Page 302 of Coach
I wanted this man so badly.
He reached out and unbuttoned my top button. Then the next. Then down the line until my shirt hung open, baring skin covered in a dusting of hair. Mateo reached up and ran his fingers through that hair, across my skin. A shiver raced up my spine.
Gently, he pulled my shirt over my shoulders and tossed it aside.
Then he leaned in and licked my right nipple.
So gently.
Barely a graze.
Before be clamped down with his teeth so hard I saw stars.
“Oh, fuck, babe!”
His lips replaced his teeth. Then his tongue swirled and soothed. Then his teeth, gentler this time, nibbled and released, nibbled and released.
“I’ve never been sensitive there until . . . oh . . . damn . . .”
His hands found my belt, undid the buckle, and slid it out.
Then my pants were around my ankles, dick flopping freely. His hand was on it before it could slap my stomach, stroking and teasing, swirling leakage across the tip where every sensation ever felt lived.
I tried not to twitch, to shiver again, but he rubbed me in the perfect way, sending waves of pleasure with each flick of his thumb.
Still, he kissed me, deep and full, his tongue marrying with my own until I could barely tell where he ended and I began.
He gripped my waist with his hands and moved me around so his back was to his desk, his butt leaned against the metallic edge. While we kissed, one of his hands slid down, opened a drawer, and retrieved a small bottle.
I pulled back and looked down. “You keep lube inyour office?”
He grinned and held up the bottle. “This was in my jeans when I got here. You don’t know who put it there, do you?”
My grin widened. “Some very determined guy, I bet.”
“Very,” he crooned, squirting a generous amount onto his palm before reaching behind him and swiping it across his backside.
“Here, let me,” I said, taking the bottle from him and smearing lube all over my fingers. Then I reached down between his legs and rubbed back and forth across his hole.
“Oh, shit, Shane,” he breathed in my ear. “I want you inside me so bad.”
I pressed my finger into him.
“Yes!” he wheezed. “Get it in there, deeper, please.”
“So needy.” I chuckled as I slid my finger past the knuckle, all the way into him.
His body lifted, as though a little prostate pressure could make him levitate.
“Give me another,” he insisted.
So, I did. No longer taking my time or being gentle, my second finger slid inside, spreading him apart.
“God, Shane. I love you so damn much.”
“I fucking love you, Mateo.”
“Prove it,” he commanded.
