Chapter 2
blair
I’m sprawled on the couch in nothing but gray sweatpants, phone wedged between my ear and shoulder, when Camila’s voice cuts through the speaker like she’s already three steps ahead of me.
“—and Dad says the waiver packet is ‘priority,’ whatever the fuck that means coming from him. He couldn’t even bother to text you himself. Again.”
I snort, dragging a hand through my damp hair. Practice ran long, my muscles still ache in that good, bruised way, and the apartment smells like the Thai takeout I barely touched. “Shocking. The man remembers how to wire money but forgets how to dial my number. Classic Reyes senior.”
Camila chuckles. She’s the only one who gets it.
The only one who has to run interference between me and the old man’s endless stream of passive-aggressive demands.
“I’m literally his secretary at this point.
He’s got me forwarding enrollment shit like I don’t have my own finals to worry about.
You sign those late-enrollment waivers yet, or are you still ‘forgetting’ them in your gym bag? ”
“Still forgetting,” I say, grinning even though she can’t see it. “I’ll get to it. Eventually.”
“You’re such a little shit, Blair. I swear—”
A sharp knock at the door cuts her off mid-sentence. Two firm raps, no hesitation. My stomach flips before my brain even catches up. That scent slips under the door and hits me square in the chest. Slick gathers between my thighs, a traitorous little pulse that makes me shift on the couch.
“Cam, I gotta go,” I mutter, already pushing to my feet. “Someone’s at the door.”
“Better not be another puck bunny trying to climb you like a goalpost. I swear if I have to hear about another one—”
“It’s not.”
“Oh, it’s that coach lady!”
Fuck. I tell my sister way too much shit. “Talk later.” I hang up before she can grill me further and toss the phone onto the coffee table. My cock is already half-hard under the thin sweatpants, traitor that it is. I adjust myself quickly, trying to play it cool, and pad barefoot to the door.
I open it to find Coach Sol there, red hair pulled into a messy knot, her Knotlocke Athletics hoodie zipped halfway down like she couldn’t be bothered to finish the job.
She’s holding a manila folder thick with papers in one hand, and the smirk on her face says she already knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Reyes,” she says, voice smooth as ice. “You gonna let me in or make me stand out here while you pretend you don’t know why I’m here?”
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected even as my pulse kicks up. “Coach. To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to tuck me in?”
Her smirk deepens, one eyebrow lifting. She steps inside without waiting for an actual invitation, brushing past me close enough that her scent floods my lungs.
“Late-enrollment waivers,” she says, holding up the folder. “The ones you ‘lost’ twice already. Figured I’d deliver them in person before you magically misplace them a third time.”
I trail after her into the kitchen like a dumbass, watching the way her hips move under those black athletic pants. “I didn’t lose them. They’re… somewhere. Probably.”
“Somewhere.” She sets the folder on the granite counter with a soft slap, then turns to face me, arms braced on either side of the island. “You’re a terrible liar, Blair. Always have been.”
I flash her my best shit-eating grin, the one that usually gets me out of drills or extra suicides. “Maybe I just like making you chase me down, Coach. Builds character.”
She laughs once, the sound going straight to my dick. I’m fully hard now, no hiding it under these sweatpants. I shift my weight, trying to play it off, but her eyes flick down for half a second, before a knowing smirk spreads across her lips.
“You’re playing stupid tonight,” she says, stepping around the counter toward me. “Cute.”
I back up on instinct, but the kitchen isn’t that big.
My ass hits the edge of the counter, and I stop, my heart hammering in my chest. She keeps coming until she’s right there, close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off her, but not quite touching.
Both hands plant on the granite on either side of my hips, caging me in, her scent wrapping around me, making more slick leak out of me in a slow, embarrassing rush.
“You think you’re funny, Reyes?” she murmurs, mouth an inch from my ear. Her breath ghosts over my skin, and I shiver so hard my shoulders twitch.
“Always,” I manage, voice rougher than I want it to be.
She stays there for a long beat, letting me feel every inch of the space between us. My cock strains against the front of my sweats, aching as slick soaks the seat of my pants now. I’m trembling by the time she finally steps back and picks up her bag from the counter.
“Sign the damn waivers, Blair. Tonight.” She turns toward the door like she’s actually leaving.
My brain short-circuits and the next words tumble out before I can stop them. “You’re not even gonna eat me first?” Fuck. Stupid Blair. Shit.
She pauses at the threshold, back still to me. Then she turns slowly, that smirk back with a little bit more darkness. “Only good boys get their asses ate, Reyes.”
But she doesn’t leave. Instead, she walks back over and stops right in front of me again. One hand comes up, fingers sliding into my hair at the back of my head.
“On your knees,” she muses, the command wrapped in velvet.
I drop like it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. My hands go to her hips automatically, steadying myself. I look up at her through my lashes and grin, because fuck it, this is exactly where I want to be.
Sol’s eyes darken. “Don’t get used to this.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Coach,” I lie, already hooking my fingers into the waistband of her athletic pants.
I tug them down, taking my time. Her panties come partway with them, black, simple, and already damp at the crotch.
I don’t bother pulling them the rest of the way off.
I just shove the fabric aside and lean in, mouth open, tongue dragging a long, filthy stripe up her center.
She hisses out a breath, hand tightening in my hair. “Fuck, Blair.”
I laugh against her, the sound muffled. “Tastes like you’ve been thinking about this too.”
“Shut up and eat me properly, or I walk out right now.”
I bury my face between her thighs and go to work like I’ve been starving for it.
I lick and suck and tease, tongue circling her clit before dipping lower, pushing my tongue inside her just to hear the way her breath catches.
She’s wet, so fucking wet, and the taste of her makes my head spin.
More slick drips down my own thighs, but I don’t care. I just want her to fall apart.
I ease her backward until her ass hits the counter stool, then I nudge her thighs wider and settle in deeper. One hand slides up her stomach under the hoodie, my palm finding the underside of her tit and nothing else. No tanktop, bra... just... nothing.
The other grips her hip, holding her steady while I work her open with my tongue. She’s trying to stay quiet, I can tell by the way her thighs are trembling around my ears, but little gasps keep slipping out anyway.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her, pulling back just enough to speak. “Let me hear you, Coach. Come on. I’ve been good.”
She laughs, breathless and wrecked. “You’re never good.”
I dive back in, sucking her clit between my lips and flicking my tongue just right. Her hips jerk, her hand fisting tighter in my hair. I feel the exact moment she starts to come undone, her thighs clamping around my head, a low groan tearing out of her throat that goes straight to my aching cock.
Every part of me wants to stand up and rip my pants down my legs before fucking into her, but I refrain. She’d kill me. But god, just the fantasy of her locking down on my cock...
A heady groan pulls from my throat as I lick her through her orgasm, greedy for more of her, until she’s shuddering and pushing at my shoulder.
“Enough,” she pants, dragging my head back by my hair. She yanks me into a filthy kiss, tongue sliding against mine, tasting herself on me. I moan into her mouth, my hips rocking uselessly against nothing. She breaks the kiss with a sharp nip to my bottom lip.
“Goodnight, Blair,” she says against my mouth, voice hoarse.
Then she’s gone, pointing one more time to the forms, her pants barely tugged back up, door clicking shut behind her before I can even process it.
I stay on my knees for a second, lips swollen and slick with her. My cock is throbbing, untouched, but when I finally look down, I realize I’ve already come. A wet spot darkens the front of my sweatpants, mixing with the slick pooling between my legs.
A broken whimper slips out of me before I can stop it.
I need more.
I need her to come back and ruin me properly.
I drag myself up on shaky legs, bracing one hand on the counter, and stare at the closed door like it might open again if I glare hard enough.
When nothing happens, I grab the folder, because even if my brain is still offline, my body knows the drill.
I flip it open on the counter and start signing page after page, pen moving on autopilot while my mind replays every second of the last ten minutes on loop.
The waivers are done in under five minutes.
I shove them back into the folder and set it by the door, so I won’t “lose” them again.
Then I head straight for the shower, stripping off the ruined sweats on the way.
Hot water hits my skin and I lean against the tile, my hand finally wrapping around my still-hard cock.
I come again with her name in my mouth and the certainty that this, whatever the hell this is between us, is nowhere near finished.
At Knotlocke, the handbook is very clear. No rules against dating coaches and players. Hell, they auction off Alphas every month to raise money for the sports programs. A little boundary-pushing with my coach? That’s practically tradition.
I smile against the shower spray, already half-hard again.
Yeah. I definitely need more.