But it does.
Way more thanSir. More thanCoach. It's a suckerpunch straight to the part of me I keep buried six feet under control.
I stand—too fast.
He’s already on my side of the desk, close enough to smell the sweat still clinging to his skin, the faint edge of whatever citrus soap he uses. His proximity is a gut punch.
“You’re playing with fire,” I say.
He bites his lip, eyes scanning mine as though he’s cataloging every reaction. “And you like it.”
My jaw flexes. I shift closer, crowding him against the desk without touching. “I like discipline,” I growl. “Respect. Restraint.”
He leans in, smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And you have a Daddy kink, apparently.”
My hand finds the edge of the desk behind him. Grip tightening. Grounding. Because if I don’t hold on to something, I might grab him.
He laughs—light and unbothered, as though he didn’t just detonate something in my chest. “You gonna spank me for being a brat or just keep staring like I’m your favorite bad idea?”
I lean in, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on my lips as I whisper, “Go.”
His lashes flutter, mouth parting like he might disobey. As if he wants me to make him stay. But he doesn’t move. Because he can’t. I’m still caging him in, my body a wall between him and the door. I can’t even make myself move away from him, it’s like I’m drawn to him on a cellular level.
He glances down at my hand on the desk, then back up, that sinful little smirk tugging at his lips.
“Daddy,” he purrs, voice pure fucking mischief now thathe knows what that does to me. “You gonna let me go, or do I need to beg for that, too?”
My fingers flex, every muscle in my body screaming tonotmove. To keep him right here and remind him exactly who’s in charge. But I release the desk. I step back.
Barely.
“Go,” I say again—rougher this time. Strained.
He licks his lips. But he doesn’t move. Just stands there, that fucking cocky little smirk tilting his mouth still, eyes dragging over me as though he owns me.
“You need to step back more than that,” he says softly.
I don’t answer. Can’t. Because he’s right—I didn’t move enough to let him pass. Not really. I’m still standing close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin. I could still grab him and press him into the desk.
Luke leans in again, barely a breath between us.
“You sure you want me to go?” he asks. “Because you look like you’re about to lose your goddamn mind.”
I clench my jaw. “Luke?—”
“I can help,” he murmurs. “You’re tense, Coach. I could take care of that.”
My pulse kicks hard in my throat. He shifts closer, hands sliding to my waist. His fingers hook into my joggers.
“Unless you want to keep pretending you don’t want this. That you didn’t jerk off to the sight of me last night. That you’re not hard right now, just from me calling you Daddy.”
“Luke.”
“Let me,” he says, already sinking to his knees. “Let me take care of you.”
Maldita sea.
My hand fumbles for something—anything—solid tohold on to. A chair. A cabinet. Doesn’t matter. I need something to keep me from grabbing him by the hair and taking everything he’s offering.
