Chapter 8
Noah
I’d only made it two floors up before I realized I’d left my headphones.
Of course I had. My brain was fried from trying to memorize every stat and medical note Coach threw at me. All day I’d been one command away from combusting. Every time he looked at me, it felt like a test–and every time I passed, he barely even blinked.
No praise. No nod. No nothing.
And yeah, I hated how much that messed with me.
I headed back down, figuring I could slip in, grab them, and be back in my room before anyone saw me looking like a damn kicked puppy.
The gym was dark, the main lights off except for the soft glow by the mirrors. I stepped inside and spotted the headphones instantly–right where I’d left them on the bench, coiled like a snake waiting to bite me in the ass.
I snatched them up with a quiet sigh.
And that’s when I heard it.
Water.
The showers were on.
I paused.
For some reason–God knows why–I stepped closer.
The light over the showers flickered faintly. The door wasn’t shut. Just cracked.
Steam curled into the hallway like an invitation. And through it, the door to the shower room opened, exposing someone who most likely thought no one
was up by now.
Coach.
Back to me. Water streaming down his skin, broad shoulders tense, one arm braced on the wall.
His other hand moved.
Slow. Rhythmic. Deliberate.
I stopped breathing.
He must’ve seen my headphones earlier. He had to know I might come back for them.
Was this intentional? Was he waiting–tempting me like the devil he was?
Tempting.
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4:23 pm P P P M
Chapter 8
Yeah, that was the word. Because despite every voice in my head screaming that I was straight, that this was just admiration… I stood Bozen, hypnotized by the way the water slid over every glorious inch of him. Over the ridges of his back, down the sculpted curves of his ass, trailing along these strong, scared
legs like they belonged to a myth.
I pressed myself against the wall, deeper into the shadows, breath ragged.
This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong.
He’s my coach. I’m younger. This is insane.
But I didn’t leave.
I should have. I should’ve walked out, slammed the door, erased the images forming in my mind.
After all, he was an asshole. Cold. Uninterested. Distant.
All he’d done since this trip started was boss me around, mock me, criticize every breath I took. I doubted he even liked me. Hell, did he even see me beyond
my stats?
And then he turned.
And everything stopped.
The air. My thoughts. My heart.
He reached for the body wash and dragged it over his chest, thick white foam coating his skin, his broad hands moving with infuriating slowness. Down his chest. Over his abs. Lower.
My mouth went dry.
I wanted to touch him. To feel those muscles with my fingers. My lips.
To taste him.
Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I watched as the suds ran down his body, clinging to every line of his frame. The air was thick with steam and his minty scent–sharp, clean, dominant- wrapping around me like a drug.
He rinsed slowly, washing away the last of the soap, water cascading in waves over his skin. And just as I was about to bolt–just as my body started to move -his hand dipped low.
No.
He wrapped his fingers around his cock.
I swallowed hard. My throat burned.
I hadn’t let myself look before. I’d tried not to. But now?
Now, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
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4:23 pm
Chapter 8
Hard. Thick, Leaking.
He stroked himself without shame. Without rush. From the base to the tip, squeezing lightly before sliding down again, slose and controlled–just like
everything else he did.
My dick twitched. I froze.
Look away.
Leave.
Go.
But I didn’t.
And when his hand twisted, spreading his own pre–cum over the shaft, working it in a lazy, practiced rhythm–I was gone.
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RVisitor
Damn!! where ObeyNet at.
7 days ago
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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.
