It’d be different if he hadn’t said that we could scratch a mutual itch sometimes if we chose to. That means he’s put an offer out, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to stay away.
I have to. Ineedto for more reasons than just my job.
He did something my soul longs for. He gave me boundaries to stay within. Hockey is hockey, and we will carry on as coach and athlete. But outside of that, if I want a repeat, that’s not off the table.
“If we have a mutual itch we want to scratch from time to time, I’m down for that.”
The only thing left open is frequency. I don’t like guessing, but I’m sure two days later is far too soon. My itch shouldn’t be back already, right?
With another heavy sigh, I get out of bed and head to the bathroom. I frown because yeah, there are very little remnants of Dasan’s touch with that masterly impressive dick. Ishouldstill feel it. I won’t go so far as to say he’s enormous. He’s not. He’s well proportioned, and it’s glorious. Six, maybe pushing seven, inches with a nice girth. Thick but not over the top.
Then there’s that damn piercing. Fuck. Perhaps it’s not just his fucking that’s impressive. The metal rod going through his cock literally leaves a line of fiery pleasure with every damn thrust. I was ready to come almost as soon as he put his dick in me.
Which, I must say, is leaps and bounds beyond impressive. I’veneverhad something more than a single finger to my second knuckle in my ass. Outside of a prostate exam, of course, but you simply don’t count that as anal play experience.
By all accounts, Dasan should havehurt.He’s a master prepper. That’s the only explanation. And he just knows how to use his cock for good.
More than that, the way Ienjoyedit is shocking. I didn’t have a lot of expectations when stepping into Dasan’s room. I had messed around with a guy in college, but that was college. I’d wager a bet that a lot more people experiment in college than they’d ever admit to.
From that experience, I knew I was attracted to men sometimes. Over the years, I’d come to the conclusion that it was a mood. There’s something whispering at the edge of my thoughts right now. Maybe that’s the reason I never found the D/s relationship I was looking for, because that role, for me, needed to be with a man and, well, I’ve never been brave enough to come out as bisexual.
It feels far too exhausting to be in the spotlight for something as stupid as my sexuality. I swear, straight people think about what gay people are doing with their dicks far more than the gays do. It’s like they’re angry that the gay men are living the life these supposed straight men wish they could but refuse to for whatever stupid reason. You know that feeling—jealous hate. When you’re so jealous of someone else’s situation that you turn into a fucking asshole because it's not yours.
How pathetic it must be to live that life. I could go into the longer list of how pathetic people are for spending so much time hurting othersjust becausethey think they can, but that’s not how I want to spend the morning.
Throughout the remainder of my shower, I allow myself to think about Dasan. Not the butt hurt—huh, pun intended—assholes who wish they could be doing butt stuff but are so concerned with how others view them that they miss out on the best experience ever. Need proof? The most pleasurable button in a man is in his ass. Explain that, bigots.
“Ugh,” I grunt, scowling. Why did my brain move to something far less exciting than Dasan? Maybe that’s a good thing though. Today, I’m Coach Shively. That’s it. Dasan isonlya player on my team.
Nothing more. Nothing less. Just my player. Perhaps my brain segued into something stupid as a means to force me to stop thinking about him. Whether that’s true or not, I use it as the sign I need to move onto something else—notthe mental tangent I was on, though.
For our first day, I scheduled practice for ten. Not so early that the guys can’t get a good night’s sleep but not so late that they’ve already exhausted themselves and can’t give their full energy to practice. The rest of the week begins at nine.
I don’t hang around at home once I’m dressed. I’m not in a full suit since it’s only practice, but I am wearing slacks and a nice button-down. There’s a hoodie in my office in case I get cold on the ice, but usually, this suffices well enough as long as my attention is fully riveted on my team.
Dasan will be there, so I’m sure it will be.
My assistant coach, Reno Fernley, is already in his office when I arrive at the arena. He’s a young man, and I know he has aspirations to be a head coach one day. He’s good at his job, so I have confidence that he’ll reach his goal in time.
“Morning,” I greet.
He looks up from his computer and smiles. “Hey. You ready for this week?”
No. I don’t think I am. “I could use a few more weeks of vacation, but I’m also excited for the season.”
“I have a good feeling about this year,” he says. “We’re going to do great things.”
“Good. Let’s keep that positivity.”
Reno grins. “A few of the guys are already here.” My stomach flips at his words. My damn heart begins racing. Fuck’s sake. “Felton and Ren are on the ice. Nason is in the gym. I warned him not to work himself too much. He’s not being excused from practice. Mina is in with him. I think they’re working on something specific.”
My shoulders feel like they sag. Dasan isn’t here yet.Nota bad thing, I remind myself. “Does Nason have an injury?”
Nason Jordan is one of my wingmen, and he’s usually a starting player. Mina Yerington is one of my two physical trainers, a veteran PT in the league unlike Sebastian Young who’s brand new from college. I’m not surprised that Nason asked Mina for guidance in something.
Reno shakes his head. “Nah. I think he’s looking to strengthen a specific muscle group, but the techniques he’s been using aren’t giving him the results he’s looking for. Then again, we both know Nason is impatient. He might not have been working at it long enough.”
“Very true. We ready for this morning?’
