My Football-player Neighbor (3)

The bathroom filled with steam almost instantly. Jax turned the water hotter than I usually liked, but I didn’t complain—not when he was already crowding me against the cool tiles, his big body blocking the spray until it hit his back first and cascaded over us both.

Water ran through his dark hair to his forehead and then ran in rivulets down the carved lines of his chest, tracing every ridge of abdominal muscle before disappearing into the deep V that pointed straight to where he was already hard again. Impossibly hard, again.

He caught me staring and smirked, that arrogant, panty-dropping grin that should have been illegal.

“Like the view?” he asked, voice low and rough over the sound of the shower.

I didn’t bother answering with words. Instead I dropped to my knees.

His sharp inhale was the only warning I got before my hands wrapped around his length—thick, hot, and throbbing. I stroked him slowly, watching his abs tighten and his thighs flex.

“Fuck, baby…” The words came out strangled.

I looked up at him through wet lashes, water dripping from my lashes and running into my mouth. Then I leaned forward and took him in.

I swallowed as much of him as I could on the first go, hollowing my cheeks and sucking hard.

Jax’s hand slammed against the tile above my head. “Jesus—Christ—”

I hummed around him, the vibration making his hips jerk forward involuntarily. His other hand tangled in my soaked hair—not guiding, not forcing, just holding on like he needed an anchor.

I worked him with my mouth and hand in a particular rhythm, slowly dragging my tongue along the underside, sucking tightly at the head, then twisting strokes with my fingers at the base where I couldn’t reach with my lips. Every time he groaned or cursed under his breath, I took him deeper. As deep as my throat could take.

His control started to fray.

“Gonna—fuck—slow down or I’m gonna come down your throat in about thirty seconds,” he warned, voice wrecked.

I pulled off just long enough to speak, my lips still brushing the slick tip. “That’s the plan.”

His eyes flared dark. “Dirty fucking girl.”

Then he was moving, hauling me up by the arms, spinning me around so my breasts and palms pressed flat to the shower wall. He kicked my feet wider apart.

“Hands stay there,” he ordered. “Don’t move them.”

I obeyed.

The blunt head of him nudged my entrance, running over my slit, and coating himself in the wetness that had nothing to do with the shower, then he thrust in hard.

I cried out, the sound echoing off the tiles.

He didn’t give me time to adjust. He just gripped my hips with bruising force and started fucking me like he was trying to imprint himself inside me permanently.

The angle was devastating—every thrust made him hit that spot that made my vision white out. Water pounded against us, our heat and slick skin slapping together, my gasps and his growls mixing with the steady sound of the shower.

One of his hands slid up my spine, wrapped around the front of my throat—not squeezing, just holding. Possessive. Claiming.

“You feel that?” he rasped against my ear. “Feel how deep I am? This pussy was made for me. Say it.”

“Made for you,” I panted, pushing back to meet every thrust. “Only you—fuck—Jax—”

He rewarded me by angling his hips differently, grinding against my clit with every stroke.

My legs started to shake. “I’m—close—oh god—”

“Not yet.” He pulled out suddenly, leaving me empty and aching.

I whimpered in protest. He spun me around again, lifted me like I weighed nothing, and pinned me between the wall and his body. My legs hooked automatically around his waist.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Our eyes locked, then he slid back inside—slowly this time. Torturously slow. Inch by thick inch until he bottomed out and stayed there, rolling his hips in small, maddening circles that rubbed every sensitive nerve without giving me the friction I needed.

“Jax—please—”

“Beg for it,” he said softly. Almost gently. “Tell me how bad you want to come on my cock.”

I was beyond shame.

“Please,” I whispered, my nails digging into his shoulders. “I need it—I need you to fuck me hard—I need to come so bad—please—”

Something snapped in his expression, and he began to slam into me with deep and punishing strokes.

That was all it took. I came screaming, my back arching off the wall, my walls spasming around him so hard he cursed viciously. My orgasm triggered his; he drove in one final time and held himself deep, pulsing hot inside me as he groaned my name like a prayer.

For several long heartbeats we just breathed, our foreheads pressed together, water still running over us.

Then he kissed me, slow and deep. Different from the frantic claiming of before. Almost… sweet.

When he finally pulled out and set me on my feet, my legs were jelly. He steadied me with both hands on my waist while I swayed.

“Think you can stand long enough for me to wash your hair?” he asked, lips twitching.

I laughed weakly. “Maybe. If you’re quick.”

He turned me gently, guided my head under the shower spray, and started massaging shampoo into my scalp with surprisingly careful fingers.

I closed my eyes and let myself melt under his touch.

We didn’t speak much after that—just quiet touches, rinsing, and towelling off our bodies. When we finally stepped out, he wrapped me in the biggest towel like I was something precious.

But as he dried my hair with another one, his eyes met mine in the foggy mirror.

“This isn’t a one-time thing,” he said quietly.

My heart gave a hard thud.

“No,” I agreed. “It isn’t.”

He smiled—slow, satisfied, and a little dangerous.

“Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”