Page 87 of Whistle

I sucked them into my mouth and licked them clean.

Emmett collapsed on top of me and rolled, draping me over his chest. I sighed, burying my face against him, breathing deep the scent of sex and man. His fingers threaded in my hair and began stroking.

And for the first time in so very long, I was at peace.

19

Coach (Emmett)

My nature often overruled the rest of me, instinct overpowering good sense. It was why I led a simple, uncluttered life. I knew better than this—to get involved with a man half my age, one I was coaching, no less.

It went against the rigid standards I held myself to. Laughed right in my face. It was wrong.

So fucking wrong.

Yet here came my nature… naturing like it had never natured before. Giving a big ol’ middle finger to the past twenty years and the life I’d worked hard to build.

I flew across the country, got him out of jail. Kissed him when he nearly got me shot. Said nothing when he skipped practices, decked a student, pinned him to my desk, and sucked his dick.

And now he was in my bed. Under my skin. Trying to use those purple-painted nails to claw his way into my heart.

Rationally, my mind kept whispering this was impossible. Forbidden. Maybe even a touch taboo. I couldn’t risk my job, team, and daughter for a brat I barely knew.

I couldn’t have him.

I took him anyway. Claimed him. Mine.

The alpha male in me roared in delight, salivated at the way he surrendered. I might live a simple, uncluttered life, but I was no choir boy and I knew better than to deny that side of me the room to run. I didn’t date, but I fucked. The Bangr app was quite handy for finding men who liked my particular brand of release. They showed up and let me take control and then send them on their way. It worked well until I stumbled across that photo. Until I got a taste of the man in it.

Daddy. Fuck me sideways, was he irresistible. Those baby blues. All that blond hair.

His sweet submission.

It was different with him somehow. More. The way he gave himself over and became putty in my hands. I was used to my partners letting me lead, but Bodhi? He gave in. This brat who fought, yelled, and never backed down put himself in my hands and surrendered.

The way he clung. The vibration in the air from his whine. His malleable limbs and obedient stare. He checked out of his own head but remained with me.

The trust in that was overwhelming yet incredibly empowering. It fed a part of me that was starved, a part I thought I kept satisfied enough.

I would never be satisfied enough again. Now that I knew what true submission felt like when given, there could never be less.

And that terrified me. I would regret this in the morning.

Except, when daylight began teasing the horizon, regret was not the emotion that roused me from sleep. A warm, wet mouth slid over me, and my back bowed into the sensation.

While I still floated on the surface of sleep, my dick roused, lengthening and hardening in the confines of his mouth. The tight fit around me glided up and down, shooting tingles of pleasure into my stomach while strands of silky hair brushed across my groin, tickling the base of my cock.

Groaning, I glanced down at the blond head bobbing in the center of my body. Feeling my attention, he looked up through the curtain of his rumpled, long hair with sleepy blue eyes and lips stretched around my dick. His cheeks hollowed as he continued to suck, increasing the pressure on my shaft and using his tongue to flirt with the sensitive divot at the base of my tip.

Exhaling roughly, I tangled my fingers in the length of his hair. His eyes never left me as he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, swiping up my length like some sort of cock slut and moaning like it was the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth.

Tightening my grip on his head, I thrust up, gliding so deep inside him it triggered his gag reflex. I pulled back, but he chased and gagged around me again.

“Easy,” I murmured, trying to pull him off.

A string of saliva stretched from his plump lips to my glistening dick, and his chin was smeared with spit. He looked debauched and addicted as the tip of his tongue darted out to the corner of his lip as if he didn’t want to waste a single taste.

“Goldilocks,” I beckoned, voice gravelly from sleep.

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