15. Dante #2
He’s beautiful. I’ve known it for months, but refused to let myself acknowledge it. Broad shoulders, scarred forearms, the kind of body built by decades of grappling and not by any vanity. A scattering of dark hair across his chest. Dakota runs her palms down it, slow.
I move on instinct alone.
Crossing the room in two strides, Dakota looks up at and takes a step back, giving me space. Eli watches me come. His chest rises and falls under the lamp light, that scatter of dark hair.
“Coach.”
“Dante.”
“I want to kiss you. That alright?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Yeah.”
I bring my hand up to his jaw the way Cruz did, slower maybe, and feel the stubble against my palm. His eyes are a mossy green, gone almost black at the center, and I lean in and take his mouth.
He tastes like the whiskey it likely took to find his nerve.
His lips part for me, tentatively, like he didn’t know it could be like this, so I shift slightly taking the kiss deeper.
His hand lands somewhat hesitantly on my waist, fingers cool against the bare skin above my jeans.
I tilt his head with my thumb at his jaw, angle him how I want him, and he makes a sound low in his chest that I’m going to think about for weeks.
Years he’s been carrying this. I can feel it in the way he kisses, the way his mouth opens for me like he’s been starved and didn’t know how to sate the hunger. I slide my other hand around to the back of his neck, hold him there, kiss him slow and deep until his fingers tighten at my waist.
“Easy,” I murmur against his mouth. “We’ve got time.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” I ask.
His forehead drops against mine. “Yeah.” That one word sounding as if his entire being has just fully exhaled for the first time ever.
I kiss him once more, soft this time, and pull back just enough to see his face. He looks half gone already and we’ve barely started. Behind me I can hear Cruz’s belt hit the floor, a telltale sign of his impatience.
“He’s been waiting since you met to get his hands on you, Coach. Don’t make him wait any longer.”
Eli huffs something that might be a laugh. “No.”
I step back. Cruz is on me with a look the second I turn, eyes hungry and bright, so I jerk my chin toward Eli. Go.
Dakota’s already back on the bed, propped against the pillows, watching with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. I climb up and she comes to me, settling onto my lap, her thighs bracketing mine.
“Coach,” Cruz says.
Eli looks at him.
“Can I touch you?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Cruz crosses the room and puts his hands on Eli, and this time Eli doesn’t go rigid. He just exhales, long, like he’s been holding his breath for years. Cruz’s mouth finds his again and they kiss like they’re trying to consume each other.
I pull Dakota back to me, slide my hand under her shirt. Her skin’s warm. She arches into my touch and I kiss her neck, the spot under her ear, the place where her pulse is jumping.
“We’re going to take care of him,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“I want—” she’s breathing fast, “I want him in me while you—”
“Yeah, sweetheart.”
Cruz hears it. He always does. He pulls back from Eli with his lips swollen from the passionate kissing. When our eyes meet, Cruz’s grin turns wicked, spreading just a fraction wider at whatever his depravity has cooked up in that filthy mind of his. “I got an idea.”
“Of course you do.”
“Coach. You fuck Dakota. I’ll take Dante.” His eyes flick to Eli, gauging. “That way you don’t have to—we’re not pushing you too fast. You and her. Me and him. But you get to see us. You get to be in it with us.”
Eli’s chest is rising and falling fast. “Yes,” he says. Just the one word.
“Fuck, yes.” Cruz grins.
Dakota’s already pulling her shirt off, shoving her leggings down. She settles herself with her head dangling off the edge, hair spilling toward the floor, throat exposed in a long beautiful line.
“Dante.” Her voice is rough. “Come here.”
I look at Cruz. Cruz looks at me, his grin shifting into something filthier.
“Get in there, baby,” Cruz urges.
I shed my jeans. My cock’s already hard, already aching from Cruz’s hand in the car and the kissing and the watching. Dakota is watching me, and when I step close she takes me into her mouth without hesitation, her throat working.
“Christ.” My head drops back.
Eli’s between her thighs, his hands on her hips, and I hear his strangled sound when he pushes into her—the soft wet sound of it, the way she moans around my cock as he sinks deep. He bottoms out and goes still, his forehead bowed.
She pulls off me just long enough to whisper, “Daddy. Move.”
He moves.
And Cruz comes up behind me, his chest against my back, his hand sliding around my hip. “Are you ready for me?”
“Always,” I breathe.
I hear the bottle cap click, and then feel the cold press of his lubed fingers, spreading me open. I groan, push back into him, push forward into Dakota’s throat, and her hands come up to grip my thighs as she takes me deeper.
Eli’s pace builds. I can see him over Dakota’s body, his jaw set, his hands gripping her hips like he’s anchoring himself.
His chest is flushed, his eyes locked on the place where he’s disappearing into her, and then his eyes lift and find mine—mine and Cruz’s, both of us, fucking Dakota and being fucked—and a shudder rolls through him that I feel in my own gut.
He’s watching us. He’s watching, and he’s not looking away; his thrusts are getting harder.
“That’s it, Coach,” Cruz murmurs against my shoulder. His fingers are gone and then he’s there, the broad heat of him pressing into me, and I have to lock my legs to keep from stumbling. “Look at him, Dante. Look at our coach giving our girl a good fucking.”
I look.