Chapter 9 #2
He looked at me for a beat, something flickering in his eyes, then nodded. “Alright. Yeah. That'd be easier.”
He slid out from under the desk, and I took his place, lying on my back and scooting underneath. The space was tight but manageable for me.
Coach crouched beside the desk, close enough that I could see his legs from my position. Those short gym shorts left nothing to the imagination.
“Power cables are the black ones,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “HDMI is blue. USB is—”
“I know what cables are, Coach.”
“Just making sure.” He grabbed a flashlight from his desk drawer and handed it to me. “You'll need this.”
I took it, and our fingers brushed. That contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with electricity.
Focus. I was here to help fix cables. That's it.
I held the flashlight with one hand and started tracing cables with the other, trying to figure out what went where. Coach stayed crouched beside the desk, occasionally pointing out which cable went to which monitor.
“That one,” he said, leaning down to get a better view. “That goes to the middle monitor.”
From my position on my back under the desk, looking up, I had a perfect view up the leg of his shorts. And either he wasn't wearing underwear or he was wearing something minimal, because I could see the heavy weight of his cock hanging there in the shadows.
My brain stuttered.
I forced my eyes back to the cables and fumbled with a connection.
“Not that one,” Coach said. “The one to the left.”
He leaned down further to point, and the movement made his shorts ride up higher.
Fuck.
I grabbed the correct cable and tried to focus, but my eyes kept drifting back up. I couldn't help it. The angle was impossible to ignore.
“That's it,” Coach said. “Now trace it back to see where it's supposed to plug in.”
I followed the cable with my hand, reaching up toward the back of the desk, and the movement made me shift my position slightly. Coach moved too, adjusting to get a better view of what I was doing, and suddenly his leg was closer. Close enough that his calf brushed against my shoulder.
“Sorry,” he muttered, but he didn't move away.
“It's fine.” My voice came out rougher than intended.
I kept working, trying to ignore the heat of his body so close to mine, trying to ignore the view I couldn't escape. But with every movement, every shift in position, I was hyperaware of him.
“The blue one,” Coach said. “Middle monitor. Check if it's seated properly.”
I reached for it, and the angle forced me to stretch. My shoulder pressed against his leg more firmly now, and I felt him tense.
From this position, his cock was definitely swelling now. I watched it twitch slightly, responding to something, and felt my own cock start to harden in response.
This was insane. This was my coach. I was literally lying under his desk staring at his half-hard cock while pretending to fix cables.
“Got it?” Coach asked, and his voice sounded strained.
“Yeah. Almost.” I fumbled with the connection, my hands suddenly clumsy.
Coach shifted again, and this time when he moved, his inner thigh pressed against my shoulder. The contact was firmer now, deliberate maybe, and I felt the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shorts.
I could smell him from here—sweat and musk and something distinctly masculine. The scent made my head spin, made my cock throb in my gym shorts.
“That one next,” Coach said, pointing to another cable near the back.
I reached for it, stretching, and my shoulder slid along his inner thigh.
“Almost there,” I said, voice rough.
“Take your time.” Coach's voice was carefully controlled, but I heard the strain underneath.
I plugged in the cable, but instead of moving away, I stayed where I was. Stayed in position with my shoulder pressed against his inner thigh and his half-hard cock inches from my face.
“There's one more,” Coach said. “Far left corner.”
I reached for it, stretching across the space under the desk, and the movement pressed my shoulder more firmly against his thigh. I felt the muscle tense beneath my touch, felt the heat radiating off his skin.
When I looked up, his cock was even harder now. Thick and flushed, the head dark with blood, a bead of precome forming at the slit.
My own cock throbbed in my shorts, fully hard now, pressing painfully against the fabric.
“That's it,” Coach said, and his voice was wrecked. “Just like that.”
I didn't know if he was talking about the cable anymore.
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.
“No problem, Coach.”
I walked out without looking back, made it halfway down the hallway before I had to stop and grip the wall.
What the fuck was that?