Chapter 4: Morning Wood, Slow Torment
The first thing Jack registered was heat. Wet, enveloping, impossible heat, and the slow, deliberate drag of a tongue tracing the thick vein along the underside of his cock.
His eyes flew open.
Gray dawn light filtered through the half-drawn blinds, painting the ceiling in shades of ash and amber. His alarm clock blinked 6:47 AM in angry red numbers. Practice started at seven. He should have been up ten minutes ago. Should have been lacing his cleats, chugging water, texting Coach that he was on his way.
Instead, he was frozen in place, staring down at the mess of dark hair between his thighs.
Alexis.
She was still in yesterday's leggings and that oversized t-shirt, the fabric bunched up around her waist as she knelt between his legs on the rumpled sheets. Her lips—still faintly stained with last night's red—were wrapped around the head of his cock like she'd been born for it. Like she'd been waiting there all night for him to wake up.
Jack's breath caught. His hips twitched.
Alexis hummed around him, the vibration traveling up his shaft like an electric shock, and pulled off just long enough to smirk up at him. Mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Hair a glorious disaster. She looked like a crime scene and a wet dream all at once.
"Morning, Daddy."
"What the—" Jack's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "How long have you been—"
"Twenty minutes? Thirty?" She shrugged one bare shoulder. The movement made her tits shift beneath the thin cotton. "You were snoring. I got bored."
"Bored."
"Mmhmm." She licked a slow stripe up the length of him, and Jack's hands fisted in the sheets. "You're a heavy sleeper. Didn't even flinch when I climbed in."
Jack looked down. Looked at the way her small hand cradled his balls, squeezing in slow, patient pulses. Looked at the way her lips glistened with spit and precum. Looked at the unopened condom wrapper on his nightstand—still there from last night, still unused, because Alexis had swallowed everything he'd given her and then crawled back to her own bed like nothing had happened.
"Alexis." He meant it as a warning. It came out as a plea.
"Hmm?"
"You can't just—" She took him deep again, cutting off his protest, and Jack's head fell back against the pillow. "Fuck."
Alexis worked him with the kind of skill that should have been illegal. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside while her hand twisted at the base, a rhythm that built and built and then—stopped. Her lips hovered just above the tip, breath cooling the spit-slick skin, and Jack actually whined.
"Don't stop."
"Why not?" She kissed the head of his cock. Feather-light. Maddening. "You in a hurry?"
"Practice—"
"You're already late." Another kiss. Another flutter of her tongue against the slit. "Might as well enjoy it."
Jack opened his mouth to argue, but Alexis chose that moment to swallow him down again, all the way to the base, her nose buried in the coarse hair at his groin. His argument died in his throat. His fingers found her hair and held on.
She moved like the ocean. Steady. Relentless. Pulling back just far enough to leave him gasping, then crashing down again, deeper each time, until he could feel the tight squeeze of her throat and the way she breathed through her nose like she'd done this a thousand times before.
The alarm clock flickered. 6:52.
"Alexis, I'm gonna—"
She pulled off. Again. This time with a wet pop that echoed in the quiet room. Her lips were red and swollen. Her eyes were dark and knowing.
"Gonna what?"
Jack's chest heaved. His cock stood straight up, slick with her saliva, twitching with every beat of his heart. He was so close he could taste it—that copper edge at the back of his throat, the tightening in his balls.
"Gonna come," he managed.
"Not yet." Alexis stroked him slowly. Almost lazily. "I'm not done playing."
"Playing?"
She smiled. That same predatory smile from last night, the one that made his stomach flip and his cock throb. "You lost three rounds, remember? I never got my other wishes."
"Other—"
"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips. Her nail caught his bottom lip, red as a cherry, and she leaned in close enough that he could smell the vanilla on her breath. "Just lie back and let me take care of you, Daddy. You've been so stressed lately."
Jack wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that he had a girlfriend, that he was supposed to be at practice, that this was—by any measure—insane. But then Alexis's mouth was on him again, and every coherent thought dissolved into static.
She took her time. There was no rush, no urgency, just the slow, methodical worship of her tongue and lips and hands. She worked him to the edge once, twice, three times, each time pulling back just before he tipped over. By the fourth round, Jack was trembling. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His hands twisted in the sheets hard enough to tear them.
"Please," he gasped. The word tasted foreign. He never begged. Never. "Please, Alexis, I need—"
"Need what?"
"Need to come. Please."
She looked up at him, and something flickered in her eyes. Satisfaction. Hunger. Possession.
"Since you asked so nicely."
She took him deep, and this time she didn't stop. She sucked hard, cheeks hollowing, hand pumping in time with her mouth, and Jack's vision went white. His hips bucked off the bed. His fingers dug into her scalp. And he came with a strangled "fuck, fuck, fuck," spilling down her throat in hot, pulsing waves.
Alexis hummed. Actually hummed, like she was tasting something delicious, and swallowed every drop without missing a beat. She kept her mouth on him until he was spent and twitching, until the oversensitivity made him hiss and push her away.
She pulled off with a final, lingering lick. Wiped her chin with the back of her wrist. Grinned.
"You're late, Daddy. Better hurry."
Jack stared at her. At her swollen lips and smeared mascara and the way the t-shirt had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the sharp line of her collarbone. At the condom wrapper still sitting on the nightstand. At the alarm clock, now blinking 6:58, which meant he'd missed warm-ups entirely, which meant Coach was going to ream him out, which meant—
Nothing.
He didn't care.
That was the worst part. The realization hit him like a freight train, and he didn't care. Didn't care about practice. Didn't care about Tanya. Didn't care about the fact that he'd just let his roommate—a person who, by all rights, should not have this kind of power over him—suck him off for the third time in twelve hours.
All he could think about was the way her lips looked wrapped around his cock. The way her throat felt when she swallowed. The way she called him Daddy like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I'm late," he said. Not a complaint. Just a statement.
"Very late." Alexis stood up, stretched, and the t-shirt rode up to reveal the swell of her hips, the curve of her ass in those shimmering leggings. She caught him looking and smirked. "See something you like?"
Jack's mouth went dry. "I—"
"Go." She jerked her thumb toward the door. "Shower. Practice. Whatever. I'll be here when you get back."
"You will?"
"Where else would I be?" She crawled back onto her own bed and pulled out her phone. The screen glowed in the dim room. "Oh, and Jack?"
He paused at the door, jeans clutched in one hand, shirt in the other. "Yeah?"
"Tonight. Rematch." She didn't look up from her phone, but that smile was back. That dangerous, knowing smile. "Winner gets three wishes this time."
Three wishes.
Jack should have said no. Should have laughed it off. Should have told her to find somewhere else to sleep, because he couldn't do this again, couldn't let himself be pulled deeper into whatever game she was playing.
Instead, he nodded.
"Tonight."
And he walked out the door, down the hallway, toward the showers, with the taste of her lips still on his cock and the promise of three more wishes burning in his chest like a fever.