The College Jock - Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Author’s note: All characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the characters.

Chapter 3

I almost didn’t go.

I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time after nine, phone in my hand, the address Jackson had sent still open on the screen. My stomach was tight. Part of me kept waiting for the other shoe to drop — for this whole thing to turn into another way to humiliate me. The other part couldn’t stop replaying the video he had sent: the serious look on his face, the size of him, the way his voice had dropped when he said he didn’t know how gentle he could stay.

In the end I grabbed my keys and went.

The apartment building was newer than I expected, close to the athletic complex. I parked across the street and sat in the car for another minute before texting him.

Finnhere

The reply came almost right away.

Jackson2B. door’s unlocked

I walked up the stairs and found the door. When I pushed it open, Jackson was standing in the middle of the living room like he had been waiting.

He looked bigger up close. Broader through the chest and shoulders. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower. The second he saw me he rubbed the back of his neck, a little awkward.

“Hey,” he said. “You came.”

“Yeah.”

He closed the door and locked it. For a few seconds we just stood there looking at each other. The air felt thick.

“You want water or anything?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

Jackson nodded and gestured toward the couch. He sat down first, legs spread, elbows on his knees. I sat on the other end, leaving space between us. He kept glancing at me and then away again.

“I’ve been nervous as hell all day,” he admitted after a moment. “I kept thinking you were gonna cancel.”

“I almost did.”

“Yeah. I get that.” He exhaled and looked at me more directly. “Listen… I meant what I said on the phone. I’m not trying to mess with you. I know I’ve been a dick for months. I’m not gonna pretend that didn’t happen. But this—” He gestured vaguely between us. “This is just about me needing something I can’t get anywhere else. You can still walk out. No hard feelings.”

I studied his face. He looked sincere. A little desperate, even.

“I’m already here,” I said.

Something in his shoulders loosened.

Jackson leaned back against the couch and reached down, pushing the waistband of his sweatpants lower. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but the size of him was still obvious — thick, heavy, the kind of cock that made my mouth go dry just looking at it. He wrapped a hand around it and gave it a slow pull, watching my reaction.

“You sure?” he asked one last time.

“Yeah.”

I slid off the couch and onto my knees between his legs. Up close the heat coming off him was stronger. I took him in my hand first, feeling the weight of it, the way it thickened under my fingers as I stroked. Jackson’s breathing changed almost immediately.

When I leaned in and took the head into my mouth, he let out a low, rough sound.

“Fuck… okay.”

I worked him slowly at first, getting used to the stretch. He was thick enough that my jaw had to open wide just to take the first few inches. I used my tongue along the underside, taking a little more each time, letting spit build and run down the shaft. Jackson’s hand came to rest on the back of my head — not pushing, just resting there, heavy and warm.

“That’s good,” he muttered. “That’s really fucking good.”

I took him deeper. The head pressed against the back of my throat and I had to breathe carefully through my nose. Jackson’s thighs tensed under my hands. I could feel the effort it was taking him to stay still.

“You don’t have to force it,” he said, voice already rougher. “Just… do what you can.”

I pushed further anyway, letting my throat open around him. The wet sound of it filled the quiet apartment. Jackson’s fingers flexed in my hair. His hips gave a small, involuntary upward movement and he immediately caught himself.

“Sorry.”

I pulled off just long enough to say, “It’s okay. You can move.”

That was the moment something shifted.

Jackson looked down at me for a second, like he was checking I meant it. Then his hand tightened slightly in my hair and he started guiding me with more intent — short, deeper strokes that pushed the thick head into my throat. I gagged around him. Spit ran down my chin. He eased up right away.

“Too much?”

I shook my head and took him back down. This time he didn’t hold back as much. The rhythm built gradually — still controlled, but heavier, needier. Every time I managed to take him deeper he let out a low, almost surprised sound, like he couldn’t believe it was actually happening.

“Jesus Christ, Finn… no one’s ever—” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale when I hollowed my cheeks and pushed further. “Fuck.”

His control frayed in stages. First the careful movements became longer thrusts. Then both hands framed my head. Then he was properly fucking my mouth, hips rolling up to meet me, the thick length driving into my throat with wet, steady force. I kept my hands on his thighs and focused on breathing between strokes. Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes. Spit soaked the front of his sweatpants.

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned, voice strained. “It’s too good. You’re taking it too well—”

I didn’t pull off. I stayed where I was and let him use my mouth the way he needed. Jackson’s rhythm turned short and urgent. His grip tightened. A low, continuous stream of rough sounds left his mouth every time the head pushed deep into my throat.

“Finn— I’m gonna cum— where do you—”

I answered by pushing myself further down and holding there.

Jackson came with a deep, broken groan, hips jerking as he emptied himself down my throat in thick pulses. I swallowed around him, taking as much as I could, while his hands stayed locked in my hair. He kept me there through every spurt until the last tremor left his body.

Only then did his grip loosen.

I pulled back slowly, breathing hard, lips swollen, chin wet. Jackson was slumped against the couch, chest rising and falling, staring at me like he was still trying to process what had just happened.

For a while neither of us spoke.

Then he reached down and brushed his thumb across my lower lip, quiet and almost careful.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He let out a long breath and dragged a hand over his face.

“I’ve never had anyone take it like that,” he said. “Not even close.”

I sat back on my heels, still catching my breath. My own body was wound tight, but I didn’t say anything about it. Jackson looked at me for a long moment, something complicated moving behind his eyes — relief, disbelief, and the clear beginning of wanting more.

“Same time next week?” he asked quietly.

I held his gaze and nodded once.

Jackson’s mouth curved into a small, almost disbelieving smile.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

He didn’t try to joke it away. He didn’t call me any names. He just sat there looking at me like the ground under him had shifted, and for the first time since this whole thing started, I believed he wasn’t playing a game.