“You can. Wait for me.”
Coach's rhythm had gone ragged. I watched his jaw clench, watched his hand tighten at Jace's throat, watched Jace's whole body seize as Coach drove in deep and held.
Rook saw it too.
“Now,” he growled, and his hand tightened on my cock through the lace and he drove in deeper and the rhythm broke into something harder and faster and more desperate. “Come for me. Now, Soren. Come on my cock.”
I came.
It tore out of me with a sound I didn't recognize as my own, and I spilled into the lace in long hot pulses, and my whole body clenched down around Rook inside me and that was what pushed him over. His hips stuttered and he pressed in as deep as he could go and his mouth found the back of my neck and he bit down as he emptied into me, hot and thick and endless, pulse after pulse filling me up while he held me pinned to the glass with his whole body shaking against my back.
I saw that Jace was coming too, untouched, painting the window in long white streaks that I could see even through the fog on my own side.
The four of us, suspended in the same long moment.
Rook held there, buried deep, his forehead pressed to the back of my neck, and for a long time neither of us moved. Just breathed. The room slowly filtered back in around us. The cool of the glass, the sound of the ocean somewhere past the houses, the faint ticking of something in the walls.
When Coach pulled back from Jace, he held Jace's weight against his chest for a moment, and then he looked up one last time.
A single nod. Acknowledgment. Thanks. Something.
Then he closed the curtain.
Rook let out a soft laugh against my neck.
“Fucking hell,” he breathed.
“Yeah.”
He eased out of me slowly and I felt the warm slick of him running down my thigh and onto the inside of the stocking, and he turned me around in his arms with careful hands and caught me against his chest as my knees gave up entirely. He held me there for a moment, both arms wrapped tight around my back, his mouth pressed to my temple.
Then he lowered me.
Down to my feet first, and then, with his hands guiding me, back against the glass with my spine to the window. My legs were still shaking. He steadied me with one hand at my hip and dropped to his knees in front of me.
He looked up at me with his mouth already parted.
“Rook—”
“Shh.” His fingers hooked into the waistband of the ruined lace thong and drew it down my legs, careful around the stockings, and I stepped out of it and let him toss it aside. His hands ran up the backs of my thighs, warm and reassuring, and then he leaned in and kissed the flat of my stomach above my softening cock. “Let me.”
He took me into his mouth.
Soft, unhurried, the heat of his tongue working slow over the oversensitive length of me, and I gasped against the glass and my hand came down into his hair without meaning to. He hummed low around me and kept going, coaxing, patient, his palms spread wide across the fronts of my thighs to hold me steady.
It took longer the second time. He worked me with full focus, and I watched him from above with my head tipped back against the window and my hand loose in his hair, and slowly, by degrees, my body came back for him.
When I got hard again in his mouth, he made a small satisfied sound and settled in.
He built it slowly. Deep, wet, thorough, tongue working the underside and hand cupping warm around everything his mouth couldn't reach, and when I came again it was easier and softer and went on longer, and he swallowed every pulse of it with his eyes closed and my hand in his hair and the faintest low sound of contentment in his throat.
Rook pulled me into his arms.
My legs had the loose trembly quality of a thing that had been through more than it was built for, and Rook took my full weight without comment, one arm around my back and the other under my thigh, and he walked me away from the window across the carpet toward the bed.
He didn't put me down yet.
“Bathroom first,” he said quietly into my hair. “Come on.”
