Page 8 of Puck Tease
He dropped his hand to my hip, gripping the bone.
"Turn around."
I turned. I faced the fogged mirror, seeing only the vague outline of my own body—broad shoulders, thick back, heavy thighs. And behind me, the darker, taller shadow of Jax.
He slapped my ass.
Crack.
It was a full-swing strike. The sound was a gunshot in the small room.
"Ah!" My body jumped, a reflex. My hand flew back, clutching the stinging cheek. The pain was sharp, immediate, and hot, a spreading blush beneath my skin.
"Hands on the wall," Jax snapped. "Feet back. Spread them."
I slapped my palms against the cool, slick glass of the mirror. I kicked my feet back, spreading my legs wide, a familiar, instinctive stance—one I’d assumed countless times in my nightmares, bracing for a frisk.
Jax stepped in close. He didn't press his body against mine. He maintained a deliberate inch of space, letting the tension coil, letting the anticipation do its work.
"We need to set some ground rules," he said, his voice low and even. "If this arrangement is going to work."
"Rules?" My breath fogged the glass further.
"Yeah. The terms of your surrender. Because that's what this is, Tom. You surrendered. You gave up your dignity to keep your secret. Now you live by my code."
He reached around. His hand brushed my inner thigh, a teasing caress, before gripping my cock.
He didn't stroke it. He simply held it. He squeezed the base, cutting off the blood flow slightly, making the head swell, throb.
"Rule Number One," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly rumble near my ear. "Availability. You belong to the team schedule now. When I’m home, you’re on the clock. I don't care if you're studying. I don't care if you're sleeping. I don't care if you're sick. If I need to get off, you are there."
He squeezed harder. I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily against his hand, a desperate, animalistic motion.
"Are we clear?"
"Yes," I choked out.
"Rule Number Two," he continued. "Submission. Outside this apartment, we're roommates. You act normal. But inside this door? You don't ask questions. You don't argue. You don'tgive me attitude. You take what I give you, and you say 'thank you.'"
He trailed his other hand down my spine, tracing the individual vertebrae, leaving a path of gooseflesh.
"And Rule Number Three," he whispered, his breath warm on my neck, a soft bite at the air near my ear. "Control."
He let go of my cock.
A small sound, a suppressed whine, almost escaped my lips at the sudden loss of contact, the abrupt absence of pressure.
"You don't touch yourself," he said. "Not a single stroke. Not in the shower. Not in bed. Not when you think I'm asleep."
My eyes widened in the reflection, the faint outline of my face showing the shock. "Jax... that's... I can't..."
"You can, and you will," he said. His voice was flat, absolute. "Your orgasm belongs to me now. It's currency. You only spend it when I authorize it. If I catch you jerking off—if I even suspect you've relieved yourself without my permission—I send the video to the entire roster. Tyler, Mills, Coach... everyone sees you moaning my name."
He paused, letting the words settle, their weight pressing down.
"Do you understand the terms?"
I closed my eyes. The thought of such complete denial, of such absolute control, should have sent a cold terror through me. It did. A shiver ran down my spine, but it was quickly replaced by a hot, insistent throb between my legs. The terror and the arousal twisted together, an intoxicating, sickening blend.
