Aiden
By the time I got my mouth and balls iced down in the trainer’s office, I almost convinced myself I could coach like a sane man again. Almost. Noah’s little stunt before the game had left me half–hard and throbbing, and if I hadn’t done something about it, I’d have been walking out there like I’d been hit in the groin.
Coach Daniels finished his last round of chest–beating at the gate, got the Wolves riled, and sent them charging out into the stadium. The roar that met them rattled the walls. Texas Wolves football was back, and Eastfield didn’t stand a damn chance tonight. Not against my
boys. Not against me.
I walked out behind them, the noise slamming into me like a wave. Thousands of fans, students, alumni, boosters, everyone on their feet. Jace, our captain, stormed onto the field like he owned it, helmet raised high. Across from us, Tyler Jackson, Eastfield’s second QB, tried to look unshaken, but I knew the truth–he was about to spend the next two hours being hunted.
From the first snap, we dominated. The Wolves tore through Eastfield’s line like it was tissue paper. Miguel lit the defense up, hitting hard enough to make the crowd groan. Jace called plays like
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he had the field in his pocket. And Noah–Christ, Noah.
He was everywhere. Firing bullets downfield, reading the defense like he’d been born with a playbook in his hands. He was faster than I’d ever seen him, sharper, fearless. One throw threaded straight through double coverage to Keon, who ran it twenty yards for a touchdown. Another time, Noah faked the handoff so clean even I bit, then cut up the sideline for a first down that had the crowd on their feet.
By the end of the first half, he wasn’t just playing well–he was untouchable. Eastfield couldn’t stop him if they doubled him, tripled
him, or prayed for divine intervention.
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And by then, every single Texas Wolves fan in that stadium knew his
name.
That was my baby boy. Noah Blake. Fucking on fire.
The chants shook the bleachers, his name rolling like thunder. My chest ached with pride I couldn’t show, my nails digging into my palms as I barked orders, called adjustments, pretended to be just the coach. Inside, I was burning.
Halftime hit. The boys jogged off the field, pumped, sweaty, shouting, slapping each other’s pads, practically glowing. I let them have their moment, then pulled them into the locker room, tore through
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adjustments, and let them breathe.
When it was time to head back out, I sent them with a clap and a grin. “Hell of a first half, Wolves. Keep it up, stay sharp, and finish this
thing.”
One by one they filed out, Jace leading, the rest piling after him, all fire and adrenaline. Noah lingered, last at the door, cheeks still
flushed, eyes wild.
“I’m proud of you,” I told him quietly, heat creeping into my throat.
“Keep it up.”
His lips curled. That reckless spark lit his face. And as he turned toward the field, he tossed it back at me, loud enough to almost echo:
“I’m gonna win this game for you—and tonight you’re gonna fuck
me.”
The words punched the air out of me. My heart stopped cold.
By the time I snapped my head around, the room was empty. Just me, alone, staring at the door like an idiot.
I dragged a hand down my face and groaned. “Damn kid… you’ll be
the death of me.”
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The Wolves didn’t just win–they annihilated Eastfield. Second half
was a bloodbath. Noah lit them up like fireworks, threading passes no one should’ve been able to throw, cutting through defenders like he’d scripted the whole game himself. By the final whistle, the score
wasn’t even close.
The crowd went feral.
And then I saw it–his teammates hoisting him onto their shoulders, carrying him off the field like he was already a legend. My chest clenched, pride and fear tangled tight. From up there, grinning,
cheeks flushed, Noah caught my eyes. And the little bastard winked at
- me.
I snapped my gaze away immediately, jaw locked. Officials were waiting. The college dean. Boosters. I shook hands, smiled just enough, played the part.
“Coach,” Jace said, stepping up with his helmet under his arm. His voice carried, serious, respectful. “We were talking. Think Blake should take the first ball of the year.”
I blinked. Jace wasn’t exactly Noah’s biggest fan. But here he was, handing over respect that meant more than any stat.
I nodded slowly. “That’s a good call, Captain. The rest’ll come around
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too. You’re a good leader, Jace. Congratulations.”
He nodded once, satisfied, and headed off with the team, their shouts
already echoing toward the locker room.
Later, as I went to lock up my office, Noah appeared in the doorway, sweaty, glowing, still buzzing from victory.
“So,” he smirked, voice low. “Your place or mine?”
I frowned. “What?”
“To fuck,” he said, stepping closer like it was obvious. “Where do you
wanna fuck me?”
My pulse spiked. “My God, Noah-” I grabbed his arm, pulling him aside, pressing him against the wall where no one could see. “You’ve got to keep that mouth of yours shut in the wrong places.”
He smirked harder, tilting his head. “We’re alone.” His body pressed into mine, heat radiating.
I wanted him. Christ, I wanted him. But I forced steel into my voice. “The team expects you at the celebration. They need you, Noah. They need to see you as one of them. Take your glory. Take your moment. We’ll talk later.”
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He sighed, frustrated but not fighting it. With one last smoldering look, he slipped away toward the noise and lights of his teammates.
I turned the key in the lock and walked toward the gates, steadying
my breath–then froze.
“Congratulations.”
I spun.
Devon. My former quarterback. The one Noah had replaced. Standing just outside the crowd, eyes sharp, smile thin.
“Thank you. It’s a great team.” I nodded, trying to pass him by.
“You’re looking good, ex–coach.” Devon stepped closer, the smirk
never touching his eyes. “And so does your golden boy,” he added,
voice dripping.
“Yes,” I said flatly, shoulders tight. “He’s fantastic.”
Devon leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “Does he know I used to be him?”
My blood boiled. “You were never him, Devon.”
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His grin sharpened. “Oh, c’mon. I’ve seen how he looks at you… Same
way I did when I used to suck your cock.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
