He palms me through my joggers, slow and deliberate, eyes flicking up to mine. I’m panting. I didn’t even notice. My chest is rising and falling as if I was the one that just ran sprints.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, lips ghosting the bulge in my pants.
I don’t say a word. Because if I do—I’m going to sayyesto all the wrong things.
He mouths me through the fabric, his tongue wetting it enough for me to feel it. His fingers toy with the string keeping them up, slowly tugging it loose.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
I grit my teeth. “Maldita sea.”
He runs his fingers along the band, dipping in enough to brush my crown. “Not what I said, Coach.”
My hand finds the edge of the file cabinet beside us, fingers curling over the cool metal. I don’t trust my voice, so I stay quiet. Inhaling roughly through my nose.
He takes that as permission. His fingers toy with the drawstring of my joggers, slow and deliberate, as if he’s giving me time to stop him.
I don’t.
Can’t.
A growl rumbles in my chest—low, warning, and absolutely useless.
“You really like playing with fire,” I mutter.
Luke’s mouth curves into a sinfully smug grin. “You wore gray joggers, Coach. That’s basically foreplay.”
I exhale hard through my nose. “Maldito.” Dammit.
The string comes loose under his fingers, fabric parting just enough for skin to meet air. His knuckles brush my stomach as he leans closer, breath warm and teasing against my abdomen. I shut my eyes for one second—just to hold on to the last shred of control I have.
“Last chance,” he murmurs.
My eyes snap open, finding him staring up at me like an angel. I cup his jaw, thumb dragging over his cheek, then his lower lip, already picturing them wrapped around me. I’m not strong enough for this.
“Eres un problema,” I whisper.
“Spanish is your go-to when you’re all turned on, isn’t it?” Luke murmurs, eyes glittering like he knows exactly what kind of hold he has on me. “It’s hot. So feel free to shower me with all the sexy words you have.”
He slides his hands under the waistband of my joggers and boxers in one slow, sinfully practiced motion.
“Dios mío,” I breathe, the words rough, reverent. My hand stays cradling his jaw as the elastic glides down my thighs and over my knees, leaving me bare in the one place I’ve been aching for him.
Luke leans forward, lips ghosting over my hip. “You’ve worn these gray joggers so many times, and every time, I’ve pictured myself just like this.”
I huff out a sound that’s half laugh, half curse. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, eyes dropping lower, pupils blown wide. “It’s a fantasy come true.”
The air between us crackles. The heat of his hands settle at my thighs, steady. Like he’s not nervous at all and he’s been on his knees a million times in the past. And maybe he has.
But never like this.
Not with someone who’s supposed to be off-limits, who should be shutting this down, but can’t.
He looks up at me again, holding my gaze. “I want to taste you.”
“Then do it.”
