#ja morant

The baseline cameras were still flashing, but the game was officially over. On the sidelines, a sports reporter held a microphone up to Ja Morant, the bright TV lights illuminating the sweat glistening on his skin.

"Ja, tough loss tonight out there," the reporter started, leaning in. "But your explosive performance in the third quarter kept them on their toes. Did the defensive shift from Phoenix change your rhythm, or was it just—"

The reporter’s voice faded into static in Ja's ears. He wasn't listening. His head was turned slightly, his dark eyes completely locked onto the front row of the courtside seats. There you sat, looking striking in a tight top and an oversized vintage Suns jacket—though Ja had no idea it belonged to Jalen. You were looking down at your phone, completely unaware of the attention you were drawing.

"Ja? Is everything alright?" the reporter asked, noticing his intense stare. "Did the loss tonight affect the team's mindset moving into the next road trip?"

Ja blinked, tearing his eyes away from you for a split second to look at the camera. A slow, confident smirk spread across his face. "Nah, the loss is whatever. We’ll bounce back," he murmured, his voice smooth and entirely unbothered. He looked back at you, his gaze heavy and deliberate. "Excuse me for a second."

Without waiting for a follow-up, Ja walked away from the live broadcast, leaving the reporter standing with the microphone.

He unhitched the towel from his shoulders, tossed it to a trainer, and walked straight toward the courtside barrier. You finally looked up from your phone, your eyes widening as he stepped right up to your section.

"Hey," Ja said, his voice deep, cutting through the ambient noise of the arena. He leaned forward over the railing, stepping directly into your personal space.

As he bent down, his heavy dreads fell forward, draping down like a dark curtain around your face and blocking out the flashing cameras and the surrounding stadium. The scent of his cologne mixed with the heat of the game hit you instantly. Through the strands of his hair, his eyes locked onto yours with absolute composure.

"I’ve been watching you from the court all four quarters. You're way too fine to be sitting here by yourself. What's your name?"

You flushed, caught off guard. "Oh, um... I'm Y/N," you said, trying to keep your cool.

"Y/N," Ja repeated, his smirk widening. "Beautiful. You live here in Phoenix, or are you just passing through? Because if you're staying, I might have to extend my trip."

"I live here," you smiled nervously, glancing around.

Your relationship with Jalen Green was strictly private to avoid media drama, but having another superstar openly talking to you in the middle of the arena was a dangerous dynamic. Yet Ja kept the conversation moving naturally, asking what you did and laughing softly at your responses, his dreads brushing your shoulder as he tilted his head. To anyone watching, it looked undeniably intimate.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the court, Jalen Green was finishing up his own post-game media obligations. His long hair was down and damp with sweat, a dominant grin on his face after the win. He was feeling good—until he turned around to scan the crowd for you.

His eyes swept the front row, and his entire body went rigid.

From Jalen’s angle, all he could see was Ja Morant bent completely over you, his dreads draping over your face as the two of you stood locked in conversation. Jalen watched you laugh at something Ja said, and the competitive fire in his chest instantly shifted into raw provocation. The celebration vanished. His jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked beneath his skin.

Ignoring the cameras, his teammates, and security, Jalen crossed the hardwood with fast, heavy strides.

Ja was just about to ask for your Instagram when the light behind him dimmed. Jalen stepped into the space, his broad frame blocking out the overhead arena lights. He didn't say a word to Ja. He didn't even look at him.

Jalen's dark eyes were fixed entirely on you. Without warning, his large hand gripped your wrist firmly, pulling you out of your courtside seat.

Ja straightened up, his dreads falling back as his eyes widened in surprise, realizing whose space he had just entered. But Jalen was already turning away, his grip tight and unyielding around your wrist as he led you toward the private tunnels of the arena.

The roaring crowd faded into a dull, echoing hum the moment the heavy metal doors of the arena tunnel slammed shut behind you. The transition from the bright, flashy court to the dimly lit concrete hallway made the air feel instantly heavy.

Jalen didn’t slow down. His grip around your wrist was ironclad—not enough to bruise, but completely firm. His damp curls bounced against his shoulders as he pulled you along, his chest still heaving from the game.

"Jalen, wait, you're walking too fast," you breathed, trying to keep up with his long strides in your heels.

He didn't answer. A couple of arena security guards and team staff stood down the hall, but taking one look at Jalen’s face, they immediately stepped aside and lowered their heads.

He led you straight to the back VIP parking lot, unlocked his matte-black SUV with a sharp click of the key fob, and yanked the passenger door open.

"Get in," he mutters, his voice deep and vibrating with a sharp edge.

The passenger door slammed shut, and Jalen stormed around the front of the vehicle. The second he threw his massive frame into the driver's seat, the atmosphere inside the car shifted into something tight, heavy, and suffocating. He threw the SUV into gear, the tires chirping against the concrete of the underground lot as he tore toward the exit.

He didn't look at you. His jaw remained set, his long curls casting dark shadows over his eyes under the faint glow of the dashboard. For the first five minutes of the drive, the only sound was the deep hum of the engine as he accelerated onto the highway. You sat with your heart hammering against your ribs, watching his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

Suddenly, Jalen reached across the center console. His hand gripped your inner thigh, his fingers pressing in just firmly enough to make you gasp.

"Take 'em off," he commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried absolute authority.

"Jalen—"

"I said take 'em off, Y/N," he cut you off. "Right now."

Your hands shook slightly as you unbuttoned your pants, shifting in the leather passenger seat to pull them down past your hips until you were completely exposed from the waist down. The cool air from the car’s AC hit your bare skin, making you shiver.

The moment you were ready, Jalen’s hand slid up.

His palm was warm and rough, finding your bare skin without hesitation. He didn't look away from the road; his dark eyes stayed glued to the highway ahead, but his hand moved with total confidence. His long fingers slid between your thighs, finding your heat and immediately rubbing against you in a slow, heavy rhythm.

"Jalen, please... you're driving," you whimpered, your fingers gripping the edge of the leather seat as a sudden wave of heat crashed through you.

"I can drive just fine," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low purr. He increased the pressure of his thumb, rubbing you perfectly and sending a jolt through your body that made your hips twitch up against his hand.

He caught the movement, a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his lips while keeping his eyes locked firmly on the road.

"Look at you," he murmured, his tone a smooth contrast to the heavy friction of his hand. "So wet for me. Is this what you wanted? You liked having Ja lean down all over your face like that? Huh, baby?"

"No, Jalen, I didn't—"

"Shh," he whispered, his fingers dipping inside you, stretching you out effortlessly while his thumb kept up that precise, relentless rhythm. "You looked so pretty sitting there. Had him thinking he actually had a chance. Had him thinking he could just walk away from his interview because my girl was looking too good to pass up."

You let out a soft cry, your head falling back against the headrest as his fingers moved deeper, driving you crazy while the car sped 

down the dark highway.

"He doesn't know how you sound when I touch you like this," Jalen continued, his tone soft even as his hand worked you with relentless intensity. "He doesn't know that everything sitting in that courtside seat belongs to me. Every single inch of you. I'm the only one who gets to make you shake like this, Y/N. Nobody else."

He pushed his fingers deeper, finding the exact spot that made you gasp his name out loud. He kept his hand there, completely taking over your body for the rest of the drive, holding you right on the edge of a climax without letting you cross it.

By the time the SUV swung through the private iron gates of his estate and came to a sudden halt in the driveway, you were breathless and trembling.

Jalen finally cut the engine. The sudden silence in the car was deafening. He turned his eyes away from the windshield and looked at you—his gaze dark, hooded, and intense. He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you aching and empty.

"Kitchen counter," he growled, unlocking the doors. "Now."

The front door to the estate didn't just close; it slammed with a heavy, final thud that signaled the rest of the world was officially locked out.

Before you could fully step into the entryway, Jalen’s hands were back on you. Without a word, he grabbed you by the waist, his strong fingers digging into your hips, and practically lifted you off your feet, marching you straight into the hyper-modern kitchen.

The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the faint ambient glow of the city skyline pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Jalen backed you up against the massive marble island.

Before driving himself inside you, the need to control every second of this took over. He kept you pinned flush against the edge of the counter, his broad chest trapping you completely. With a sharp tug, Jalen unbuckled his pants, pushing them down just enough to free his length. He gripped himself, his large hand wrapping around his shaft, and stroked himself a few times while his knuckles grazed against your bare stomach. His burning dark eyes remained locked onto yours.

He paused, his breathing turning into a ragged growl. He grabbed your wrist, his grip ironclad, and brought your hand down between your bodies.

"Wrap your fingers around it," he commanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.

Your fingers wrapped around his heat, feeling how massive and rigid he already was.

"Jerk it," Jalen muttered, his jaw clenching as you began to move your hand up and down his shaft. He leaned in closer, his damp curls spilling over your face and cutting off the rest of the kitchen until you could only breathe in his scent. He pressed his body tighter against yours, forcing you to feel the full weight of him. "Look at me while you do it. Yeah, just like that. Stroke it faster."

You whimpered, your hand moving in a quick, tight rhythm, feeling him grow even harder under your touch.

"Tell me what Ja was saying to you," Jalen murmured, his words carrying a possessive edge that made your stomach flip. He tilted your chin up with his free hand, forcing you to hold his gaze. "Did he tell you how fine you looked? Did he ask for your number? Huh, baby? Tell me how much you liked having his hair all in your face while I'm getting hard in your hand."

"Jalen, no... I didn't like it, I swear," you gasped, your breath hitching as you kept up the tight pace, your palm slick with his pre-cum. "I only want you."

"You better," he growled, a dark smirk breaking through his tense expression as he felt how perfectly you were working him. He leaned down, biting your lower lip just hard enough to draw a whimper. "Because he can look all he wants, but he's never going to know what it feels like to have you wrap your hands around him like this. He’s never going to have you begging for it."

Jalen let out a low groan as your pace made his hips twitch forward. Unable to keep his distance any longer, he abruptly pulled your hand away, pinning both of your wrists flat against the cold marble counter on either side of your head.

He grabbed your thighs, lifting your legs effortlessly to hook them around his waist and anchoring you to the edge of the island. Without giving you a second to adjust, he drove his hardened length entirely inside you with one heavy surge, burying himself to the hilt.

The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of his cologne and the sharp tang of adrenaline.

Jalen remained buried deep inside you, holding a heavy stillness with his chest pressed firmly against yours. He could feel your entire body trembling, your hips twitching against him as you waited for the movement you needed.

He pulled back just enough before sliding back in—doing so with agonizing, torturous slowness.

"You want me to pick up the pace?" he rasped, his voice a low vibration that resonated in your chest. His dark eyes remained fixed on yours. "You want me to stop playing nice?"

You let out a needy sound, your fingers digging into the hard stone of the counter to steady yourself. "Please, Jalen..."

He let out a low chuckle, his damp curls brushing against your cheeks as he dipped his head low. He dragged his teeth lightly across your jawline before whispering into your ear.

"I can go fast," he murmured, his hips stalling again just as you felt yourself reaching your limit. "But first, you’re going to acknowledge exactly who you’re begging for. I want to hear you say it."

He moved again—a slow, deep grind that forced a gasp from your throat—his hands sliding down to grip your hips firmly. He paused mid-thrust, his gaze turning dark and deliberate.

"Tell me," he commanded. "Tell me who owns this pussy. Tell me who it belongs to."

You were breathless, your head falling back as he teased you, his shaft rubbing against your sensitive spots without delivering full satisfaction. The contrast of the forced confession and the intense friction made 

your voice shake.

"It’s yours," you choked out, your hips arching involuntarily toward him. "It’s all yours, Jalen. Please..."

A flash of satisfaction lit up his eyes. "That’s right," he growled, his voice dropping into a guttural hum. "And if anyone looks at you again, if anyone even thinks about walking up to you like that... you make sure they know exactly who they’re disrespecting."

He stopped teasing, his rhythm shifting instantly into a deep, heavy, and unrelenting pace. He was asserting his place after the scene at the arena, but he was also completely focused on your pleasure, making sure every inch of you felt his touch. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours as he picked up speed, his breath coming in jagged gasps.

"Say it again," he demanded, his thrusts becoming powerful and synchronized with your cries. "Say whose it is."

"Yours," you sobbed out, the world narrowing down to the friction, the heat, and the intense focus of his eyes on yours. "It's all yours."

The kitchen filled with the heavy rhythm of his body against yours, the marble counter solid beneath you. Jalen’s pace was relentless now, completely stripped of his earlier restraint. He drove into you with a raw, territorial hunger that left you breathless, your grip on his broad shoulders the only thing keeping you grounded.

His curls were completely wild, damp with sweat, whipping against his forehead and brushing over your cheeks with every movement. He looked down at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded.

"Look at you," he panted, his voice rough as he felt your inner muscles clamping tightly around him. "Shaking for me. You can't even handle it."

"Jalen... I'm close," you sobbed out, your head tossing back against the cold stone as your body wound tight. The friction was overwhelming, building to a peak that blotted out everything else.

Noticing the shift in your breathing and the way your fingers clawed at his back, a triumphant smirk broke across his face. He hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting your legs over his shoulders to get deeper, forcing you to take every inch.

"Come for me, then," he growled against your lips, his pace turning fast and deep. "Let me feel it. Let me feel how much you belong to me."

The command pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed as an explosive wave of pleasure crashed over you, making you cry out his name while your entire body trembled violently in release.

Hearing his name as you broke under him shattered Jalen’s remaining control. He let out a low groan that echoed off the high ceiling. His jaw clenched and his neck veins strained as he delivered a few final, powerful thrusts, driving as deep as he could go.

He arched into you, a heavy shudder running through his frame as he finished, completely filling you and cementing his claim.

For several minutes, neither of you moved. Jalen collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours as his heart hammered a frantic rhythm. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, holding you flush against his damp skin and refusing to let any space come between you.

The arena, the fans, the secret relationship, and Ja Morant completely faded away. Right here in the shadowed kitchen, his point had been made clearly.

Jalen slowly pulled himself back, the sudden absence leaving you cold against the marble island. You lay there breathless, your legs trembling as they slid down the smooth stone. Your vision was hazy from the intensity of the climax, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Jalen stood between your legs, his chest rising and falling. Without a word, he reached over to the edge of the counter and grabbed his phone.

The screen lit up, casting a sharp glow over his face. He unlocked it, opened the camera app, and stepped back into your space.

"Don't move," he commanded, his voice low, quiet, and thick with satisfaction.

He leaned down, using his free hand to firmly part your thighs, exposing you completely under the kitchen lights where the clear proof of who had just claimed you dripped down your bare skin.

Click.

The camera flash flared for a split second, capturing the explicit image on his screen.

Jalen looked down at the photo, a dark smirk spreading across his face. He turned the screen toward you, showing you the picture of your own body, slick and marked completely by him.

"Look at that," he murmured, his thumb brushing against your hip. "This is what I’m going to look at every single time we’re on a road trip. Every time I'm stuck in another city and some dude thinks he can look at you courtside, I’m going to open my phone and remind myself exactly who you belong to."

He slid the phone into his pocket, leaning down to press a soft, possessive kiss to your forehead while his curls brushed against your skin one last time.