I plugged it in slowly, deliberately taking my time, and when I shifted position my shoulder dragged along his inner thigh.
“I think that's all of them,” I said finally, but I didn't move. Stayed right where I was, shoulder pressed against his thigh, face inches from his now-hard cock.
“Yeah,” Coach said. “Good work.”
But neither of us moved.
Then Coach shifted slightly, and his cock was even closer now. Then a bead of precome leak from the tip.
I watched it gather, watched it grow larger, and then gravity pulled it down.
It landed on my cheek.
Warm and slick, it slid down toward my mouth, and without thinking, my tongue darted out to catch it.
The taste exploded across my tongue—salt and musk and pure masculine heat.
I shifted again, my shoulder dragging deliberately along his inner thigh.
His cock pulsed, another drop of precome forming, and this time when it fell I tilted my head slightly so it would land on my lips.
I licked it off immediately, swallowed it down, and heard Coach's breathing change above me.
“We should—” he tried again, but whatever he was going to say died when my shoulder pressed harder against his thigh and I turned my head just slightly. Not enough to actually touch him. Just enough that my breath ghosted over his cock.
I felt him shudder.
“Let me just—” I reached for a cable that didn't need adjusting, using it as an excuse to shift my position, to press my shoulder more firmly against his inner thigh, to get my face even closer to his hard cock.
Another drop of precome leaked out, and this time I didn't wait for it to fall. I tilted my head and let it land directly on my tongue.
“Fuck,” Coach breathed, so quiet I almost didn't hear it.
His hand came down to rest on the desk edge, gripping it hard.
I adjusted another cable that didn't need adjusting, taking my time, letting my breath continue to ghost over his cock with each exhale.
More precome leaked out. I caught it on my tongue again, swallowed, and heard Coach make another sound—half groan, half curse.
I stayed there for another few seconds, shoulder pressed against his thigh, face inches from his hard cock, both of us breathing hard and pretending this was still about fixing cables.
Then, slowly, I slid out from under the desk.
Coach stepped back immediately, creating distance. His face was flushed, his shorts tented obscenely, and there was a wet spot darkening the fabric where he'd been leaking.
We didn't look at each other.
“That should do it,” Coach said, his voice rough. He moved to his computer, turning it on like we'd just spent the last ten minutes actually fixing cables and nothing else.
The monitors lit up. All three of them. Perfect.
“Yeah.” I grabbed my gym bag from by the door, needing to get out of here before one of us acknowledged what had just happened. “I should get to my workout.”
“Hartley—”
I stopped at the door but didn't turn around.
“Thanks for the help,” he said.
