Chapter 15 Off Day #3
Jace was sitting on his bed scrolling through his phone. He'd been quiet since we got back from our day in the city.
“Can we talk?” he asked quietly, setting his phone aside.
I closed my laptop. “Yeah. Of course.”
He stood and moved toward me, and there was something different in the way he walked. Purpose. Intent. He stopped in front of where I sat at the desk, close enough that I could smell his soap from the shower he'd taken earlier.
“What happens when we get back?” he asked. “When we're back under cameras. Back under rules.”
It was the question I'd been avoiding all day.
“I don't know,” I admitted. “But we'll figure it out.”
“How?”
“Carefully. One day at a time. Same as now.” I turned the desk chair to face him fully. “I'm not going to pretend this is simple. It's not. There are risks. Real ones. But I'm not going to run from it anymore.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
He studied my face for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. I believe you.” He shifted on the bed, and I saw some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “Doesn't mean I'm not going to worry about it anyway, but I believe you.”
“That's all I can ask for.”
We sat there for a moment, and then Jace's mouth quirked. “So. That was our first real date, right? The bookstore, the waterfront, the whole thing?”
“I suppose it was.”
“Pretty good first date.” He tilted his head. “Though you did make me walk like three miles.”
“You're a professional athlete. Three miles shouldn't be a challenge.”
“I'm saying my feet hurt, Coach. I need sympathy.”
“You're not getting sympathy.”
“See, this is why you're bad at dating. No sympathy for your partner's suffering.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Your feet don't hurt.”
“They might. You don't know.” But he was grinning now, some of that earlier lightness coming back. “I'm delicate.”
“You're the least delicate person I've ever met.”
“Rude. I'm very sensitive.” He paused. “Also, I'm pretty sure buying someone a book counts as a romantic gesture. So you're locked in now. Can't take it back.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Good.” He shifted closer, just slightly. “Because I'm keeping the book. And you.”
My chest went warm. “That so?”
“Yeah.” His voice dropped a little, went softer. “If that's okay with you.”
“It's okay with me.”
He looked at me for a long moment, and I saw the exact second something shifted in his expression. Went darker. Hungrier.
“I need you,” he said quietly.
My cock twitched immediately. “Jace—”
“We have twenty minutes until team dinner.” He stepped between my knees, hands coming to rest on my shoulders. “I need to feel you. Need to remember this is real before we have to go back to pretending.”
I reached up and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him down until our foreheads touched. “What do you want?”
“Let me suck your cock.” His voice was rough, already wrecked. “Please. Last night I got to feel you inside me, but I want to taste you properly. Want to worship that fucking monster between your legs.”
Heat shot straight to my groin. The word—monster—made something primal stir in my chest.
“You want to worship it?” My voice had dropped lower, gone rougher.
“Fuck yes.” His hands slid down my chest to my belt. “You have no idea how much I've been thinking about it. About getting on my knees for you. About feeling you stretch my throat the way you stretched my ass.”
I groaned and let my head fall back against the chair. “The filthy fucking mouth on you.”
“You love it.” His fingers were working my belt open now, popping the button on my jeans. “You love that I can't stop thinking about your cock. That I walked around all day today remembering how deep you were inside me. How full you made me feel.”
“Fuck.” My hands gripped the arms of the chair as he pulled down my zipper. “You're going to be the death of me.”
“Not yet.” He tugged my jeans and boxer briefs down, and I lifted my hips to help him. My cock sprang free, already half-hard just from his words, and I watched his eyes go dark with pure hunger.
He wrapped one hand around the base, and his fingers didn't quite meet. The sight of his hand dwarfed by my girth made my cock pulse in his grip.
“So fucking thick,” he breathed, stroking me slowly. “I still can't believe you fit inside me.”
“You took every inch.” I was getting harder with each stroke of his hand. “Took it so well. Made for my cock.”
“Yeah.” He licked his lips, eyes fixated on watching himself stroke me. “Made to take this monster. Made to be yours.”
The possessive claim in those words made something dark and primal surge in my chest. “That's right. You're mine.”
“Yours,” he agreed, and then he dropped to his knees between my legs.
The sight of him there—on his knees, looking up at me with those dark eyes while his hand worked my cock—was almost enough to make me come right then.
“Look at how big you are,” he said, almost reverent. “Fuck, Grant, you're huge. I can barely get my hand around you.”
“You managed last night.”
“Barely.” He leaned forward and dragged his tongue up the underside of my cock, root to tip, and I nearly came out of the chair. “Split me open. Made me feel it every time I sat down today.”
My hands flew to his hair, fisting in the soft strands. “Did you like it? Walking around sore? Knowing it was from me?”
“Loved it.” He circled the head with his tongue, lapping up the precome that was already leaking. “Loved knowing you'd marked me.”
“Fuck, Jace—”
“Let me taste you properly.” He looked up at me, and there was something desperate in his eyes. “Please, Coach. I need it.”
The title in his mouth—breathy and needy—made my cock throb against his lips.
“Then open up,” I ordered, voice gone rough and commanding. “Show me what that pretty mouth can do.”
He moaned and took me into his mouth, and the wet heat was overwhelming. But he could only take about half of me before he had to pull back, jaw already aching from the stretch.
“Too much?” I asked, even though my control was hanging by a thread.
“No.” He worked his jaw, determined. “Just—fuck, you're so thick. Give me a second.”
I watched him breathe, watched him prepare himself, and the submission in it—the way he was so desperate to please me, to take what I gave him—made something possessive and dark unfurl in my chest.
“Try again,” I said. “Relax your jaw. Let me in.”
He nodded and went back down, and this time he managed to take more. I felt the head of my cock brush the back of his throat, and he gagged slightly but didn't pull off.
“That's it,” I growled, tightening my grip in his hair. “Good boy. Taking my cock so well.”
The praise made him moan around me, and the vibration shot straight up my spine.
“You like being good for me, don't you?” I started guiding his movements with my hands in his hair, pulling him down and pushing him back up. “Like being on your knees for your coach.”
He tried to nod with my cock in his mouth, eyes watering but determined.
“I'm going to fuck your throat now,” I said, and there was no question in it. Just command. “And you're going to take it. Going to let me use this pretty mouth however I want. Understand?”
He moaned again, eyes rolling back slightly, and that was all the permission I needed.
I tightened my grip and started thrusting up into his mouth. Shallow at first, letting him adjust to the rhythm, but he opened wider and relaxed his throat, and fuck, he could take it.
“Look at you,” I growled. “Choking on my cock and loving every second. This is what you needed, isn't it? Needed me to remind you who you belong to.”
He whimpered around me and his hands digged into my thighs.
I pulled him down until his nose was almost against my stomach, holding him there. His throat convulsed around me, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, but he didn't tap out. Didn't push away. Just took it.
“Such a good little slut for me,” I murmured, pulling him off to let him breathe. “So desperate for my cock you'd choke on it.”
He gasped for air, coughing, but his eyes were wild with lust. “Please. More.”
“More?” I traced his swollen bottom lip with my thumb. “Greedy boy.”
“Your boy.” His voice was wrecked, raspy. “Please, Coach. Use me. I can take it.”
Something in me snapped at the desperation in his voice, the complete submission.
I pulled him back onto my cock and really started fucking his throat. Hard, deep strokes that had him gagging and moaning in equal measure. Saliva was dripping down his chin, making a mess, and he looked fucking perfect.
“That's it. Take it all.” My voice was harsh, commanding. “This is what you wanted. Wanted me to claim this throat. Make you mine.”
He was making sounds around my cock—desperate, needy whimpers that vibrated through me—and his hips were moving, grinding against nothing, seeking friction.
“Touch yourself,” I ordered. “Get your cock out. Want to see you come from having my cock down your throat.”
He fumbled with his jeans one-handed, desperate and clumsy, finally getting them open and pulling himself out. He was rock hard, cock flushed dark and leaking heavily, and he started stroking himself with jerky, desperate movements.
“Fuck, look at you,” I groaned. “Getting off from being used. From having my cock in your throat. You love this, don't you? Love being my good boy.”
He nodded frantically, moaning around me, and his hand moved faster on himself.
The sight of him was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen.
“I'm close,” I warned, voice strained. “Going to fill your mouth. You want it? Want to taste me?”
He moaned so desperately it was almost a sob, nodding, and his hand was flying over his cock now.
“Then take it.” I thrust deep one more time. “Take all of it.”
I came with a groan I barely managed to keep quiet, spilling into his mouth in thick pulses. He swallowed frantically, throat working around me, some of it leaking from the corners of his mouth because there was too much and I was too deep.
The sight of him trying to swallow it all, the feeling of his throat convulsing around the head of my cock, sent him over the edge. He came with a muffled cry around my cock, come painting his hand and splattering on the floor between us.
I held him there for a moment longer, letting the last aftershocks roll through both of us, before finally pulling him off.
He collapsed forward, forehead resting against my thigh, breathing hard and shaking.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice completely destroyed. “Fuck, Grant.”
I ran my fingers through his hair, gentler now. “You okay?”
“Better than okay.” He looked up at me, and despite how wrecked he looked—swollen lips, tear-stained face, come on his chin—there was something satisfied and complete in his expression. “That was... fuck.”
“Yeah.” I cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “You did so well. Took everything I gave you.”
“I'd take anything from you.” His eyes held mine. “Anything you want to give me.”
“That's a dangerous thing to say.”
“I mean it.” He leaned into my touch. “I'm yours. However you want me.”
I pulled him up into my lap, not caring that we were both still half-dressed and covered in evidence of what we'd just done. I just needed him close.
He came willingly, straddling my thighs and pressing his face into my neck, and I wrapped my arms around him.
“Still think we can figure this out when we go back?” he asked quietly after a moment.
I ran my hand up his back, feeling him shiver. “Yeah. I do.”
“Even when we have to pretend this doesn't exist?”
“Even then.” I tilted his chin up so he had to look at me.
He searched my face for a long moment, then kissed me. Slow and deep and tasting like sex and trust and something that felt dangerously close to more than we'd agreed on.
When we broke apart, he smiled—small and genuine and so fucking beautiful it made my chest ache.
“Good.”
Then his phone buzzed on the bed shattering the moment.
He sighed and climbed off my lap, grabbing tissues to clean up the mess. “Team dinner. Rook's probably ready to murder us both.”
“Can't keep the captain waiting.”