Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

LEMON

T his is the longest I have ever stayed at the festival. I’ve been here for two hours. I arrive just before the auction starts and pop into the tent serendipitously right before Peyton is up.

Fucker spots me immediately. His eyes don’t leave mine. I shake my head, but this cheeky fucker just keeps nodding at me.

I don’t bid, therefore I don’t win. If it had been nearly anyone else who asked me to, I might have been convinced just to support them. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for my kids if they ask. But I know Peyton and that would send the wrong message. It would say he had a chance.

He doesn’t.

When he steps off the stage, he walks right to me and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure I was clear, Coach.”

“You’ve been crystal clear, Peyton. Maybe I haven’t been clear. I don’t date my students,” I answer.

He stares at me, and I can practically see the wheels turning, so I quickly add, “Nor do I have any other kind of relationship with my students outside of coach/athlete.”

Peyton huffs. “I’m not going to be a student for much longer.”

The next words out of my mouth are almost, “You’re a good kid but…” I don’t say them, though. There’s nothing more insulting than being called or referred to as a kid by someone you’re interested in. Besides, I don’t call my students kids because I think of them as children. It’s not like that at all.

I just… it kind of expresses the age gap to me. It reminds me that these are my boys to take care of, to support, and teach, and be a role model for. To know them and care about them enough that I spot when something is wrong, be it superficial or something truly bad going on.

Peyton won’t understand that’s what I mean when I say kid, though. He’s going to think the same thing I did growing up.

Child.

I don’t want him to feel like that. Especially not right now when I’m practically rejecting him. I avoid any of the other clichés too. All those predicted lines of ‘it’s not the right time’ or ‘you’re a great guy.’

Instead, I do something that might be seen as counterproductive. I pull Peyton to me and wrap his big body in a tight hug.

He’s surprised. I can feel the way he jumps slightly. It’s a few heartbeats before he returns my embrace.

There’s a rule at Disney amusement parks that states that a character cannot end a hug when a child embraces them. It’s up to the child to back up first.

With my kids—my players—I always enforce that rule. So I keep Peyton in my arms for a long time. “Thanks,” he murmurs after a while and stands back. His cheeks are flushed and that almost arrogant air about him has simmered until he’s more… balanced.

“I’m happy to be your friend,” I tell him. “We can talk about whatever you want as long as it doesn’t interfere with football, but Peyton, this isn’t going to happen. Okay?”

He sighs. “Am I too tall?”

I stare at him, unsure if I really just heard that.

“Too loud? I have too many muscles, don’t I?”

My laughter is loud as I shove him. “Stop. You’re perfect the way you are and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I can give you a whole bunch of reasons that are all going to sound like lines and excuses, but I don’t want you to walk away with that heavy feeling. So I’m not going to. We’re just going to say that this isn’t going to happen. Not now and not ever.”

Peyton sighs, but nods. “Okay.” His voice is quiet, and he gives me an almost shy smile. “Thanks for being gentle.”

I pat his cheek. “Go have fun.”

He nods but doesn’t move. Since I can still see the hope in his eyes, I make myself turn away. Okay, that’s more than I can manage today.

On my way out of the tent, I spot Hansley with Alka and his two guys. It takes a lot not to scowl. Or to admit that the ragey feeling inside me is jealousy.

Hansley looks up and his eyes lock on mine. I stare as I walk in his direction, though not toward him. He doesn’t look away as I walk by. Hopefully, he keeps watching as I head for the hockey arena.

We haven’t talked a lot in person over the last few days, but we have spent hours talking online. I make sure to remind him how much I hate him every hour or so, but… I don’t think I’m doing a good job of making him believe it. I need to step up my game.

Not right now, though. Not when I haven’t felt his hands on me in ages.

Pushing my hand into my pocket, I close it around the condom and travel packet of lube. My pace quickens as I let myself into the arena. I can hear the activity on the ice. During these festivals, the entire campus is filled with activities. Every building. Every square foot of outdoor space. My poor field gets all kinds of divots in it.

I slip into the stairwell and head downstairs. The halls are silent. I move through the trans flag hall and try Hansley’s office door. A thrill goes through me when I find it unlocked.

Silently, just in case someone is around, I push it open and slink inside, shutting it silently behind me. It’s dim, with just a little light illuminating the room from his monitor. Biting my lip, I pull the straps to the one piece I’m wearing and let it drop before stepping out of my underwear. I fold them and set them on the bookshelf as if that’s where they’ve always belonged.

Then I sit in his chair behind his desk and take a deep, shuddering breath. Wrapping my hand around my cock, I slowly stroke myself as I stare at the door. And wait.

And wait.

Forty-five minutes go by and I’m getting annoyed. I think the annoyance is trying to take over so I don’t have to examine the little smidge of doubt that he’s not coming. Maybe he didn’t watch me walk away. Maybe he did, and he’s choosing not to come here.

My breath catches when I hear voices. Everything inside me freezes as I stare wide-eyed. Multiple voices. They’re getting closer. My heart races when I recognize one of them as Hansley’s.

The door handle wiggles.

I force nonchalance as I lean back and continue to stroke my dick. This is going to get really awkward if a lot of people walk in right now.

The door opens and Hansley turns to step inside. His eyes meet mine, widen as his mouth drops open, and he quickly backs out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I can’t hear his words, but I hear his voice. It’s at that tone where you know the words, but they’re muffled just enough that you can’t understand. Which is maddening.

The voices walk away and I begin to sweat. He’s not leaving, is he? Ohmigod, what if he doesn’t come back?! What if he leaves me here???

The door cracks open and Hansley steps inside. His back remains to me as he quietly shuts the door. The snap of the lock sounds like it echoes. A moment passes before he finally faces me.

“What took you so long?” I snap.

All that anxiety that he might not show up and then the worry that he might choose to walk away instead of coming in here has my nerves frayed.

“I’m not sure how it works in football,” he says as he shrugs out of his shirt. My eyes drop to his chest. “But in hockey, we tell people where they need to be and when. Therefore, we can avoid the eventuality that they’re late or that they have people with them.”

He’s approaching me. Stalking me. Looming over me sitting naked and hard in his chair.

“You should have followed me,” I demand, but it sounds far too breathy to contain the force I intended it to have.

“Again, communication, Lemon. I know you know what that is.”

I bristle, eyes narrowing.

He pulls me to my feet and his mouth closes over mine. This is the very first time that he’s actually initiated anything. Well, if we don’t count the fact that I was here naked and waiting for him.

His hand drops to my dick and I whimper into his mouth.

“Does you being naked mean you want to fuck?” he asks against my mouth.

I’d love to be snarky right now, but my entire body clenches. “Yes,” I hiss. “Hurry up.”

I’m not sure what his plan is when I shove the open lube packet at his chest. He fumbles for a minute before picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist. I’m about to tell him this works better when his pants are off too, but his fingers dip below me and immediately push against my hole.

Do I ride his digits while he’s holding me? I do. It’s awkward and not nearly as effective as almost any other position, but I can reach his mouth this way so I can feverishly kiss him hungrily. It’s sloppy and wet, biting. Rough.

“Condom,” he asks.

I nod. “Desk.”

He puts me on my feet and I grab the lube from him. While he rolls on the condom in the weird, dim light of the monitor, I make sure that I’m properly lubed for him. Then squirt the rest on his cock.

Hansley grips my shoulders and turns me around, pushing me toward his desk until I’m bent over it. His mouth is on my shoulder right away and I grip the edge of his desk as I feel his crown against my hole.

“Sexy little fuck,” he murmurs.

“That’s insulting,” I say, trying to stifle the shiver that his tone caused.. “I’m a fucking queen. Treat me like one.”

He chuckles. I open my mouth to tell him he better learn how to fucking worship when he breaches my body and I choke on the words.

Gawd, why does he feel so good?! This should be criminal.

“Sexy little queen,” he murmurs. “Feisty. Beautiful.”

I’m breathless. The way his words caress me has me almost whining.

“Such attitude, but it makes perfect sense,” he says, ending on a groan as he bottoms out. “Queen Lem.”

“Fuck me,” I demand with as stern a voice as I can.

His lips are curled in a smile as he presses kisses to the back of my shoulder. Hansley always fucks me how I want to be fucked. Hard or slow, deep or shallow. It doesn’t matter. He’s perfect at all of it.

And he’s always so mindful too. So careful. His touch is as gentle as it is firm.

My eyes roll when he begins to fuck me how I want him to. I try like hell to keep my moans and grunts down. He might have locked his door, but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t stand right outside and hear us.

He brings his hand around and clamps it over my mouth after a while. Then he fucks me harder.

His breath is harsh in my ear. With each rough slap of his hips to my ass, each deep plunge inside me, my head spins.

“Still hate me, Lemon?” he growls. I try to nod. “Hate that I make you feel so good? Hate that you come for me?”

I whine behind his hand. I’m so fucking close.

“Hate that I see through you and the castle-like walls you’ve always lived behind?”

Too good. I just nod. Then shake my head. Nodding is admitting he’s right.

“You hate that you don’t hate me, don’t you, Lemon?”

I refuse to answer. Not that I can. Even if his hand wasn’t over my mouth to contain the sinful sounds I’m making, his cock driving into me like this would still render me incapable of coherent speech.

What I totally hate is how he can now read me like a book when we’re fucking. He knows when I need his hand on my dick for that last little push and pulls me back a bit so he can reach my needy cock. Hansley jerks me until I’m writhing in his hold and coming all over the place.

He doesn’t stop, but continues to fuck me. Keeping his hand over my mouth as he drives home. There’s a change in how he fucks once I’ve reached orgasm. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. Not exactly. But it’s different. Both more and less intense.

“You hate that I can make you come like this, don’t you?”

I grit my jaw, pretending his thrusts don’t make my brain rattle in my head.

Heat rushes over me when he comes. He’s louder when he pants this time while his cock throbs in my ass. As if maybe he’s lost a bit of self-control. He groans low. So low that I think I feel the sound in my bones.

Then he stills before his weight comes down on me. He releases my mouth, but I don’t have the breath to tell him to get up. My body shakes deliciously.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs into my hair, pressing soft kisses to my scalp. “Tell me you hate me, Lemon.”

“I hate you,” I whisper.

He chuckles. “You can do better than that.”

The thing is, I don’t think I can.