8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I woke up today and I can't stop smiling.

Jon didn't disagree as he grinned down at Kieran's text.

Then another one arrived, right under the first one of the morning. Nadia asked me if I finally got laid.

What did you tell her? Jon asked.

He wasn't upset if Kieran had confided in his friend. But he was also curious what Kieran had said to her. I told her it wasn't any of her business. But I don't think she believed me.

Why not?

Kieran sent him a picture then—a selfie, actually—and yes, he was grinning. A big wide smile on his handsome face, and oh yeah, there in the crook of his neck, was an undeniable red splotch on his tan skin. A red splotch that Jon's mouth had made just the night before.

Whoops.

He'd known at some point during the second, lazier makeout session that he'd gotten a little obsessed with the way Kieran smelled and then tasted like, but mostly the way he moaned, deep and resonant, when Jon kissed his neck.

So he'd kept doing it. A lot. He'd assumed he hadn't left any marks, but apparently he'd underestimated his own fervor.

And isn't that the theme of this? You underestimated everything.

How straight you are.

How much you like Kieran .

How intoxicating he is.

Whoops. Sorry.

Don't be. I definitely liked it.

Yeah, Kieran had. Had really liked it when Jon had sucked his neck and gave him another, slower, more deliberate, hopefully better handjob.

Then Kieran had slid to his knees and blown Jon's mind with his mouth.

He'd never considered himself sex-obsessed but he kinda was, now.

Couldn't wait another twelve hours before he could see Kieran again.

What else do you like?

Jon was really glad he was in his office, alone, and he was sitting at his desk, because Kieran texted back. You. Hard and leaking against my tongue and coming down my throat.

He cleared his throat. Feeling the hard, aching pulse throbbing insistently in his pants.

You're not playing fair.

And you like it.

I love it.

You going hard to your meeting?

I'm TRYING not to but someone insists on tormenting me.

Bad news. We got another reservation for tonight. It's gonna be packed. Not gonna be able to meet up.

Jon groaned out loud.

I know, Kieran texted before Jon could even answer. I'm bummed, too. But you're gonna still get yourself off. I'm gonna talk you through it.

Now?

Jon tried to pretend that his heartbeat accelerating was because what Kieran was suggesting was reckless and stupid and he shouldn't do it. But in reality, he didn't think he'd ever been this excited, ever.

He wanted all of this, and he wanted more.

You have your meeting, Kieran said, and Jon could practically hear his words in that cute, teasing tone of his. After. Later tonight. I'll slip away before it gets busy. I wanna talk you through it. I wanna hear you come.

What about you?

I'm gonna enjoy the hell out of just this. Trust me on this one.

"You ready for the meeting?"

Jon looked up from his phone, feeling flushed and guilty.

"I . . .uh . . .yeah," he stammered.

Randy, the offensive coordinator, had poked his head into his office, and gave him a confused glance at Jon's awkwardness.

"You sure you're okay? Mr. G. saw you dancing down the hallway this morning, and now this?"

"Mr. G saw that?" He'd had no idea his boss had seen him being so excited about Kieran. Of course, Mr. G might understand, being queer himself, but their focus needed to be on this football team. Besides, whatever was going on with Kieran was so new that Jon wasn't ready yet to talk about it.

He thought he would, eventually, but he'd always tried to keep his personal life and his professional life separate. In his opinion, they didn't need to cross. Whatever he was doing with Kieran, as long as it was well . . . mostly . . .in his off time, then why did it matter? If he did his job, that was what should matter to Mr. G and the rest of the team.

"Oh, he did. Was laughing about it."

The one positive was that Randy's questions had finally softened his erection. Jon picked up his laptop and his notepad and headed towards the door, joining Randy as they walked towards the conference room.

"I bet he was," Jon said dryly.

"I was expectin' you'd be telling me that the rookies shaped up in practice last night, or something," Randy joked.

"God, I wish," Jon said.

"We'll get them ready."

"I'm glad you're feeling confident about it," Jon retorted.

"I've done this a bunch of times. They always show up thinkin' they know better. But they always fall in line."

Jon knew he was young for a head coach in the NFL, and so it had made sense for him to hire two older men, two much more experienced men to be his coordinators.

Randy had bounced around to half a dozen NFL clubs, his innovative offense schemes transforming each team. Jon was an offensive guru himself, so he'd wanted someone who he was sure would never stop pushing the envelope.

Randy had been exactly that guy. He'd been a perfect hire, grounding his staff in his experience and yet fighting for them to be better, to be different .

"I'll take your word on that," Jon said. This was such a learning experience. He'd only been an offensive coordinator, never a head coach, and besides, college was different than the NFL, 'cause those guys wanted it so bad, so desperate to keep their scholarships, they'd fall in line. A few of them had developed egos at that point, but they were easy enough to puncture.

But once the guys made it to the NFL, they were given a lot of money and had spent the last few years being told by the media and everyone around them that they were hot shit.

It was not quite as easy to puncture that kind of ego, as Jon was finding out.

"So, you're not gonna tell me what you were so happy about?" Randy asked when they were almost to the conference room.

"I . . .uh . . ." Jon decided he could at least be a little bit honest. "I met someone, actually."

Randy grinned at him. "They make you happy, huh?"

Jon nodded. Happier than anyone else had ever made him. First as a friend, then as a lover.

"Well, I can tell." Randy patted him on the back. "Happiness looks good on you."

"Oh hey, boss, that is a hickey ," Brock teased as soon as he walked in.

Kieran rolled his eyes. Amused, not annoyed, though.

He knew his staff teasing him was out of love, and frankly, he couldn't even regret it.

"You finally hit that?" he asked as Kieran pulled his phone out of his pocket. Jon had promised to text him when he'd gotten home. When he was finally alone.

It wouldn't be the same as being together. As getting to kiss and touch Jon himself, but Kieran was going to take advantage of every chance he could get.

He was in deep, not just in his friendship with Jon, but the love affair this was quickly becoming.

In so deep, he had no intentions of trying to swim out.

Kieran didn't answer Brock—only grinned, and knew that, coupled with the hickey, was probably enough for him to figure it out.

"I'm ducking out," he told Nadia and Brock. "Hold down the fort."

"Enjoy yourself," Nadia called out to him, shooting him a knowing look.

Kieran shot her an amused glare back.

He didn't pull his phone out and call Jon until he was in his truck, the door locked behind him.

He'd specifically parked in the darkest corner of the lot when he'd gotten back from grabbing dinner at the nearby deli.

"Hey." Jon's voice was already breathless, full of desire.

And you know what that sounds like now. You heard it, loud and in surround sound, last night. You're never gonna be able to forget it.

"God, you sound so hot, all worked up like that," Kieran admitted.

He'd told himself to play it cool.

But they'd made an appointment to have phone sex tonight.

That wasn't playing it cool, at all.

"I am." Jon's voice cracked. "Just thinking about this all day . . .how do people get work done?"

Kieran laughed. "I'm honored. Touched, even."

"Wish I could touch you." This confession sounded wrenched out of Jon's mouth.

"Yeah." Kieran couldn't help himself, reached down and palmed his cock, already half-hard in his jeans, and yeah , wished it wasn't his hand, but Jon's. Clever and competent, with those calluses that he was still thinking about.

"You touching yourself?" Jon asked roughly.

"Yes."

"Me too."

Jon's breath came sharper, harder.

"Slowly," Kieran ordered.

Jon gasped, the sound unmistakable.

"Yeah, you like that," Kieran said, and he liked it too. Loved the idea that he was the one giving Jon the pleasure, even if it was Jon's hand on his cock.

"I love it." Jon panted.

"You goin' slow?"

Jon made a frustrated noise. It was so hot Kieran couldn't help it anymore. He shoved his jeans down and slid his fingers into his underwear. He hadn't intended to indulge too, but he had a change of clothes in his office at the bar. If things got . . .messy, then it would be okay.

"I like how wet you get." Jon's voice had gone rough but hushed. Reverent. "I want to taste it next time. Taste you next time. The way you did me."

"Shit," Kieran groaned. His cock twitched in his hand, precome coating his fingers, just the way Jon had said he liked.

"You'd like that, then?" Jon hesitated. "Even if I was bad at it?"

"Darlin', you could be any which way and I wouldn't give a shit. I just like you ."

So much for any of the pretense that this was just sex.

"Like you too. So much." Jon gave a hiccupping gasp. Kieran already recognized that sound. Knew Jon was close to coming.

"You're close already?" But he was, too, undeniably. Just hearing Jon's voice shot him right to the edge, especially when he'd been thinking about sex all fucking day .

"God, yes. I'm going slow just like you said, and I'm just thinking about your hand being my hand, your mouth, instead, and I have been so fucking close all day ."

"Yeah. Been thinking all day about sucking you off. About you burying that big cock in my ass. Fucking me until I cry with it."

Jon went silent. Still. Kieran could hear it.

Worried, immediately, that he'd said the wrong thing. Jon was new to all of this. Fucking another man in the ass might be a step too far. Even if he was only doing it in his imagination.

"Shit, shit, sorry," Jon stammered, and Kieran could hear his sharp exhale of pleasure as he came.

"You liked that idea?"

"Uh, yeah ," Jon said. "You want that?"

"So bad." Kieran's voice cracked. "God, I wanna . . ."

"Come on, baby, come for me," Jon entreated and that was all it took. He was coming, and when he slunk back into the bar, he knew he was smiling even brighter than he had before he left.

There was no denying it anymore.

He was falling, and falling hard.