Page 9 of Puck Tease
"I understand," I whispered, the words barely audible.
"I can't hear you."
"I understand, Jax."
“You will address me as, Captain. Say, ‘I understand, Captain’.”
I swallowed, the last shred of my pride scraped raw, burned away. "I understand, Captain."
"Good."
He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
"Now, finish the job."
He looked down at himself. He was still rock hard, glistening with moisture. A clear bead of pre-cum had gathered at the slit of his cock, clinging there.
"Hand," he ordered.
I reached out. My hand trembled, a slight tremor running through my arm. My fingers closed around him.
He was thick. Dense. The heat radiating off his cock was startling, an intense warmth against my palm. It felt heavy in my hand, a living thing, pulsing with blood.
"Dry," he said. "Don't use spit. I want to feel the friction."
I started to move my hand.
Up. Down.
The skin was taut, smooth as silk over steel. I tightened my grip, compressing the flesh, feeling the ridges of veins beneath my fingers.
Jax hissed a breath through his teeth. His head fell back against the wall, exposing the thick column of his throat, the sharp line of his jaw.
"Yeah," he groaned, a low, guttural sound. "Like that. Don't be gentle. I'm not a fucking flower. Grip it."
I squeezed harder. I found a rhythm. Up, twisting slightly at the head, dragging down to the root. My arm began to burn, the muscles in my bicep flexing with the effort.
Jax watched me. His eyes were hooded, heavy-lidded, but sharp, unblinking. He wasn't lost in the sensation; he was observing it. He was studying my face. He was watching the waymy lip caught between my teeth, the way my eyes tracked the movement of my hand on his cock.
"You like this, don't you?" he asked. His voice was strained, tight, a raw edge to it.
"Yes," I admitted, a whisper.
"You like holding it. You like knowing it's bigger than yours."
I didn't answer. I just pumped faster, driven by the heat in my hand, the tension in the room.
"Look at it," he commanded. "Look at what owns you."
I looked down. My hand moving on him, a blur of motion. The contrast of my pale knuckles against his tan skin. The veins throbbing along the shaft, a dark river beneath the surface. It was hypnotic.
Jax’s hips began to snap forward, meeting my thrusts. The movement was jerky, aggressive, a deep-seated demand.
"Faster," he grunted. "Come on. Work for it."
My arm burned, a deep ache spreading through my shoulder. I pumped him like I was trying to start a fire with my bare hands.
He was close. I could feel the tension ratcheting up in his body. His thighs clenched, quads jumping under the wet skin. He reached out and grabbed my throat with his free hand.
