Phone Sex | Jack Hughes

9

"PUT THIS ON," JACK GROWLS, TOSSING ONE OF HIS RED DEVIL'S jerseys at me the second I step foot in his apartment. It's modern and clean like he barely lives in it, which is unsurprising considering his hockey schedule.

I raise a single eyebrow at him. "Why?"

His lip twitches, and I realise it's because I spoke back. He stomps towards me, grips my hip harshly with one hand, the other pressing hard into the space between my legs as he knocks them apart, lips pressed to my ear, grazing my neck and jaw. "Do as you're told, Lyla. You want me to own you?"

I nod my head desperately as he pushes his palm flat against me, my mouth dropping open.

"Take off your clothes, put on my jersey, then wait on my bed with your legs spread like a good little girl so I can fuck my baby's pussy while she wears my name."

I audibly gasp, and if I wasn't already drenched between my legs, I sure as hell was now.

I don't know what I expected sex in real life to be like with Jack, but it certainly wasn't this. I realise that he's older, more experienced. I'd had intercourse a handful of times, maybe eight, max, while he was definitely wildly more active than I was. Doing as I'm told because I'm a sucker for dominant men and honestly, I'm insanely excited to find out what happens once I'm in his bed, I dash down the hall where he leads me, stepping inside his bedroom while he watches closely, eyes dark.

I have no time to inspect his room, or the way it's basically all black and grey, because before I know it, he's got his hands on my hips and his lips on my neck. "Do as you're told, baby, and I'll reward you."

"Y-yes," I whisper , but it honestly comes out as more of a pant.

Before I know it, I'm down to nothing but a pair of black seem-free briefs and his jersey over my body, lying in the middle of his bed with my knees pulled up and ready for him to spread, an undeniable ache between my legs.

He cocks his head to the side, inspecting me. "Your legs don't look very open to me, princess."

But before I can even think about spreading them, he's right there above me, pushing my knees apart with his hands and a smug grin on his lips as my bottom lip finds its way between my teeth.

"You look fucking phenomenal in my jersey, by the way." Then he switches his gaze down to my aching core, admiring the wet patch I've created in my own panties, slowly, he drags a finger down over my hypersensitive nerves. "These are in the way, Lyla."

I arch my back, gasping as my hips buck up to him on their own accord, my body reacting to Jack before I can even tell it not to. A thought bubbles deep within my mind, making me slightly nauseas, and I'm terrified to ask but I have to before we go on, mostly because I'm still mad at him, and I don't want to feel hurt again.

"T-tell me honestly," I rasp, my voice meant to sound strong, but it comes out weak and childish. "H-how many—" I glance around the room. "—how many other girls."

He doesn't miss a beat. "None."

I glare at him, rolling my eyes. "Jack, come on."

"None, Lyla," he tells me again, his voice, eyes, everything—serious. "I've never had another girl in my bed. Or my apartment, actually. Just you."

My stomach does a backflip.

"And, I intend to keep it that way," he husks, dragging his teeth over the skin on the inside of my thigh. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes," I nod, bracing myself by fisting a handful of his sheets. "Please, Jack."

"So impatient," he grins, fingers toying with my underwear, pushing them to the side, gliding his fingers over my wet core and purposely teasing. He pushes them all the way over, revealing me to him, and for a moment—he just stares at me. I watch him tilt his head to the side, taking his time, which he knows is killing me, and then suddenly, there's his tongue, flat against me.