Chapter 37
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
MAISIE
The last couple of weeks have flown by in a total blur of studying, homework, and planning for the next upcoming event with the team.
And then more studying.
Ironically, I’ve seen less of Wilder in the last couple of weeks than I have since he arrived at OU, and I think I’m starting to have withdrawals.
From orgasms, obviously.
I’m still riding on the high of him eating me out while making me read to him because honestly, what was that?
So hot and completely unexpected, and I’m dying for more.
Luckily for him, I have a ridiculous number of books with plenty of tabs to work our way through.
We’ve texted a few times, but the team had an away series in Tennessee, and when they got back, I was up to my eyeballs preparing for a huge test in English lit, so I barely saw the outside of the library’s study room for the entire week.
But it’s… Wilder.
He’s arguably the world’s worst texter, and I feel like I’m talking to my eighty-year-old grandmother when we talk. One-word responses that sometimes don’t come until a day later.
Which is exactly why I’m walking through the hallway of the athletic building toward his office in between classes.
I want to see him.
I… maybe missed him.
Not that I would be admitting that out loud to anyone, especially not him, but I have.
Once I get to his office, I gently rap on the door.
A few seconds later, there’s a gruff “Come in,” so I open it and step inside, shutting it behind me.
He’s sitting behind his desk, laptop opened in front of him, fingers tapping at the keys, face set in tight concentration.
God, he looks delectable.
He still hasn’t shaved, and I’m glad that I told him how much I like his facial hair because he kept it.
It’s a little more than a shadow now, and I can’t help but think about how it felt between my thighs.
I gnaw on the corner of my lip to bite back a smile.
Today, he’s wearing his coaching jacket, the black one that’s a half zip with his name in big, white block letters over his chest. And he’s got on his whistle.
I know it’s a bit irrational but that stupid whistle somehow makes him even hotter. Like it’s the final piece of his official “coach” uniform, part of his authority, and it’s so damn hot.
“Maisie?” he murmurs when he finally looks up, surprised.
“Hi. I know you weren’t expecting me, but I had some time between classes, so I just wanted to drop by.”
His mouth quirks, one of his brows matching the movement. “I have a Zoom meeting in a few with management.”
Oh. Right.
This was stupid.
I shouldn’t just show up here like this in the middle of the day when he’s supposed to be working.
We’re just hooking up; I can’t show up here unannounced. That’s probably not what hookups are supposed to do. I think? I don’t know.
“Oh, that’s okay, I can go. I ju—”
“Come here, Maisie,” he says, cutting me off, his tone low and commanding.
Jeez. Why the hell is that so hot?
Possibly three of the hottest words in the entire English language, and there are so many words.
Somehow, I pull myself together and walk across his office, around the desk, and stop next to his chair.
I have no idea why sometimes I feel so confident and sure of myself when it comes to him, and others I feel like a blubbering, silly girl who’s way too far out of her element.
Now is definitely one of those times.
Wilder takes a long, lingering look at my lips, one that makes me wonder what it is that he’s thinking. And then he slowly drags his eyes down the length of me as if he’s cataloging every tiny detail, all the way to the tips of my toes.
He leans back in his chair and slowly swivels to face me, his legs spread wide in that manspread thing that men do.
Reaching for me, his large palms curve around the backs of my thighs, just below the hem of my dress, and he tugs me forward.
Until I’m fit between his thighs, blinking down at him like I’m not actually about to swoon on my feet.
He doesn’t let go once I’m there, just keeps holding my thighs, his thumb running unhurriedly along my skin.
“Like this dress.”
I know he does. It’s one of his favorites, even though he’s never actually said that before. Only with his eyes.
It’s my favorite shade of pale pink that reminds me of bubble gum, with a corset bodice that flares at my hips and stops at the tops of my thighs. Short, but still tasteful.
He trails his fingers along the hem from the back around to the front. It feels so insanely erotic, and he’s not even really touching me. Just my dress.
My skin feels hot, my heart galloping wildly in my chest.
“This color… every time you wear it, it always makes your eyes look like the ocean. Dark. Deep,” he says roughly.
I swallow. “You pay attention to my dresses?”
The corner of his lip curves. “I pay attention to you.”
He does? He has been?
I know that I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t…
But I physically can’t stop myself.
My lips crash against his, and he grunts, hands moving to my waist, guiding me into his lap with a firm tug.
His fingers dig into my ass, and he kisses me like maybe he’s been missing me the way I’ve been missing him, his tongue slipping between my parted lips and brushing with mine.
We’re making out like teenagers in his office in the middle of the day, and I’m fairly sure he should be more worried about this than I am, because anyone could walk in and catch us like this.
Is it wrong that it’s kind of hot to think about?
That he’s willing to risk it, willing to face whatever repercussions just to have me. To touch and kiss me.
He nips at my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth until I feel my heartbeat between my thighs, my pussy aching and throbbing.
I manage to tear my lips from his. “Wilder.” I’m breathless. A panting, breathless mess. One that he’s created. “Wilder,” I say when he moves from my lips to my jaw, dragging his teeth down my neck. “Don’t you have a meeting?”
“Fuck.” His gaze flicks to his laptop, seeing the time, and he sighs. “I’m going to be late.”
I slide off his lap, and my gaze drops to his erection tenting the front of his sweatpants.
Knowing that I have the same effect on him that he has on me makes me feel wanted, brazen, full of the confidence that I didn’t have when I walked into his office today.
So before I even think, I drop to the floor, blinking up at him as I maneuver myself until I’m slightly beneath his desk, perched on my knees between his spread thighs.
There’s just enough room for me.
Flat against the tops of his thick thighs, I slowly glide my hands up, and his voice cracks. “Maisie…”
My name is both a warning and a plea.
Somehow, they sound the same.
My fingers brush lightly over his cock, and he hisses, eyes lit with arousal as his jaw tenses, molars grinding tightly together. There’s the slightest tremble in my hand as I slowly slip my hand inside the waistband of his sweatpants and briefs to palm his cock.
It’s like velvet in my hand, surprisingly soft and smooth. Also, impossibly long, and so hard and thick, as I tentatively circle his length with my fist.
My God, I can’t even close my fingers all the way around him. How in the hell did this even fit in me?
This is the first time I’ve ever done anything even remotely as reckless as this. Okay, maybe that’s not true anymore. There was the time in the bathroom where he took my virginity, and then those emails when I was drunk and…
Okay, fine, not the craziest thing I’ve done lately. Apparently, the new Maisie enjoys being reckless. But doing this, knowing that anyone could walk in at any second, is pretty high up on the list of impulsive, slightly insane things that I’ve done when it comes to him.
God, I want it so badly.
I want to taste him.
I want to make the legendary Wilder Hawthorne lose every ounce of his control.
Tightening my hand, I pump him slowly, and he groans, low and drawn out as his hands shoot to the arms of his chair, curling around the edges so tightly that his knuckles begin to turn white. “Fucking Christ, Maisie.”
I stop stroking him, and his eyes snap open, shooting to mine.
“You’re late for your meeting, Coach,” I whisper, staring up at him through my lashes, feeling sexier and more powerful than I have ever felt in my entire life.
I tug at the waistband of his sweats, and he lifts, letting out a low curse when he leans forward and taps the keyboard, putting him exactly where I want him.
His cock is straining against the dark gray boxer briefs that hug his thick, powerful thighs, my gaze trailing to the spot wetting the fabric where he’s leaking precum.
My pussy throbs in response, something I have zero control over.
I can’t explain why it turns me on this much to know that he’s just as helpless against his desire for me as I am for him.
I drag his briefs down just enough for his cock to spring free, resting heavily against the dark strip of hair on his stomach.
Above me, the sound of people talking floats through the speakers of Wilder’s laptop, and I roll my lips together to stifle the giggle.
This is insane.
But I’m not stopping.
“We’ll go over a few things about the upcoming series but won’t keep you long. I’ll hand this over to my team now, but thank you for being here, Coach Hawthorne,” someone says, and I watch Wilder’s jaw work before he grinds out, “No problem.”
I rise onto my knees and spit on the head of his cock, like I’ve read about in all of the “research” I’ve done preparing for this exact moment. Reading romance has made me well equipped for my first, probably very sloppy, blow job.
His gaze dips to mine, and his eyes flare, like he can’t believe I’m on my knees beneath his desk, spitting on his cock while he’s on a video call.
I can’t either, but then again, the new version of Maisie does lots of things that she hasn’t before.
Plus, we’re already this far, so…
There’s no sense in stopping now, not when I’m so turned on that I feel like I might faint.