Chapter 10 #2
"Is it?" Jax sounded openly amused now. "Tom, come here."
The sponge slipped from my numb fingers, dropping with a soft *plop* into the soapy water, sending suds splashing onto the counter. I froze, every muscle in my body locking.
"Tom," Jax repeated, the single word a command. "Bring us two beers."
My hands, slick with dishwater, trembled as I reached for the faucet, twisting it off. I grabbed a towel, dragging it across my palms, trying to dry them, to steady myself. I turned around.
Tyler was staring. He sat on the absolute edge of the couch, his controller forgotten in his lap, his eyes wide, blown out, fixed on me. He looked me up and down, a slow, deliberate sweep—chest, stomach, groin, thighs. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, an unconscious gesture.
I walked to the fridge. The chrome handle was cold against my fingers. I pulled it open, grabbed two cans, the aluminum chilling my palms instantly.
I walked into the living room.
It was the longest walk of my life. I felt the air currents, cool and distinct, hitting every inch of my skin. I felt the slow, heavy swing of my cock between my legs.
I reached the coffee table. I set the beers down, the cans clinking softly.
I tried to retreat, to melt back into the anonymity of the kitchen, but Jax’s hand shot out. His fingers clamped around my wrist, a sudden, firm grip. He pulled me close, forcing me to stand between his spread knees, my crotch level with his face.
"Say hi to Tyler," Jax ordered, his voice a low growl.
My eyes, against my will, lifted to Tyler’s. He wasn't looking at my face; his gaze was riveted on my midsection, right at eye level with my junk. His face was flushed, a deep, angry red.
"Hi, Tyler," I whispered, the words barely audible.
"Hey, Tom," Tyler croaked, his voice raw. He brought his beer can to his lips, taking a long, desperate pull, draining half the can in one swallow. "You're looking... fit."
Jax laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through my wrist. He released my arm and slapped his hand flat against my stomach, the unexpected impact making me flinch.
"He is, isn't he?" Jax said, his eyes still on Tyler. His hand slid down my stomach, his fingers brushing the coarse hair at my pubic bone, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver through me. "All that gym time. I told him he needed to bulk up if he wanted to handle the workload."
Tyler swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Workload?"
"Stress relief," Jax clarified, his gaze lifting to meet mine, his eyes glittering with a dark, possessive light. "He's been very helpful this week. Haven't you, Tom?"
"Yes," I managed, my voice thin.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, Captain."
Tyler choked on his beer, a violent cough tearing through him. "Jesus, Cap. You got him trained?"
"Something like that."
Jax moved his hand, his fingers closing around my semi-hard cock.
A sharp gasp tore from my throat, my hands flying out, bracing against his broad shoulders to steady myself.
"See?" Jax said to Tyler, his voice laced with triumph. "Barely touched him and he's ready to go. He loves an audience."
"I... I don't..." I stammered, my face burning.
"Liar," Jax hummed, his thumb rubbing gently at the base of my shaft. "You're leaking."
He squeezed. A bead of pre-cum, clear and glistening, appeared at the tip of my cock, growing, then hanging there, visible to both of them.
Tyler leaned forward, mesmerized, his eyes fixed on the sight. The game on the TV was forgotten, the electronic cheers a meaningless backdrop. The score didn't matter. The only game being played was right here, in this living room.
"Can I..." Tyler started, his voice thick, a tremor running through it. He reached out a hand, hovering inches from my hip, his fingers twitching.
Jax’s demeanor changed instantly. The playful smirk vanished, his eyes going cold, flat, like chips of ice. The air in the room seemed to chill.
"Don't," Jax snapped, the word a whip-crack in the sudden stillness.
Tyler jerked his hand back like he’d grabbed a hot stove, slamming it into his own lap.
"Look," Jax said, his voice low, lethal, a barely contained growl.
"Don't touch. He's not a communal toy, Ty.
He's mine. You want to watch? Fine. You want to jerk off in the corner?
Go ahead. But you don't put a finger on him. "
Tyler held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, palms out. "Got it. My bad. Just... damn, Jax. He's right there…and hot."
"I know."
Jax pulled me down.
I stumbled, falling onto the sofa cushions beside him. Jax’s hands guided me, maneuvering me until I was straddling his lap, facing him, my knees digging into the worn leather. My back was a shield, facing Tyler.
"You like showing off for the Assistant Captain?" Jax whispered, his hands gripping my ass cheeks, spreading them wide, exposing my wet, twitching hole to the air.
"No," I lied, the word barely a breath.
"You're lying. Your hole is twitching."
He wasted no time. With one hand, he shoved his sweatpants down, the fabric rustling, freeing himself. He was already hard, a steel rod pressing against my inner thigh.
He grabbed his cock, thick and hot, and lined it up with my ass.
He looked over my shoulder, his eyes meeting Tyler’s.
"Watch this," Jax commanded, his voice dark with challenge.
Then he thrust up.
He buried himself inside me in one smooth, practiced motion, stretching me, filling me completely.
"Oh god!" I cried out, my head falling onto his shoulder, my teeth gritting against his skin.
The fullness was incredible, a sudden, desperate relief that bordered on exquisite pain. After the hours of cleaning, after the building tension, having him fill me was a release so intense it stole my breath.
"Yeah," Jax groaned into my neck, his voice hoarse. "So fucking tight."
He started to move, gripping my hips, lifting me, then slamming me down onto his cock. The rhythm was punishing, relentless.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
My ass cheeks hit his thighs with wet, meaty impacts, the sound echoing in the confined space.
"Look at him, Ty," Jax grunted, his voice thick with exertion. "Look at how he takes it."
I couldn't see Tyler, but I could hear him. I heard the sharp rasp of a zipper, followed by the frantic, wet sound of a hand working skin, a fast, desperate rhythm.
"Fuck, Cap," Tyler panted, his breath catching. "That's insane."
Knowing he was watching—knowing he was jerking off to the sight of me bouncing on Jax’s lap—sent a bolt of lightning through my system, sparking in my core. My cock, already semi-hard, rubbed against Jax’s stomach, sandwiched between our sweating bodies, the friction building.
Jax leaned back against the cushions, his eyes fixed on my face, watching my every reaction. He looked triumphant, a king displaying his most prized possession to the court.
"Who owns you?" Jax demanded, driving deep, hitting my prostate with a jolt that made me cry out.
"You do!" I sobbed, my voice raw.
"Who's the only one allowed inside?"
"You! Only you!"
Jax’s gaze shifted to Tyler, making direct eye contact with his teammate while he was buried deep inside me.
"Hear that?" Jax said to Tyler, his voice sharp with possessive pride. "Only me."
Tyler groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure agony and arousal. "I hear you. Fuck."
Jax ramped up the pace. He abandoned the slow, deliberate grind for a hard, fast pounding, bouncing me on his lap, his hands bruising my hips with their relentless grip.
"Cum for me, Tom," he whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my lobe. "Show him."
He reached between our bodies, his hand finding my cock. He wrapped his fingers around it, stroking me in time with his thrusts.
It was too much. The sensory overload—the audience, the absolute possession, the relentless friction, the combined strokes—it ended me right there.
"Jax!" I screamed, my voice tearing.
My control snapped, coming hard and messy, shooting all over his chest and chin, a hot, sticky release. My internal muscles clamped down on his cock like a vice, milking him.
The sudden, intense tightness sent Jax over the edge.
He roared, his hips bucking up off the couch, slamming me down one last time. He unloaded inside me, hot and deep, filling me to bursting while Tyler watched, a silent, panting witness.
A second later, I heard a sharp, choked gasp from behind me. Tyler came.
The room went silent, save for the ragged sound of three men breathing hard and the mindless chatter of the FIFA announcers on the TV.
I collapsed against Jax’s chest, utterly ruined, my face buried in the sweat-damp skin of his neck. I smelled his musk, the heavy tang of sex, the faint, metallic scent of cum.
Jax held me there, his hand rubbing slow, possessive circles on my back.
"Good boy," he murmured, his voice rough.
He looked over my shoulder at Tyler.
"Clean yourself up, Ty," Jax said, his voice calm, returning to its normal timbre. "And get out. Practice is in the morning."
I heard Tyler shuffling, the distinct sound of a belt buckle *clinking* as he refastened his pants.
"Yeah," Tyler rasped, his voice still thick. "Yeah, okay. See you, Cap."
He stood up. His footsteps moved toward the door. He paused, his presence a heavy weight in the doorway.
"Tom," Tyler said.
I didn't lift my head from Jax’s shoulder.
"Nice game," he muttered, then the door closed with a soft thud.
We were alone.
Jax didn't push me off. He stayed inside me, his cock slowly softening, shrinking, a warm weight. He kissed the top of my head, a soft, lingering touch.
"He's never going to look at you the same way," Jax said, his voice a low satisfaction.
"I know," I whispered into his skin, the admission a quiet acceptance.
"Good. I want him jealous. I want him to know that every time he sees you in class, every time he sees you on campus... he can look, but he can never, ever touch."
He lifted my chin, his fingers gentle. He kissed me, his lips soft, lingering, surprisingly sweet.
"You're my trophy, Tom," he said. "And I like keeping my trophies on the top shelf."
He pulled out of me with a wet, sucking slide, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room. He lifted me off his lap and set me gently on the cushion next to him.
We sat there, naked and messy, the FIFA game still playing on the screen, the announcers' voices droning on.
Jax picked up his controller. He unpaused the game.
"I was winning," he said, his voice matter-of-fact. "2-0."
He started playing against the computer, his thumbs working the buttons with practiced ease.
I leaned my head on his shoulder, watching the hypnotic dance of his hands across the controller. I felt the sticky slide of his cum, warm and wet, leaking out of me onto the cool leather of the couch.
I was exposed. I was marked. I was the talk of the locker room before a word had even been spoken. And I was exactly where I wanted to be.