His hands move to my belt, and I don’t stop him.
“Here?” I ask when he drops to his knees.
“Here.”
“Standing up?”
“Unless you have a better idea.”
I don’t. I can’t think of anything except the way he’s looking at me, the way his hands scorch my skin, the way he’s about to make me forget everything except how I feel right now. I never want to forget that.
His mouth is hot and wet and greedy as fuck. He sucks me deep between tight lips, stroking my cock with his tongue. I bite down hard to keep the screams from escaping my mouth. The equipment room isn’t soundproof, and the last thing we need is someone coming to investigate the strangled noises, meetings or not.
But fuck, it’s hard to stay quiet when he’s doing that thing with his tongue, when his hands are gripping my hips, when he’s looking up at me like I’m something worth worshipping.
I want to remember that look in his eyes for-fucking-ever.
“Zane,” I breathe, my hand tangling in his hair.
He hums around me, and the vibration nearly makes my knees buckle. I’m close already, embarrassingly close, but I don’t want this to end.
“I’m gonna... ” I gasp.
But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he takes me deeper, uses his hand with his mouth. I’m so far gone, coming with his name on my lips and my fingers twisted in his hair. My body spasms and trembles as the orgasm tears through me, erupting with the kind of power that makes my knees buckle and my breath catch.
He swallows every drop, licking me clean after milking me dry. Then he stands up and kisses me, and I can taste myself on his lips. It’s hot as fuck.
“Your turn,” I say, backing him against an equipment shelf.
“You don’t have to... ”
I place a finger over his lips and smile. “Let me make you feel the same way I do.”
I drop to my knees before he can argue, and the sound he makes when I get his jeans open is worth the risk of being here. He’s hard and hot in my hand, and when I take him in my mouth, he tastes like salt and want and everything I’ve been craving.
“Fuck,” he gasps, one hand braced against the equipment rack, the other fisting my hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I work him slowly at first, relearning what he likes, what makes him gasp and curse and lance my skin with his nails. But he’s impatient, his hips jerking forward, and I can hear the desperation in every sound he makes. I work his balls with my hand while I take him deep, stroking him with my tongue, faster and more intense as each second ticks past. He fucks my mouth, thrusting hard against me. I clutch his ass, squeezing his flesh tight. Spit drizzles out the corners of my mouth as I try to keep up with his rhythm. Tears spring to my eyes and I suck him harder, lightly grazing his cock with my teeth.
He’s close. So close. And I don’t stop. I want to taste him, want to swallow everything he gives me, want to make him fall apart the way he just did me.
When he comes, it’s with a broken, guttural sound that might be my name. I take it all, every drop, until he’s spent and shaking against the rack.
“Christ,” he breathes, his chest quaking.
I stand and kiss him, slow and deep. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“We should get dressed,” he says.
“Yeah.”
But neither of us moves. We just stand there, half-naked in an equipment room, staring at each other like we’re trying tomemorize this moment. Because we don’t know when and if it can happen again.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now we go back to being coach and player.”
“And tomorrow?”
