Chapter 15 The Morning After #2
He kissed me. His lips were wet, hot, pressing hard against mine. It was a deep, consuming kiss that stole the air from my lungs, a hungry claim that left my head spinning.
Then, as always with Jax, the shift. A subtle tightening in his grip, a spark re-igniting in his eyes.
He pulled back, his gaze dropping, sweeping over my body.
"But just because the blackmail is gone," he growled, his hands sliding down to grip my hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh, "doesn't mean the rules change."
A familiar twitch stirred low in my cock. "No?"
"No," he confirmed, his voice dropping to a low purr. He squeezed my hips, a possessive demand. "You still belong to me. You still don't touch yourself. And you still take whatever I want to give you."
He smirked, a slow, wicked curve of his lips.
"Is that a problem?"
I met his gaze. The challenge in his eyes, the tilt of his head, the sheer arrogance of his stance—yet beneath it, a warmth, a deep-seated affection that pulsed through his grip on my hips.
"No, Sir," I whispered, the words slipping out without hesitation. "Not a problem."
"Good."
He twisted the faucet, cutting off the water.
"Dry off. Food's here."
???
Breakfast arrived in a flurry of silver domes and hot steam. We ate it in bed, naked, the scent of coffee and sizzling bacon filling the opulent suite.
We decimated the tray. Jax tore through stacks of pancakes, shoveling eggs and bacon into his mouth with the speed and single-mindedness of a man who had not eaten in a week.
He devoured half a steak, cutting it into large chunks and spearing them with his fork.
I, meanwhile, picked slowly at a croissant, watching him, a faint smile on my lips.
His phone, a dark rectangle that had been silent and turned off since last night, sat on the nightstand, a stark contrast to the quiet morning.
"You should check it," I said, nodding towards the device. "The team is probably losing their minds."
"Let them lose their minds." He didn't even glance at it.
"Jax, you won the National Championship. Your agent is probably calling. The draft scouts, the media..."
He sighed, a long, put-upon sound. He reached for the phone, his thumb pressing the power button.
It exploded.
A cacophony of dings, buzzes, and chimes erupted, rattling the quiet room. The screen lit up, hundreds of notifications flooding it: texts, missed calls, social media alerts scrolling endlessly.
Jax scrolled through them with a flat, unimpressed expression. His gaze remained detached, his thumb moving slowly.
"Mom says congrats," he muttered, reading from the screen. "Dad says I should have passed more in the first period. Typical."
He scrolled some more, a faint frown creasing his brow.
"Tyler says the hotel bar bill is five grand and he's putting it on my card."
"You should tell him no," I suggested, imagining the damage Tyler could do.
"I'll pay it. We won." He shrugged, dismissing the sum.
His thumb paused, hovering over a message.
"Here it is," he said, his voice flat. "The video clip."
"What video?"
"From the ice. When I pulled you out of the stands."
He tapped the screen. The phone flipped, and he held it so I could see.
It was a clip from ESPN. The headline blared: SPARTAN CAPTAIN CELEbrATES WITH MYSTERY PARTNER.
I watched the tiny screen, a distant memory playing out. Jax, a blur of red and white, skating over. The sharp, violent slam of his stick against the glass. His hand reaching, dragging me onto the ice. Then, the kiss, raw and public, in front of the world.
"God," I whispered, a shiver running through me. The guy on the screen, my past self, looked pale, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth a stunned O. "I look terrified."
"You look mine," Jax corrected, his voice a low growl, his eyes never leaving the screen.
He tossed the phone onto the mattress, the dings and buzzes still emanating from it.
"The internet is losing its mind," he said, a faint, almost amused smirk touching his lips. "Twitter is trending. #CaptainCarter. #SpartanKiss."
"Are you worried?" I asked, my gaze still fixed on the phone. "About the draft?"
Jax leaned back against the plush headboard, stretching his long legs out, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
"Six months ago? Yeah. I would have been terrified. My chest would have felt like a vice, my palms slick with sweat. I would have buried this so deep no one would ever find it, wiped it from existence."
He looked at me, his eyes locking with mine. A hard conviction settled in their blue depths.
"But now? Fuck 'em. If a team doesn't want me because I'm in love with my roommate, I don't want to play for them."
He reached out, his large hand wrapping around my ankle, pulling me gently down the bed toward him.
"Besides," he added, a wicked glint sparking in his eyes, "My stats speak for themselves. I put up numbers. I win games. And now they know how I do it."
"How?" I prompted, a smile tugging at my lips.
"By having a very obedient, very stress-relieving secret weapon."
He pulled me closer, closer still, until I was nestled between his powerful legs.
"Come here," he said, his voice a soft command.
I crawled up the bed, settling between his thighs, my bare skin brushing his.
He didn't grab me. He didn't pin me. He simply looked at me, his gaze sweeping over my face, my chest, my body.
"I'm full," he said, patting his stomach with one hand. "But I still have an appetite."
"Jax, we have to check out in two hours. We have a flight." The words were a soft protest, already weakening.
"Plenty of time."
He reached out, his hand tracing a path down my chest, the tips of his fingers brushing the yellow and white gold ring before continuing down my stomach. He stopped at my navel.
"Rule Number Three," he whispered, his voice a low, intimate rumble. "You don't cum unless I say so."
"I know."
"When was the last time?"
"Last night. On the chair."
"That was hours ago," he tutted, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "You must be desperate."
I wasn't, not really. Exhaustion still clung to my bones, a deep-seated weariness. But the way he said it, the quiet assumption of my need, of his power to ignite it—it was enough. A sudden rush of blood, hot and insistent, flooded south, stirring me to life.
"Maybe," I breathed, my voice thick.
"Lie back," he ordered.
I obeyed, sinking back onto the soft pillows, my head resting against the cool linen.
Jax moved. He didn't climb on top of me. Instead, he shifted, sliding down the bed.
He stopped at my feet.
He gripped my ankles, his fingers firm, and spread my legs wide.
"I want to see you," he said, his voice a low growl.
He sat back on his heels, his gaze intense, possessive, as he took me in. He looked at my cock, already stirring against my stomach. He looked at my balls, full and heavy. He looked at the puckered, wet hole he had claimed as his own.
"Perfect," he murmured, a sound of deep satisfaction.
He crawled forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like a big cat stalking prey in tall grass. He positioned himself between my knees.
He didn't touch himself. His focus was entirely on me.
He used his thumbs to gently spread my hole, pressing around the rim, massaging the delicate muscle.
"Still loose," he noted, his voice rough. "Good."
He reached for the bottle of lotion on the nightstand—the standard hotel moisturizer. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, then coated himself, his cock gleaming under the soft morning light.
"Legs up," he commanded. "Over my shoulders."
I lifted my legs, draped them over his broad, powerful shoulders. It was a position of complete vulnerability, total exposure. My lower back arched, lifting slightly off the mattress.
Jax leaned forward. He lined himself up, a dark shadow against the bright room.
He entered me slowly.
It wasn't the violent, claiming thrust of the championship night. This was a slow, heavy slide, a deliberate invasion. He filled me inch by inch, taking his time, letting my body stretch, accommodate, accept him. A deep groan rumbled in my chest, my head falling back against the pillows. "Jax..."
"I'm here," he whispered, his voice a low comfort.
He buried himself to the hilt, a heavy weight filling me completely. He stayed there, still, letting our bodies sync, letting the warmth bleed from him into me.
Then, he started to rock.
It was lazy sex, languid and unhurried. The sunlight poured over us, the Sunday morning stillness a soft blanket. But even in its slowness, the dominance remained.
He controlled every angle, every depth. He held my hips in his large hands, his fingers digging in, grounding me, steering me, dictating the rhythm.
His eyes never left my face. He watched my eyes roll back, saw my mouth fall open in a silent gasp of pleasure.
"You like that?" he asked softly, a low murmur.
"Yes."
"You like me inside you?"
"Yes."
"Tell me."
"I love it," I gasped, my voice ragged. "I love having you inside me."
He thrust deeper, hitting a spot that sent a fresh wave of pleasure in my groin.
"You're going to take this every morning," he said, his voice firm, laying out the terms of our future. "Before practice. Before games. Before class. You wake up, you spread your legs, and you take me."
"Yes, Sir."
"And at night," he continued, his rhythm picking up slightly, a relentless promise, "you take me again. To help me sleep. To help me come down."
"Yes."
"And if I have a bad game?" He ground his hips, a possessive friction. "If I'm angry?"
"You use me," I said, the words coming easily, flowing from my lips with a natural ease. No shame, no hesitation. Just the simple, undeniable truth. "You use me however you need to."
Jax smiled. It was the softest smile I had ever seen on his face, a gentle crinkle at the corners of his eyes, a genuine warmth that radiated from him.
"That's my boy."
He leaned forward, pressing my knees toward my ears, folding me in half, a compact, yielding package. He drove into me, deep and true, hitting the deepest point of penetration.
He didn't race for the finish. He took his time, playing me like an instrument. He edged me with his own body, slowing down when he felt my muscles clench, speeding up when a whimper escaped my throat.
"Jax, please," I begged eventually, my voice hoarse, my body writhing. "I need to..."
"Not yet."
He held out for another ten minutes, a cruel, maddening high. He waited until sweat beaded on my forehead, until I was thrashing against the sheets, until I was begging him in broken sentences, my body vibrating with desperate need.
Then, he reached between us.
He wrapped his hand around my cock.
"Now," he said, his voice a low command. "Together."
He thrust hard, a deep, powerful drive. His hand stroked fast, a relentless rhythm.
The combination was immediate, overwhelming.
"Jax!"
He fucked the cum right out of me.
I lost it.
It was a full body release. My whole frame locked up, then detonated.
Cock jerked like a hammer, blasting thick ropes across both our stomachs while my vision whited out and every muscle seized.
I clamped down hard around him, greedy, rhythmic pulses ripping through me, sucking at his shaft like I was trying to yank his load out by force.
Jax groaned, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through my chest. He drove one last time, deep and heavy, a final, powerful thrust, and poured himself into me.
He collapsed forward, his heavy weight pressing me into the mattress. He rested his forehead on my chest, carefully avoiding the gold championship ring that had slid to the side.
We lay there, tangled limbs, heavy breathing, the sunlit room silent except for the frantic thrum of our hearts. Spent.
"Don't move," he whispered, his voice muffled against my skin. "Not yet."
I didn't want to move. A deep, profound peace settled over me, a melting into the mattress, into him. I wanted to stay here forever.
???
We checked out precisely at 11:00 AM.
The lobby was still crowded, though a quieter hum had replaced last night's roar. As we walked through, heads snapped. Conversations died. Whispers rippled through the hotel guests.
That's him.
That's Carter.
That's the guy.
Jax didn't spare them a glance. His face was hidden behind dark sunglasses, his championship hat pulled low. He carried his gear bag slung casually over one shoulder, its weight seeming to settle easily on his powerful frame.
And with his other hand, he held mine.
He didn't hide it. He didn't drop it. His fingers interlaced with mine, a firm, undeniable grip. He squeezed, a silent reassurance, a public claim.
We walked out the front doors, into the waiting black SUV that would take us to the airport.
Tyler was waiting by the curb with Mills. They looked like ghosts, their faces pale, their movements slow and deliberate. Tyler, like Jax, wore sunglasses, though his seemed more of a shield against the harsh morning light than a fashion statement. He squinted at us.
He saw us. He saw our joined hands.
Tyler grinned, a wide, weary flash of teeth. He shook his head slowly.
"About time, Cap," he called out, his voice hoarse.
Jax just nodded, a slight tilt of his head.
We climbed into the back of the SUV. The door hissed shut, sealing away the murmurs and gazes of the city.
Jax pulled me close, the familiar scent of him enveloping me. He rested his hand on my thigh, his palm warm and possessive, just above my knee.
"Ready to go home?" he asked, his voice low.
"Yeah," I said, a soft sigh escaping me. "I'm ready."
He leaned over and kissed me. It was quick, firm, a possessive pressure that lingered on my lips.
"Good," he said, a wicked glint returning to his eyes. "Because I left the plug at the apartment, and I'm itching to see you wear it while I unpack."
I laughed, a light, disbelieving sound that bubbled up unbidden. I couldn't help it. "You're insatiable."
"I'm dedicated," he corrected, his hand squeezing my thigh.
The car pulled away from the curb, merging into the traffic. I looked out the window as the city of St. Paul, the site of our victory, slowly disappeared behind us.
I thought about the blackmail, the cold, gnawing fear it had instilled. I remembered the nights spent crying in the dark, wishing for something I couldn't have, a freedom, a love that felt impossible. It felt like a different lifetime, a fading nightmare.
I looked at Jax. He was scrolling through his phone, his thumb moving rhythmically, deleting hate comments with a bored, almost indifferent expression.
He was a monster. He was a champion. He was mine. The knowledge settled deep in my bones, a fierce, absolute conviction. And as long as I was his, safe in his orbit, nothing else mattered.
The season was over. But our game?
Our game was just getting started.