Phone Sex | Jack Hughes

8

I tip my chin up. "It's none of your business, Ethan, stay out of it."

"So that's it?" He calls out, right before I can make another move. "He what? Calls you pretty one and you've already got your legs open for him?"

"Ethan, that's not—"

"I guess if he's got a stick and a jersey you'll suck him off, right, Lyla?" He snaps, venom laced with every word, like he means them to the core. It shocks me right through, but I hold my ground, only recoiling into Jack slightly, who's now turned around to give Ethan a piece of his mind.

"I'd watch what you say, man," Jack frowns.

"Don't act like a hero, Hughes," Ethan taunts, bating him. "We all know you'll take home any puck bunny who throws them self at you."

Jack steps forward, body shielding mine, his hands in fists by his side like he's ready to throw the first punch. I place my hand over his bicep, watch him relax almost instantly. "It's okay, Jack, let's just go."

He backs off immediately, taking my hand in his for the second time and letting me take the lead in guiding us through the crowd of people. My heart races as I try to forget what Ethan had just said, and I guess Jack is right up there with me, because for most of the drive back to his apartment, he's completely silent, knuckles turning white as he grips his steering wheel for deer life.

I place my hand on his shoulder gently, trying to gain his attention. "Jack—"

"Who is that guy, Lyla?"

I'm surprised by the tone of his voice and how serious he is. I'd never really heard Jack be anything other than happy, or stupidly horny. I'd never seen him mad, and now I'm positive I never want to see him mad ever again.

I bow my head, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "Ethan, he's my ex."

"Is he always like that with you?"

"Like what?" I ask, frowning.

"Possessive," he says, immediately. "Controlling. Mean."

I swallow thickly, shaking my head as I avoid his gaze. "N-no. He's never had a reason to be."

Jack narrows his eyes. "What the hell does that mean?"

I glance at him, unsure, my eyebrows knitting together. "I've never had another boyfriend," but then I'm realising I've used a word that we don't associate with us, and I'm reeling it back in. "Not that you're my boyfriend, or anything, but you're my something and he doesn't really know how to handle other guys, you know—"

Jack grips my chin between his forefinger and thumb, turning me to him. He searches my eyes as he pull into a parking space that I'm assuming is his, but I'm not sure what he's searching for.

"I don't want to compete with him, Lyla," he tells me, his tone dark, more serious than ever before.

My breath hitches, because I'd never heard words like that out of him before. I shake my head furiously, whispering: "You don't have to compete with anybody."

My words light a fire in him, and suddenly he's guiding my lips toward his, his eyes fluttering closed as our mouths come so close to touching that I could do.

"Jack," I whisper, pressing my palms flat against his chest. "If we're going to do this, you can't do what you did to me again. I won't compete either. I need to know you're mine."

He nods in affirmation, but it's not enough.

"Say it, Jack," I beg, furrowing my eyebrows as our mouths graze and he traces the outline of my bottom lip with his thumb. 

He grabs my hands, pulling me to him, guiding me so that I'm straddling his lap in the drivers side seat of his ridiculously priced truck.

"Jack," I whine, our lips moulding together but never closing into a real kiss. This was torture.

"Lyla," he groans, and the sound of my name falling from his lips knocks the wind out of me. "I'm yours, baby."

I make a noise that suspiciously sounds like a whimper, and then I'm kissing him, hard. His palm grips the back of my neck, his thumb in my hair as his other arm holds me as close as physically possible, keeping me planted firmly on his lap, forcing me to feel everything.

He's trying to be good, I know he is, because his hands don't roam no matter how much I can feel that he wants them to. Even when they twitch when I moan his name into his mouth. But I can feel him, and I know he's turned on, so much so that he's a rock hard force between my legs, and I'm throbbing for him.

So I roll my hips against his, causing a strained moan from the back to his throat that makes me sort of want to spread my legs as far as they can go, just so he'll bury himself deep within me and find out all the ways he can make me scream his name.

He's still trying to hold back, but I don't want him to hold back, I want him to claim every single inch of me as his.

"Jack," I pant, and stupidly I feel like a desperate little girl, begging for him, but I don't care. "S-stop holding back."

He groans, leaning forward into me. "If I let go, Lyla, I won't be able to stop. I'm going to ruin you."

I gasp. "Then ruin me."

His moan is lost in my mouth. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name, pretty girl."