My Football-player Neighbor (5)

He carried me straight past the couch, through the open archway into the living room, and dropped me onto the thick rug in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Afternoon light poured in, warm and golden, turning everything soft except the way he looked at me—like I was already his and he was just deciding how many different ways to prove it.

I landed on my back with a soft thud, my towel long gone, and my skin still damp from the shower and slick from everything we’d done since. He stood over me for a second, naked and shameless, cock already hardening again as his gaze dragged down my body.

“Spread your legs,” he said quietly.

My thighs parted instantly.

He knelt between them, but instead of diving in like before, he braced his hands on either side of my head and lowered himself until his mouth was a breath away from mine.

“You keep taking everything I give you,” he murmured. “No hesitation. No asking me to slow down. You just open up and let me wreck you.”

Heat crawled up my neck. “I like it when you wreck me.”

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

Then he kissed me. Not the frantic, devouring kind from earlier. This one was deep and deliberate, his tongue stroking mine like he had all the time in the world. His body settled over mine, heavy and hot, pinning me to the rug without crushing me. I could feel every inch of him, his hard chest against my breasts, his thick thighs bracketing mine, the heavy length of his cock resting against my stomach, leaking against my skin.

I arched up instinctively, trying to get friction. He pulled back just enough to look at me.

“Patience,” he said. “I want to feel every second of this.”

He shifted lower, kissing a slow path down my throat, between my breasts, pausing to suck one nipple into his mouth until it was swollen and aching, then the other. My fingers twisted in his hair, hips lifting, searching for contact.

When he finally reached my stomach, he hooked my legs over his shoulders and spread me wide—open to the sunlight, open to him.

He licked me like he was starving—long, firm strokes of his tongue that dragged from my entrance to my clit and back again. Then he focused on sucking my clit gently, flicking the tip of his tongue over it in quick little pulses while two fingers slid inside me and curled.

My back arched off the rug.

“Jax—fuck—”

He growled against me, the sound vibrating straight through my core.

I was already close, embarrassingly fast after everything else today.

He knew it too, and just when my thighs started to shake, he pulled his mouth away and rose over me again.

I whined in protest.

He lined himself up, rubbed the head of his cock through my folds, coating himself until he glistened.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Our eyes locked, and he pushed in slowly this time. So slow I felt every thick inch stretching me, filling me, and claiming every bit of space until he was seated deep and still.

We both groaned when he was all in.

He stayed like that—buried to the hilt, hips flush against mine—letting me feel the full weight of him inside me.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s me owning you. Every inch. Every pulse.”

I clenched around him involuntarily.bHis jaw tightened. “Fuck—do that again.”

I did, and he rewarded me with a slow, rolling grind—small circles that rubbed the base of him against my clit and the head against that perfect spot inside.

My nails dug into his shoulders.

“More,” I begged, and he gave it to me.

Long, deep strokes—pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, deliberate and devastating. Each thrust dragged against every sensitive nerve, building pressure that coiled tighter and tighter in my belly.

The rug burned against my back, the sunlight warmed my skin. And his mouth found mine again—kissing me through every thrust, swallowing my moans.

When he finally sped up, my legs locked around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him on.

“Gonna come,” I gasped against his lips. “Jax—I’m gonna—”

“Come on my cock,” he growled. “Let me feel it. Let me feel you fall apart while I’m buried inside you.”

One hand slid between us. His thumb found my clit, rubbing fast, firm circles.

That was it.

I came hard—shattering around him with a cry that echoed through the room. My walls pulsed, clenched, and milked him in tight rhythmic waves.

He fucked me through it—harder, faster—until his rhythm broke and he slammed deep one last time, coming with a rough, guttural sound that vibrated against my throat. Hot pulses filled me again, spilling out around him as he kept grinding slow and shallow, drawing out both our pleasure until we were both trembling.

He collapsed half on top of me, careful not to crush me completely, his forehead pressed to mine. For a long minute we just breathed—sweaty, wrecked, and tangled together on the living room floor.

Then he kissed the corner of my mouth, soft.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

“Me?” I laughed weakly. “You’re the one who keeps finding new ways to ruin me.”

He lifted his head, eyes serious for once.

“I’m not done ruining you.”

My pulse jumped.

“But I’m also not going anywhere after,” he added quietly. “This,” He flicked his finger between us, “is not just fucking. Not for me.”

The words landed heavy in the quiet room.

I searched his face, my heart thudding too hard.

“Me either,” I whispered.

Something softened in his expression—something almost vulnerable beneath all that cocky confidence.

He kissed me again. Then he gathered me against his chest and rolled so I was draped over him, both of us still joined, still messy, still catching our breath.

“Stay like this with me for a while,” he said against my hair.

I rested my cheek over his racing heart.

“I’m not going anywhere