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Fuck. I didn't actually turn the lock. My eyes meet his, and while I know my expression is one of terror, his is pure vitriol. He’s pissed.
Kicking me underneath his desk, he clears his throat and calls for whoever it is to come in. His chair pulls up tight, and I fall back against the metal sheeting that hides me from view.
Coach Nicks' voice is calm and patient, like there's nothing out of sorts. "Tuck, what's up?"
"Hey Bryant, you got a minute?"
"Of course, whatcha got?"
Coach Sanders is discussing the defensive lineup and some ideas he wants to try at today's scrimmage. They drone on and on, and I'm getting irritated because I'm missing my entire lunch break, cramped under a desk, waiting to get my ass torn up for almost getting us caught. I know what would happen, and it wouldn't only be Nicks that would be fucked. I'd lose my scholarship and my ride to the NFL.
I know how pissed he's going to be when Coach Sanders finally leaves, and I know my punishment is going to be more than taking a throat beating. This is a real offense, not just leaving a cupcake wrapper in the takeout container he always brings me for lunch. I like finding little ways to get under his skin and rev him up, but this is something different.
But as long as I’m here—in for a penny, in for a pound, right?
Slowly, quietly, my fingers touch the inside of his thigh. He doesn't so much as pause his conversation, giving nothing away, but his cock twitches and swells the closer I get to it. When I reach his belt buckle, he shifts, trying to covertly push me away, but he ends up inadvertently giving me more space between his thighs. He tenses as I get his belt open, and even coughs to cover up the sound of his zipper, seeing as he can't exactly slap my hand away. I'm able to pull his cock out beneath the desk and start sliding my hand up and down his shaft in slow, tight strokes. When I lean forward and lick the little drop of pre-cum that trickles from the slit, Coach actually jumps, but the movement gets covered up by his phone ringing.
"Shit, I need to take this, Tuck. This all looks good, though. I’m looking forward to seeing how it plays out. Would you mind pulling the door behind you?"
He looks down and gives me a death glare. "Fucking stop," he hisses before picking up the phone.
"Bryant Nicks," he says tersely into the phone.
"Yes sir, I have time." I only know of one person Bryant Nicks would call sir, and that's the dean. He moves to start tucking himself back in his pants, but I lunge forward and take his cock in my mouth before he can.
Nicks lets out a puff of air and rakes a hand through his hair. "No sir, all good here. Just pulling out my file for the donor brunch. We have an impressive list this year."
There's some chatter through the receiver, and Nicks diligently makes understanding noises as if he's listening. Meanwhile, he sits back in his seat and fists my hair, moving my mouth on his dick. I do just like he's taught me, relaxing my throat and letting him position me, and he takes control. While he's on the phone, discussing plans for some fancy brunch event, he keeps my movements pretty slow and light. It's almost relaxing. But when he hangs up, he all but growls in my face.
"You fucking brat," he spits between gritted teeth. His grip on my hair, which has grown considerably since I got here, is punishing, to the point I am sure hair is being pulled from my scalp. He thrusts into my mouth without mercy, holding me down as he pummels my throat. When I start sucking air through my nose, he plugs it with his other hand, leaving me without any air at all. My hands pull at his hips and thighs, nails raking at his exposed flesh, pushing and pulling, doing anything to fight my lack of oxygen. Nicks doesn't relent, though, continuing to fuck deep into my throat and looking at me with murderous intent. He's fucking pissed and out for blood.
Just when spots are starting to form before my eyes, Nicks grunts and empties himself into my throat. I force myself to swallow, desperate for breath. He doesn't hurry, making sure I get every last drop before he pulls out of my mouth and smacks me across the face with his wet, flaccid cock before throwing me to the floor.
"If you ever pull that shit again, I'll fucking end you. Do you understand?"
I'm too busy wheezing air into my lungs and coughing to answer.
Through everything I've gone through with Coach Nicks and our arrangement, I've never once actually been afraid of him. Until now. Even so, my dick has never been more alert.
CHAPTER 14
BRYANT
Jack stomps across the field, his baby bulldog out in full force. I've punished him with wind sprints and burpees, weights, and even set him up with some extra tutoring sessions since I'm pretty sure he hasn't been doing the assigned studying I've given him. All the punishments I know he doesn't want, frustrating him with my lack of attention. I can tell that he's very close to doing something stupid again. He's right that it'll get my attention, but if he puts my job in jeopardy again, I'll end this little deal of ours in a hurry.
He's been working hard, I'll give him that. And as good as he was before he came to Groveton, he's gotten better. He's stronger, leaner, faster. He's easily the best wide receiver in our conference, if not in the nation right now. I'm looking forward to what kind of stats he can put up once the season begins. I'm proud of the work he's put in and his progress.
I guess it shouldn't surprise me that a twenty-year-old man is motivated by sex, but the circumstances are definitely surprising. I'm nearly fifty years old, and Jack Perry is a good looking, excessively fit star football player who could get any girl he wants. In fact, if his reputation was even close to accurate, he did, and often. The reminder of that video makes me clench my fists, but it just goes to show the power and influence of being Jack Perry. And he is fucking sexy as hell. I'm slowly coming to terms that I'm attracted to him, and not just the dynamic between us. Or to his body, at least. His attitude still needs an adjustment.
When he gets to the point that he'll drop down on his knees and apologize for being a fucking brat, I'll go back to giving him what he wants. For now, I keep my mask of cool indifference and tell the team to huddle in.
"Alright team, you all know we have the donor brunch coming up next week. It's how we officially start our season every year. A few of you are newer, so let me explain some rules. This is a high-class shindig, so you're expected to show up in your Sunday best. When you're speaking with the men and women whose donations made sure you are training in a state-of-the-art facility that rivals some NFL teams, I want you to remember that you are representing me and this school. If I witness or hear of any misconduct or anything but perfect behavior from any of you, I'll bench you for the first game of the season. I don’t care who you are. Does everyone understand?"
"Yes, Coach!"
"Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I'll see you bright and early in the morning."
The team jogs off the field, but Jack stays back. I hold up my hand before he can open his mouth.
