Edging Coach

Chapter 7

JACK

It would’ve been a hell of a lot easier to berate myself about how this was a terrible idea if I didn’t feel so damned good afterward.

Not good like I’d gotten my rocks off. Hell, I hadn’t yet.

I wasn’t allowed to. But leaning against my hotel room door, the taste of Devon’s cum lingering in my mouth and a hard-on straining against my trousers…

fuck. I felt good. A kind of good I couldn’t even define.

One I hadn’t felt before, and one I absolutely didn’t expect to feel after coaching my team to a blowout loss.

I should’ve been pacing the floor in this hotel room, all the boos and frustration echoing inside my skull as I hammered out solutions.

I should’ve been sketching out a plan for tomorrow’s practice so we could start improving this mess as a team.

I should’ve been sick with anxiety over how much work there was to be done and wondering if it was as hopeless as it had seemed in the moment.

But I wasn’t.

My head was… quiet. So quiet my ears were ringing. I hung on Devon’s promise of a possible reward if I texted him before bed.

“That’s a good boy. You want to be a good boy, right?”

What the fuck? I wasn’t a dog. I wasn’t—

I wanted to be a good boy for him.

I didn’t understand it. I had no idea where the fuck this was coming from.

But that little praise made me hot and calm in ways I’d never been before.

The sharp orders to park behind the hotel and blow him—that had been when the noise in my head had cleared.

When the game had become such a distant memory it turned to faded black-and-white, and the only objective was doing as I was told and pleasing him and—

And being his good boy.

“Fucking hell,” I whispered into the silence. This was insane. It was wrong. It was putting both our careers in jeopardy. Again.

But it was so good.

How was I supposed to say no when every encounter with him left me like this?

“You’re going to decompress by having a shower,” he’d said in my car. “You’re going to bed now and tomorrow you’ll get up early and deal with the clusterfuck of a team that we have. For tonight, you’re going to let it go.”

Without thought, I pushed myself off the door and loosened my tie. I went through the motions of stripping out of my suit, and I got into the shower. Some part of my brain still wanted to grab on to tonight’s game and pick it apart and figure it out.

My grasp on those thoughts was slippery at best.

Just like the grasp I wanted to have on my dick right then. I was hard as hell and keyed up in that way I always was during foreplay. It wouldn’t take much to get off—a few pulls while I braced against the wall, and I’d be there.

But Devon had said no.

It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t know. Even if I could look him in the eye and convincingly lie through my teeth, I’d know, and I’d feel wrong. For lying to him. For letting him down. For disobeying him.

What in the actual fuck?

Since when did I give a single damn about obeying anyone who wasn’t a hockey coach? And since when did the thought of obeying someone make me this unrelentingly hot? When had I ever been this turned on, this alone, this naked, this hard… and this adamant about not touching myself?

And why did that turn me on even more?

“Fucking Christ, Devs,” I muttered over the rush of water. “What are you doing to me?”

The only thing more pressing than this arousal was my curiosity about the “treat” he’d offered. Especially since the latter might relieve the former.

I finished my shower, brushed my teeth, and got into the bed where Devon had rocked my world the other night. Then I picked up my phone and stared at the screen for a moment.

I didn’t need to run through all the reasons this was the worst idea imaginable. I’d already been through them a million times over. I knew them. I understood them.

But Devon had ignited something in me that refused to die.

He’d piqued a curiosity I’d never felt before.

Well, that wasn’t quite true; I think it was there in the back of my mind for a long time.

A note of “meh, that’s it?” every time I had sex with someone, including my ex-husband.

That subtle certainty that there was something more, but I couldn’t reach for it because I couldn’t articulate it.

It still didn’t have a name, but it suddenly felt less nebulous and abstract.

It was written in all the now-fading marks Devon had left on me the other night, and in all the places I ached for him to mark in the future.

It thrummed beneath the heady arousal and frustration of lying here with a hard dick I couldn’t touch.

I turned my phone between my fingers. All the reasons we couldn’t do this didn’t matter. Not when Devon’s touch—his authority—was a siren’s call I didn’t know I’d been straining to hear for fucking decades.

With a mix of exhilaration and resignation, I pulled up his contact on my phone. I didn’t even bother trying to write out what I knew I should have. We were going down this rabbit hole tonight and there was no point in pretending we weren’t.

In bed.

He read the text instantly. Then the three gray dots appeared, and I couldn’t sit still. I rubbed my heel against my other calf just to let go of some nervous energy. It didn’t help—there was a very specific type of friction I needed in that moment, and it had nothing to do with my legs.

Finally, my phone pinged.

Were you a good boy?

Yes.

Good. Very good.

I bit my lip and fidgeted some more. Why did his approval do this to me? Since when did I get so keyed up that those simple words had me on the brink of coming? And since when did those three gray dots give me such an intense mix of apprehension and hunger?

I bet you’d like to come.

All the air rushed out of my lungs in a single, ragged gust. My fingers were so unsteady I barely managed to type coherently.

I would. A lot.

FaceTime me.

I blinked. Face—seriously?

Bad idea, unprofessional, against the rules, career-ending, blah, blah, blah. It was all drowned out beneath that crescendoing siren’s call.

I sent the FaceTime request.

Devon appeared on my screen, and I was once again breathless.

He was lying back on his own bed, a hand behind his head while the other held the phone.

I could see enough to tell he was shirtless, but I didn’t know if he had on anything else.

I didn’t know if I was more turned on by the idea of him as naked as I was, or lying there in sweats or shorts or suit trousers.

What the hell are you doing to me?

“You were good, weren’t you?” he asked with a grin. “I can see it in your face—you’re frustrated as hell.”

“I am. I’m…” I pressed back against the headboard. “Jesus, Devon…”

“Mmm, I love that.”

“You love me being frustrated?”

“Mm-hmm. Especially when it’s because I told you to be this way.”

I gathered some covers in my free hand just to keep my fingers occupied with something other than relieving this tension. “Did I earn that treat?”

“Ooh, yes. Definitely.” Something wicked gleamed in his eyes. “Might not feel like a treat at first, but… we’ll get there.”

God, my whole body sang with frustration bordering on fury. My coach voice lodged in my throat along with any demands to just let me fucking come, and instead what came out was a breathless, “Please, Devon.”

His grin turned to a smile that was as wicked as his eyes. “Baby, you love this, don’t you?”

“I…” I wanted to say I hated it, because I did, but I also… fuck, this was torture, but also not, and I didn’t know how to make sense of that.

“Look at you,” he purred. “We’ve been on this call, what? Under a minute? And you’re already ready to beg like I’ve been edging you for hours.” He said that like it turned him on so much, he wanted to eat me alive. Or maybe that was me being so turned on, I wished he would.

“Do you have any idea how much fun I could have with you?” he asked, sounding far too calm and collected.

“If I had hours on end with no chance of anyone hearing us or catching us? Fucking hell, Jack…” His eyelids fluttered shut and he squirmed.

“A locked door. All my toys within reach. All the time in the world to make you fall to pieces.” He exhaled hard as he slid his hand out from behind his head.

When his hand disappeared out of the frame, my pulse ticked up impossibly higher.

From the motion of his shoulder and the way he bit his lip…

I could guess. I could envision. Fuck, I wanted my own hand on that dick again. Or my mouth. Or him drilling into—

“Jack,” he murmured, yanking my focus back to his eyes. “Would you enjoy that? If we could just take our time and—”

“I think you’d kill me.” The words tumbled out of my mouth.

His laugh was almost soundless. “I mean, not on purpose. But what a way to go, don’t you think? Tied down and—”

“No,” I said sharply as cold water shot through me.

Devon tensed, his shoulder stilling as his eyes widened. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Not…” I shook my head, struggling to find my breath. “Not tied down. No, uh… None of that.”

“Not into bondage?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He gave a single nod. “No bondage.”

I couldn’t describe the rush of relief at those words. We weren’t even doing anything—not physically, anyway—but his immediate course correction made me dizzy in a whole different way.

“No bondage,” he whispered again. “You’ll just do what I tell you. No ropes.” He licked his lips. “I’ll put you on your knees, and you’ll stay there because I tell you to.”

“Fuck, yeah,” I murmured, sliding back into that briefly interrupted fog of need and frustration.

“You’d like that?”

Licking my lips, I nodded. “Yes.”

His eyebrow flicked upward.

“Yes, Sir,” I corrected without thought, and my own words and his grin of approval made my spine tingle.

“Good boy.” His shoulder was moving again, and my mind’s eye filled in his hand doing what I wished mine could be—stroking his fully hard cock. I wanted him doing the same to mine. Christ, I needed some friction yesterday.

“All the time in the world,” Devon continued. “I’ll put you on your knees. Mark that gorgeous skin every way I can think of. Fuck your mouth.” He closed his eyes again, and when they fluttered open, he moaned, “Your mouth is so good, Jack.”

I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my lips.

“Mmm, you are so hot when you’re frustrated.” His shoulder moved faster, and his words came out more strained. “You know what I’d do after I finished torturing you for hours?”

My mouth had gone dry, but I managed, “What?”

He grinned again, eyes narrowing as he looked right at me. “I’d fuck you.” He closed his eyes and groaned, and oh, hell, he had to be on the edge. I knew that voice, that hitch of his breath—he was riding that edge, ready to come at any moment while I lay here unable to touch myself.

“I’d fuck you,” he said again. “And I’d make you beg for more and more while I kept riding that ass. I’d make you cry from pain, and then again from how much you wanted to be fucked and how much you wanted to come.” His voice was shaky now—he was so close. So, so damn close.

“Please let me come,” I murmured before I could stop myself. “Devon…”

He met me with heavy-lidded eyes, that grin evil and sadistic. “Mmm, yeah, that’s exactly how you’d beg for it.”

“I’m begging for it now,” I whined without a shred of self-consciousness. I was beyond pride or dignity at this point. As turned on as I was, I had a feeling I was about to find out if it was possible for someone to talk me into an orgasm without either of us touching me.

No. No, he hasn’t given permission yet. Don’t come, damn it.

I let my head thunk back against the headboard as another frustrated sound escaped my throat.

“Yeah, Jack,” he slurred. “Such a good boy. Such a good, obedient boy who’d swallow every drop of my cum again if I told him to.”

“Fuuuck…”

“Is that a yes, Jack? Would you swallow my—”

“Every drop,” I gritted out. “Every—”

Devon’s body jerked and he whispered something sharply Quebecois and profane, eyes closed as he pressed his head back into the pillow. “God, yeah…”

I watched, slack-jawed and breathless, ridiculously close to losing it myself as Devon unabashedly came right there on camera.

As he started to settle down, he panted, “I want to come in your ass, Jack.” He swept his tongue across his lips. “After I’ve turned it red with my hand or… Or any of my toys. I… calisse. I want you.”

“M-me too. I… Devon. Please.” I shifted on the bed, and I sounded close to tears as I whispered, “Please let me come.”

“Show me how hard you are.”

I bit back some curses and tilted the screen so he could see my fully hard and painfully neglected dick.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he said evenly. “But don’t come.”

“I don’t know if I can stop myself from coming. I’m—Devon, I need to come so bad.”

“Mm-hmm. But you need to be a good boy more than you need to come.”

Ironically, that nearly made me come. He was absolutely right. Somehow, he knew what I needed and wanted even when I’d spent decades trying to figure it out.

“Touch yourself,” he insisted. “Now.”

I obeyed, and the first brush of my fingertips almost had me going off. I would go to my grave wondering where I’d found the control to hold back. What deep, previously untapped reserves of self-restraint kept me teetering on but not tumbling over the edge.

“Devon…”

“That’s it. You love doing what you’re told, don’t you? Being a good boy for me?”

“Y-yes. Yes, Sir.” My voice was as much of a wreck as I was. “Yes, I fucking love it.”

“Yeah, you do. Such a good, obedient boy. Mmm, so sexy and submissive. All for me.”

“All for you.” I arched off the bed, trying to control myself, stroke myself, and not drop my phone at the same time.

“Come.”

The word came out of nowhere, and my orgasm was right behind it. With a shout, I was there, my cum hitting my stomach, my phone, and God knew what else as my hips bucked off the bed.

And just like that, I dropped onto the mattress as if I’d levitated off it, and I lay there, panting and shaking and covered in cum.

“Perfect,” Devon murmured. When I turned the phone so I could see his face, he was grinning, just as I expected, but his eyes were full of approval I hadn’t known I needed. “Very good, Jack. Very, very good.”

I closed my eyes as the room kept spinning around me.

“Clean yourself up and get some sleep,” he ordered. “Tomorrow’s going to be busy.”

It was, and I knew all the reasons why, but the stress couldn’t touch me in that moment. Nothing could except bliss and fatigue.

“Devon.” I met his gaze. “Can I… Can I ask for one thing? Sir?”

He raised his eyebrows.

I swallowed. “Say it one more time, Sir.”

Confusion furrowed his brow, but only for a second.

And then, voice soft and sweet, he said it:

“Good boy, Jack.”