Page 70 of Puck Tease
"Fuck the donors," he cut me off, a harsh edge to his voice. "I've shaken enough hands for a lifetime."
He jabbed a finger at the button for the penthouse floor. "I want to celebrate properly."
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal a plush, hushed hallway. We walked to the end, to the expansive suite the boosters had paid for. Jax swiped the key card, the lock clicking softly.
He pushed the door inward, then gave me a firm shove that propelled me over the threshold.
The room stretched out before us, massive and silent. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering expanse of the Mississippi River. A king-sized bed dominated one wall, its white sheets pristine. A bucket of champagne, already sweating, sat on a glass table.
Jax locked the door with a sharp click, then threw the deadbolt. The metallic thud echoed in the sudden quiet. He walked over to the table and set the trophy down, its silver gleam muted in the softer light. He stared at it for a long second, his gaze lingering on the engraved names, the hard proof to his entire life's work.
Then, with a deliberate, almost dismissive gesture, he turned his back on it.
He walked toward me, his eyes never leaving my face.
"Strip," he said, his voice rough.
"Jax, we just got here. You're exhausted."
"I'm wired," he corrected, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His eyes were too bright, restless. "I have so much adrenaline hammering through my blood right now I feel like I could punchthrough a concrete wall. I need to come down. And you're the only way I know how."
He reached out, his fingers closing around the lapels of my jacket. He ripped it open, then shoved it off my shoulders. It fell to the carpet.
"Suit off. Everything off."
My hands trembled slightly as I began to undress. A palpable heat radiated off him, a concentrated energy that prickled my skin, made my nerves hum. I kicked off my dress shoes, stepped out of my slacks, and unbuttoned my shirt.
I stood naked in the center of the luxurious suite, the air conditioning raising goosebumps on my skin.
Jax watched, his gaze devouring. He tore off his own shirt, buttons flying, scattering across the polished floor. He kicked off his dress shoes, sending them skittering. His slacks, however, he left on.
He walked over to the champagne bucket. He plucked the bottle from its icy nest, twisted the wire cage, and popped the cork. It shot across the room like a bullet, hitting the far wall with a sharpthwack.He made no move for the glasses.
He walked back to me, the bottle tilted in his hand.
"Thirsty?" he asked, a low rasp.
"Jax..."
He ignored my protest. He tilted the bottle further.
Cold, fizzy liquid cascaded over my chest. I gasped, flinching back, but his hand shot out, clamping around my hip, holding me firmly in place.
The champagne ran in rivulets over my pecs, down my abs, soaking into my pubic hair, dripping in icy trails down my thighs. It was sticky and freezing, a shocking sensation against my skin.
"Stand still," he ordered, his voice a low growl.
He dropped the bottle onto the thick carpet. It glugged out its remaining contents, creating a spreading wet stain. He dropped to his knees before me. There was no question in his eyes, no playful teasing. He pressed his face against my stomach and began to lick.
His tongue, hot and rough, chased the champagne, lapping the sticky wine from my skin. He worked his way up my abs, swirling around my navel, then down, his stubble scraping lightly.
"You taste like victory," he murmured, his voice muffled against my skin.
He reached my groin. His tongue flicked out, tracing the seam where my thigh met my hip, then moved lower. He licked the champagne off my balls, his rough stubble grazing the sensitive skin. My knees weakened, threatening to buckle. I gripped his hair, my fingers tangling in the damp strands.
"Jax, please..." I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.
"Shut up," he commanded, his voice dark with intent. "Let me worship you."
