Page 149 of Whistle

32

Coach (Emmett)

I’m being reckless.

I told myself this for the umpteenth time as I lurked on the edges of the party. Even knowing how unrestrained I was acting wasn’t enough to change my behavior, so I guess that made me reckless and stupid.

The look on his face, though. I’d rather be castrated with papercuts than see that again. I knew he didn’t want me to do the auction, but I had no choice. I thought he understood that. However, the desaturation of the air around him and the color of his cheeks when he realized I was in fact heading to the stage was morbid. Like watching a color photograph drain to black and white. The way it signified death was disturbing.

God, he looked good tonight, standing there among a sea of neckties but wholly standing out. Cheekbones and baby blues on full display with those golden locks pulled back in a low ponytail. The wayward curl that escaped to brush against his cheek was nothing but a little tease, taunting that it could touch him and I could not.

It was getting harder and harder to maintain boundaries, to pretend he was just my swimmer when he was so much more.

Which was exactly why I was creeping like some goblin in a darkened corner, hovering in the shadows, just waiting for a moment to make my move.

I ground my teeth watching the little shit drain a glass of champagne and then reach for another. My body fought against my mind, instinct demanding I rip the alcohol away from him and spank his misbehaving ass.

That was what he needed. A fucking spanking.

Thankfully, what was left of the rational part of me kept me rooted in place.

Finally, the opportunity presented itself, and I moved fast, snatching him from the open space where the rich mingled and laughed, pulling him into the darkened alcove.

A strangled gasp escaped between his lips, and I pushed him up against the wall and slapped my hand over his mouth before he could draw attention. The second his surprised blue eyes met mine, they narrowed and his nostrils flared to huff hot breath over my hand.

“You gonna behave?” I whispered low, the question practically a warning.

Defiance scorched his stare, and I pressed a little more firmly against him. “I need you to be a good boy right now, Goldilocks.”

His eyes rolled, and I glared until he relented and nodded slightly. Finally, I lowered my palm from his mouth, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“You said you wouldn’t do this,” he accused.

“No. You asked, but I never agreed.”

Hurt cracked through his eyes like lightning, and he shoved me back. My shoes scuffed over the floor as I grappled to stay in the shadows. But even as I did, he escaped them, slipping through my fingers like water in the pool.

“Bodhi,” I hissed, but he kept going without a backward glance.

A waiter walked by with a freshly replenished tray, and Bodhi snagged another drink and headed back toward the party.

Those boundaries I mentioned before? I trampled them into the dirt as I shot out of the alcove and grabbed him from behind. His strangled intake of breath was accompanied by the ice in the tumbler clinking against the crystal as I towed him back.

Forgoing the alcove, I drew him into a short hallway and pushed him into a bathroom where I locked the door behind us.

When I turned, his face was a mask of rebellion and held the same insolent expression he wore the night I’d gotten him out of jail. Like a bull, he charged forward, but I caught the lapels of his jacket and spun, slamming his back against the wall. Whatever he was drinking—whiskey by the smell of it—sloshed over the rim of the glass and splattered against the floor.

“Unless you want to go up on stage wet and smelling like a drunk, get your hands off me,” he threatened, pulling the glass back as though he would toss the contents in my face.

Nonplussed, I bulldozed my lips into his for an ardent kiss, ignoring the way his mouth was pinched with anger and flavored with booze. I licked over the seam anyway, reaching between us to grab his chin in a possessive grip.

The give was instant, his whimper filling the room as he wrapped his arms around my neck and melted into me. The tumbler he’d just sworn to baptize me with slipped from his fingers and hit the unforgiving floor with a crack. Glass shattered and whiskey splashed against the back of my pant leg, but I was too caught up in him to care.

He tasted like single malt and trouble, felt like heaven and hell, and pressed every button I never knew I had. I didn’t care that this was inappropriate or that anyone could find us here. All I cared about was giving this brat what he needed and reminding him who was in charge.

Growling, I charged into his mouth, greedily stroking my tongue along his until he relented and let me take complete control. His dick strained against his trousers and stabbed into my thigh while his restless hands rubbed across my shoulders. Reaching back, I unbound his hair, letting the golden waves I so loved spill free.

Humming, I tangled my fingers in the strands and forced his head back so I could claim another bruising kiss. His hands fumbled with my pants, undoing the button and forcing the zipper past my erection. With them open, he shoved beneath the waistband of the boxer briefs to wrap his fingers around my shaft.

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