My Football-player Neighbor (4)

We never made it back to the bedroom.

After the shower, Jax carried me—still wrapped in that oversized towel—straight to the kitchen like he’d already mapped out every surface in my apartment for exactly this purpose. My damp hair clung to my shoulders, skin still flushed and tingling from the hot water and everything that came before it.

He set me down on the edge of the granite island, the cold stone a sharp contrast against the heat of my thighs. The towel slipped open almost immediately, baring me completely. Jax stepped between my knees, hands sliding up the insides of my legs, spreading them wider.

“Stay like that,” he said, voice low. Commanding. “Don’t move.”

I swallowed hard, my palms braced behind me on the counter. My heart hammered so loud I was sure he could hear it.

He didn’t rush, instead he dragged a single fingertip along my inner thigh slowly, watching my skin tense under his touch. Then he moved it higher and higher, until he brushed my slick folds already swollen and aching for him again.

“You’re dripping down your thighs,” he murmured, almost to himself. “All because I carried you in here? Or because you know what’s coming?”

“Both,” I breathed.

His eyes flicked up to mine—dark, predatory, and pleased. Then he dropped to his knees.

He breathed in my smell deeply.”Holy—fuck."

Then he swiped his tongue slowly over my lips, almost casual. Just the flat of his tongue dragging from my entrance all the way up to my clit in one long, deliberate stroke.

My hips jerked, but he pinned them down with one forearm across my pelvis, heavy and immovable.

“Be still,” he warned. “Or I stop.”

I whimpered but forced myself to hold still.

He rewarded me by doing it again—slower this time. Licking broad circles around my clit without ever touching it directly. Teasing and tormenting me. Until my thighs trembled and my fingers curled against the granite.

“Please—Jax—”

He hummed against me, the vibration making me gasp.

Then finally, he sucked my clit between his lips, firm and steady, flicking the tip of his tongue over it in quick, relentless little strokes.

My head fell back, and a broken moan tore out of my throat.

He slid two thick fingers inside me—curling immediately to that spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids. He pumped them in time with the rhythm of his tongue, sucking harder, faster, until my entire body was strung tight like a bow.

I was right there—right on the edge—when he pulled back completely.

I actually cried out in frustration.

He rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“Not yet.”

Before I could protest, he spun me around. One hand between my shoulder blades and pressed my chest flat to the cool counter. The other yanked my hips back until my ass was in the air, legs spread.

I heard the rustle of fabric—his towel hitting the floor. Then the blunt head of him notched against me.

He didn’t push in right away, he rubbed himself along my slit—coating himself in my wetness, teasing my entrance, nudging my clit with every slow pass until I was shaking, and begging incoherently.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice rough. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me,” I gasped. “Hard. Please—Jax—I need it—”

That was all he needed.

He slammed in—deep, brutal, and claiming. The force of it shoved me up onto my toes. My hands scrabbled for balance on the slick granite.

He didn’t give me time to adjust, he just set a punishing rhythm. Each thrust drove him to the hilt, his balls slapping against me, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet kitchen.

One hand fisted in my hair, tugging my head back just enough to arch my spine.

“Look at me,” he growled.

I twisted as best I could, meeting his eyes over my shoulder. The raw hunger on his face nearly undid me.

“You’re mine,” he said between thrusts. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I sobbed. “All yours—fuck—don’t stop—”

He reached around, his fingers finding my clit again—rubbing fast, tight circles that matched the brutal snap of his hips.

The dual sensation was too much, and I shattered.

My orgasm hit like a freight train—violent, blinding, walls clamping down around him so hard he cursed viciously. My knees buckled but he held me up, fucking me through it, drawing it out until tears pricked my eyes and every nerve was screaming.

He followed right after, burying himself deep, hips jerking as he came with a guttural groan, flooding me again. Pulse after hot pulse until I could feel it leaking down my thighs even as he stayed inside me.

For long seconds we just breathed—his chest heaving against my back, my forehead pressed to the cool stone.

Then he eased out slowly, turned me around, and lifted me onto the counter again—this time gently. He stepped between my legs and kissed me, slow and deep. Like he was tasting every sound I’d made.

When he pulled back, his thumb brushed my swollen bottom lip.

“You okay?” he asked, softer now.

I nodded, still dazed. “More than okay.”

He smirked, but there was something almost tender in it.

“Good. I love your energy.”

He glanced toward the living room, then back at me.

“Couch next?”

My laugh came out shaky. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Only in the best way,” he promised, scooping me up again.