primal. “Or I’ll strip you right here.”
His hands moved, sliding down my back. He found the curve of my ass through the thin sweatpants. He squeezed, kneading the flesh, pulling me up and into him, pressing our bodies tighter.
My leg wrapped around his waist instinctively, seeking purchase.
A cheer, loud and sudden, erupted from the patio. Someone had seen.
Jax didn’t stop. He turned his head slightly, his eyes sweeping over the distant audience, a glint of defiance in their depths, then looked back at me, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his face.
He reached between us. His fingers, cool against my skin, slid into the waistband of my sweatpants.
“No underwear,” he reminded me, his voice a low growl. “Good boy.”
His hand dipped lower. He found my cock, already thick and wet, leaking pre-cum that soaked the fabric, chilling my skin.
“You’re a mess,” he whispered, his voice laced with a dark pleasure. “Leaking in public. Slut.”
He began to stroke me. His hand was rough, calloused, the friction both abrasive and exhilarating. He pumped me in a steady, relentless rhythm, hidden from direct view by our pressed bodies, but the motion of his arm, the rhythmic flex of his bicep, was unmistakable to anyone watching.
I threw my head back, biting down hard on my lip to stifle a moan, the sharp pain a counterpoint to the building pleasure.
“Don’t hide it,” he ordered, his voice suddenly sharp. “Let them hear you.”
