I grip the edges of the counter, my breathing becoming ragged as he kisses and licks every inch of my back through my shudders and twitches. His hands slide around to the front of my jeans, and he unbuttons them deftly, then pushes them down along with my boxers.
“Look at me,” Landon demands.
I lift my head to find him reflected in the mirror above the sink. I’m riveted to his movements as he undoes his own jeans and they drop to the floor.
He presses against me from behind, his hard cock sliding between my cheeks, and I can’t help but moan. He reaches around and grips my cock, stroking it slowly while he grinds against me.
“Fuck,” I gasp, my hips thrusting into his hand. “Landon, I’m?—”
“I know,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
His pace increases as the pressure builds at the base of my spine. I can feel his breaths getting faster against my neck, and his strokes become more desperate.
“Come for me,” he whispers in my ear.
And I do.
My orgasm hits me hard, and I come all over his hand with a strangled cry I hope no one outside the bathroom can hear. Landon follows seconds later, his body tensing as he spills onto my back.
For a moment, we stay frozen in our positions—until reality crashes in.
What the hell did I just do?
I push up from the counter and slip away from him, very aware of what happened. I grab a handful of paper towels and clean myself up while Landon does the same.
“That was a mistake,” I blurt out, making sure he knows this shouldn’t have happened.
Landon smiles. “Was it really? Once is a mistake, Tate. Twice, not so much.”
“You’re a player on my team, and I’m your assistant coach. This is wrong on so many levels and could cost me my job.”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says.
“It already means something,” I say. “Landon, it means I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.”
I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the person staring back at me. My hair is mussed, my shirt is wrinkled, and I have marks on my neck that are going to be impossible to hide.
What the hell was I thinking?
“Tate,” Landon whispers. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, moving toward the door. “This won’t happen again.”
Landon doesn’t respond. He stands there as I open the bathroom door and walk out, leaving him in there alone.
I make my way back through the bar, my heart pounding. I don’t look back.
Instead, I catch a rideshare home and spend the rest of the night staring at my ceiling, thinking about how badly I’ve fucked everything up.
What the hell am I going to do?
My phone buzzes around 2 a.m. It’s a text from Landon.
Landon
I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. My head isn’t in a good place right now and I took that out on you. I’m backing off. You won’t have to worry about me anymore.
I stare at the message for a long time before responding.
