Good Morning
Jax
I blink awake to the brightness of the morning sneaking through Morgan's curtains like an intruder My body registered the warmth first—her warmth, specifically.
Morgan was draped over me like a human blanket, her head tucked against my chest, one leg thrown over mine in that possessive way that said, "Mine, don't move.
" Her hair tickled my nose, smelling like that mint shampoo she swore was "just basic," but on her, it was intoxicating.
God, she was close. Too close. The kind of close that made a guy's brain short-circuit and other parts. .. well, stand at attention.
But no. Nope. Not going there. I’m not about to wake her up with my morning enthusiasm.
She'd just forgiven me for that paparazzi debacle—lunging like a damn caveman and smashing that camera.
If I jostled her now, she'd probably knee me in the nuts and call it even.
So, deep breaths, Carr. Think about anything else.
Football. Yeah, football. Safe territory.
My mind wandered to the other night's game film I'd mentally replayed before crashing.
That interception in the third quarter? Brutal.
Coach had ripped into me post-game, calling it "sloppier than a toddler's finger painting.
" Self-deprecating much? Hell, I deserved it.
I'm Jax Carr, pro tight-end with a cannon for an arm and a rep for being a media-jerk extraordinaire.
Who else could turn a simple coffee run into front-page drama?
Me, that's who. The guy who fake-dated his best friend to polish his image, only to fall for her hard and then nearly tank it all with one impulsive shove.
Morgan shifted slightly, her breath warm against my skin, and I froze.
Distraction, stat. Okay, the youth program.
That's wholesome. No boner-inducing vibes there.
Morgan's ideas last night were gold—hitting up Parks and Rec, partnering with the YMCA.
I could see it: kids from Daly City, like I was back in the day, learning to channel their energy into something positive.
Not streets, not trouble. Football drills, mentorship.
I'd be the coach who didn't just bark orders but actually listened.
Unlike me yesterday, barking at that pap like a rabid dog. Smooth, Jax. Real smooth.
Her hand twitches on my abs, fingers splaying out as if she is claiming her territory.
Focus, idiot. Think about Mike, my agent.
The guy probably had an ulcer named after me by now.
"Don't mess this up," he'd said, practically shoving me out the door to grovel at Morgan's.
Mike, the puppet master behind our fake-dating scheme that turned real faster than a Hail Mary pass.
If he knew I was lying here, fighting off thoughts of flipping her under me and showing her exactly how sorry I was. .. yeah, he'd bench me from life.
A bird chirped outside, obnoxiously cheerful.
What time was it? My phone was on the nightstand, but reaching for it meant moving, and moving meant risking the wrath of sleepy Morgan.
She'd looked so damn cute last night, all boss-lady in her pajamas, sketching program timelines on taco napkins.
Witty as hell, too—teasing me about my "tackle first, think later" mentality.
God, I loved that about her. Loved her, period.
From best friends trading comic books as kids to this: tangled in sheets, her business on the line because of my screw-up.
Self-deprecating humor? Try self-loathing with a side of chuckles.
I'm the tight end who can read a defense but can't read a room without exploding.
Her lashes fluttered—shit, was she waking?
I held my breath, staring at the ceiling crack that looked suspiciously like a football.
Think about breakfast. I'd promised pancakes.
Blueberry, her favorite. Me in her kitchen, flipping them like a pro, not burning the house down.
Last time I cooked for her, I set off the smoke alarm trying to make eggs.
"Hero on the field, hazard in the kitchen," she'd laughed. Yeah, that summed me up.
Morgan sighed in her sleep, nuzzling closer, and my resolve cracked a little.
But no. I'd wait. Let her wake up to me being the reformed jerk—patient, thoughtful.
Not the guy whose thoughts were a highlight reel of her curves.
Football stats. Program grants. Burnt pancakes.
Anything but this perfect, torturous closeness.
The sun climbed higher, and I smiled despite myself. Worth it. All of it.
Her hand moves under the covers and the movement brushes against the head of my cock. I suck in a breath, my cock stirs, and I hope that the inflation of my chest doesn’t wake her. She doesn’t stir again, and her breathing settles. Light breath in, heavy breath out. And repeat.
Fuck. That slight touch woke me the fuck up and now all I can think about is hoping that my best friend, my now-girlfriend’s finger tips will accidently graze over my cock head again. What the fuck am I thinking.
We haven’t touched the subject of sex. Not ever. Strangely, out of every conversation we’ve had growing up, sex has never been something we have discussed. And right now, in this moment — it’s all I can think about.
Just because of one accidental touch. Except her hand moves lower and lower. Her fingers run the length of my cock and I hear a sharp inhale.
“Um, Morgs? Are you awake?” I whisper.
“Mmmmhmmm.” Is her response, “is this okay?”
“More than okay,” I breathe as her fingers dip into my boxers. “Are you sure?”
She lifts her head, perches her chin on my chest and with sleep still in her eyes she looks at me. Something shifts between the two of us. There’s absolutely no going back if we cross this boundary.
“Positive.” She confirms, and as if I’ve been holding back, I propel into action.
My hand dives into her hair and I pull her mouth to mine.
I kiss her deeply, harder than I’ve kissed her before.
Her hand stays on firm on my cock as she strokes me from the base of my shaft to the tip.
The pull between us is primitive. The invisible string is wound tight.
And I’m ready to unravel her in this bed.
I let out a hiss of satisfaction through clenched teeth at her tugging on my cock so perfectly with the right amount of pressure as arousal spreads through my body.
She leans up, and we both move to our knees, facing one another.
I reach for the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head.
A blush creeps to her chest as she’s bared for me.
We lean into one another again, her hands moving from my bare shoulders, up my neck to pull me closer to her. My hand fits to her breast as we kiss.
“Fuck. I want to eat you for breakfast.” I mumble against her soft lips.
My hand moves to behind her back and the other underneath her thigh as I lay her on her back.
Hovering over her, my hand flattens and slides against her stomach and down.
I rub her over her panties as she presses into me, arching her back while I stare down at her.
Etching all of her emotions and mannerisms into my mind as my fingers dip into the soft fabric of her panties, finding their way between her legs, and inside her warm, silky pussy.
She’s soaked while my fingers plunge in and out of her with vigor, eliciting soft moans from her lips.
I pull my fingers to my lips and suck them clean. “Delcious.”
I pull her panties down her legs, and lean up on my knees and remove my boxers. My cock springs free, and her eyes zero in. She bites her lower lip as she takes me in.
“Jax.” She whispers as I lean over her, lower and desperately kiss her.
The tip of my cock nudges against her center.
She presses forward. Nudging at her entrance.
Her leg wraps around the back of my thighs and my cock slowly enters.
My breath catches as the ache to move blooms in my chest. She pushes up and my cock is tucked into her, stretching and filling her.
Her hips pull back as I settle in between her legs.
I rock back and forth, with my thrusts increasingly getting wild and unhinged as we move together.
Her moans. My grunts. And the bedsprings squeaking fill the air while my mouth slants over hers with the need to get lost in her as her hips are tilted up, accepting me thrust for thrust.
“Don’t.” She whispers.
“Don’t what?” I ask in between breaths.
“Don’t ever stop.” Her thighs quiver and her body trembles as we pant and claw on one another.