Chapter 17 Tate
SEVENTEEN
tate
It’s been three days since our conference room sexcapade.
Three days of pretending nothing happened while my body remembers everything.
I lace up my skates for practice when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
Equipment room. After practice. - Z
My breath hitches. He’s never texted me before. Never contacted me outside of official team business. The fact that he’s doing it now, using a number I don’t recognize, makes something tight and hot coil in my chest.
I delete the message and finish getting ready, trying to act normal while my teammates joke around me. Trying to pretend I’m not counting down the minutes until I can see him again.
“You good?” Masterson asks, bumping my shoulder. “You seem distracted.”
“Just thinking about today’s drills.”
“Since when do you think about drills?”
“Since Coach Enver started breathing down my neck about consistency.”
It’s not a total lie. Enver has been watching me closer since Seattle, making comments about my focus and my preparation.
Practice goes by in a blur. I make the saves I’m supposed to make, follow the drills, act like a professional. But the whole time I’m aware of Zane behind the bench.
When practice ends, I hang back while the other guys head to the locker room. I pretend to organize my gear, taking my time with my water bottle and towel until the ice is empty.
The equipment room is in the basement, away from the main locker areas. It’s where they store extra gear, broken sticks, things that need repair.
Zane’s already there when I pull open the door, standing between rows of hockey equipment. The overhead lights cast shadows across his face, and I can see the tension stiffening his shoulders.
“You came,” he says.
“You asked me to.”
“I wasn’t sure you would.”
I close the door. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
“But we shouldn’t be doing this,” I say.
“I know.”
“This is kind of crazy.”
“Yeah.”
“So why are we here?” I try to control my voice but my dick tingles with the thought of his hands and mouth on me, and it’s hard to concentrate on talking when I want to be doing so much more.
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The honesty in his voice hits me hard. Because I can’t stop thinking about him either.
“This is a bad idea,” I say.
“Yes, but this place is safe. I checked the schedule. Everyone’s in meetings for the next hour.”
“You checked the schedule?”
He nods.
I stare at him, this man who’s planned this encounter down to the minute, and something tightens in my chest.
“What do you want, Zane?”
“I want to touch you.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
“We said this was a one-time thing,” I say.
“We said a lot of things.”
“And?”
“And I’m tired of pretending they were true.”
He moves closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. When he reaches out to graze the side of my face, I don’t pull away.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I want this too.”
That’s all he needs to hear. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me like he’s been starving for it, like the three days since the conference room have been three years. I kiss him back with the same desperation, my hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer and hold him tight against me.
This isn’t like the other times. This is slower, more deliberate. Like we have time to explore what’s between us.
His hands slide under my practice jersey, and I shiver at his touch. His skin is warm against mine, and the calluses on his palms from years of handling hockey equipment rough against my skin.
“Take it off,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I pull my jersey over my head. He does the same with his shirt, and then we’re skin to skin. His heart races in time with mine.
“Fuck,” he breathes, running his hands over my shoulders, down my arms. “You’re so... ”
“So what?”
“Perfect.”
He backs me against a rack of equipment, his mouth finding the sensitive spot on my neck that makes me gasp. His cock is thick and hard against my hip, and it makes me crazy knowing he wants me as much as I want him.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“You. However I can have you.”
“Take me any way you want.”
“Dangerous words,” he says.
“I trust you.”
He pulls back to look at me, and pain flickers in the depths. “You shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to hurt you. Not because I want to, but because I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Not always.”
“Then make one now. Choose this. Choose me.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as we can.”
He stares at me for a long moment. The safe choice versus the honest one.
“Okay,” he says finally.
“Okay?”
“Okay. For as long as we can.”
He kisses me again, and this time there’s something different about it. Something that feels like a promise.
His hands move to my belt, and I don’t stop him.
“Here?” I ask when he drops to his knees.
“Here.”
“Standing up?”
“Unless you have a better idea.”
I don’t. I can’t think of anything except the way he’s looking at me, the way his hands scorch my skin, the way he’s about to make me forget everything except how I feel right now. I never want to forget that.
His mouth is hot and wet and greedy as fuck.
He sucks me deep between tight lips, stroking my cock with his tongue.
I bite down hard to keep the screams from escaping my mouth.
The equipment room isn’t soundproof, and the last thing we need is someone coming to investigate the strangled noises, meetings or not.
But fuck, it’s hard to stay quiet when he’s doing that thing with his tongue, when his hands are gripping my hips, when he’s looking up at me like I’m something worth worshipping.
I want to remember that look in his eyes for-fucking-ever.
“Zane,” I breathe, my hand tangling in his hair.
He hums around me, and the vibration nearly makes my knees buckle. I’m close already, embarrassingly close, but I don’t want this to end.
“I’m gonna... ” I gasp.
But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he takes me deeper, uses his hand with his mouth.
I’m so far gone, coming with his name on my lips and my fingers twisted in his hair.
My body spasms and trembles as the orgasm tears through me, erupting with the kind of power that makes my knees buckle and my breath catch.
He swallows every drop, licking me clean after milking me dry. Then he stands up and kisses me, and I can taste myself on his lips. It’s hot as fuck.
“Your turn,” I say, backing him against an equipment shelf.
“You don’t have to... ”
I place a finger over his lips and smile. “Let me make you feel the same way I do.”
I drop to my knees before he can argue, and the sound he makes when I get his jeans open is worth the risk of being here. He’s hard and hot in my hand, and when I take him in my mouth, he tastes like salt and want and everything I’ve been craving.
“Fuck,” he gasps, one hand braced against the equipment rack, the other fisting my hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I work him slowly at first, relearning what he likes, what makes him gasp and curse and lance my skin with his nails.
But he’s impatient, his hips jerking forward, and I can hear the desperation in every sound he makes.
I work his balls with my hand while I take him deep, stroking him with my tongue, faster and more intense as each second ticks past. He fucks my mouth, thrusting hard against me.
I clutch his ass, squeezing his flesh tight.
Spit drizzles out the corners of my mouth as I try to keep up with his rhythm.
Tears spring to my eyes and I suck him harder, lightly grazing his cock with my teeth.
He’s close. So close. And I don’t stop. I want to taste him, want to swallow everything he gives me, want to make him fall apart the way he just did me.
When he comes, it’s with a broken, guttural sound that might be my name. I take it all, every drop, until he’s spent and shaking against the rack.
“Christ,” he breathes, his chest quaking.
I stand and kiss him, slow and deep. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“We should get dressed,” he says.
“Yeah.”
But neither of us moves. We just stand there, half-naked in an equipment room, staring at each other like we’re trying to memorize this moment. Because we don’t know when and if it can happen again.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now we go back to being coach and player.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we figure out how to do this without getting caught.”
“This?”
“Whatever this is.”
I reach for my jersey and pull it on.
“What is this?” I ask.
“I don’t know. But I know I can’t stay away from you.”
“Even though it’s dangerous?”
“Especially because it’s dangerous.”
He pulls on his own shirt, and we both try to make ourselves look presentable. Like we haven’t just blown each other in a supply closet.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask.
“Too risky. People will notice if we’re both missing at the same time.”
“Then when?”
“I’ll figure something out and text you.”
He heads for the door, but I catch his arm.
“Zane.”
“Yeah?”
“This thing between us... it’s not just physical, is it?”
“No,” he says finally. “It’s not just physical.”
“Good. Because I need you to know that for me, this isn’t just about sex.”
“What’s it about?”
“You. Whatever’s going on with you, whatever trouble you’re in, whatever you’re afraid of, I want to help.”
He lets out a sigh. “You can’t help me.”
“Why not?”
“Because the kind of help I need isn’t something you can give.”
“Try me.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. But I can give you this. Whatever it is, for as long as it lasts.”
“And when it ends?”
He looks at me, resignation swirling in the deep pools of his gaze. “When it ends, you’ll understand why.”
He leaves me standing there with more questions than answers, but somehow that doesn’t matter. Because for the first time in weeks, I feel like I have something real to hold on to.
Even if I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep it.
Back in the locker room, I shower and change like nothing happened. I joke with my teammates and listen to their plans for the night.
My phone buzzes as I’m heading toward my car. Another text from the unknown number.
Same time Thursday. Same place. Delete this.
I delete it immediately, but I can’t delete the way my pulse spikes at the thought of seeing him again. Can’t delete the way my body already misses his touch.
It gives me some time to figure out what the hell I’m doing with a man who keeps telling me he’s going to hurt me and why I keep going back, even though his warnings should have me running in the opposite direction.
Because we both know he’s not my forever.