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"Sorry, Coach. I can't help it," he answers, maintaining a straight face.
I make a noncommittal hum of disapproval. I know he's full of shit. He's having the time of his life standing up on the bench so I can get his trouser measurements, putting his groin closer to my face than it's been before.
Jack sucks my dick, not the other way around.
"What? It's the truth. It's been days, and with all due respect, I was getting used to getting rewarded for good behavior."
"Well, you fucked up?—"
"I know I did, and I'm sorry. That's not really how I saw it all playing out, and I see now how stupid it was. We both would have lost everything."
I nod, glad for once that he seems to understand the gravity of the situation rather than just being angry about having blue balls. I stop and consider that thought for a moment. "When was the last time you came?"
"That time in the showers," he answers, his cheeks reddening.
My surprise overshadows my own memories of that night. Caught up in the moment, hypnotized by watching him in the shower, I'd gone a bit overboard, turning our strict exchange into something a little more personal. Before I knew it, I'd stripped down and joined him. It took everything in me not to brace his hands on the wall and lick him from balls to spine before impaling him on my cock. I desperately wanted to know if his ass was as tight as it looks, but I also like to deny myself. So I fingered him the way the hot nurse at my last checkup did me, finding that soft spot that I knew would tip him over the edge again.
Fuck, that was hot.
"That was really the last time?" I ask him, looking him sternly in the eye and challenging him to lie to me.
"Yes, Coach." I actually believe his sincerity when he answers me.
I look up at him and huff. "Get down from there and let's discuss how the rest of this is going to play out. With classes starting soon, we'll need to lock down a new schedule, anyway."
He hops down with enthusiasm, all but bouncing on his toes. "Calm down, pup," I say, to his chagrin. "Let's go talk in my office, where we can look at your class schedule."
I can tell he's disappointed that I've turned the conversation back to business, but I have to draw the line somewhere. He's becoming needy and expectant. This isn't a relationship, it's a reward system for hard work and perseverance, albeit a really fucked up one.
It takes nearly an hour to write out a new schedule. Between classes, tutoring, and studying, he's going to have to cut back on his practice and workout time, but I've still given him a pretty grueling schedule there.
He won't have time to get in any trouble, won't have time to fail, because I have every minute of his day planned out. He doesn’t know it, but I'm going to begin pushing his boundaries a little, too. Because while I actually care very little about what he wears on a daily basis, I do like how pissed off he gets when I tell him what to do with his life outside of training. The food thing got less push back because his diet affects his performance, but if I'm going to be able to change him into the person he needs to be, if I'm going to make a real difference, he's going to need to commit and submit all the way.
That’s what I tell myself, at least.
Jack looks tired by the time we're through, and part of that might be realizing how much work is ahead of him. Summer training was easy compared to the mental load he's going to have to carry to maintain good enough grades to keep his scholarship and my approval. I'm not like other coaches that'll make deals with teachers to get players special treatment. I know many of the students on my team get special treatment by default, or through their own methods—rich kids are brutal fucking manipulators—but I have no part in it.
I expect nothing but the best and as much as I've gotten my kicks ignoring and punishing Jack, he's given me the best, so I suppose he deserves some reprieve.
"You look tired. Why don't you go home and get some rest? I kept you late, so just show up with the rest of the team tomorrow."
A look of disappointment, and maybe even hurt, darken his grey eyes. "That's it?" he asks, standing to follow me to the door.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. "What were you expecting?"
"I've done everything you asked," he says in a low voice.
"Ah, I see. Well, you have my permission to get yourself off as long as you continue to behave accordingly. If you slip up, I'll take it back." I start to pull the door open, but Jack shakes his head.
"What is it that you're asking for here, Perry?" I say, using his last name to create some distance between us. "What reward would you be satisfied with so I can go the fuck home and ice my old man injury?" Jack ignores my attempt at humor, staring at me and worrying his bottom lip as he contemplates something.
Just as I'm about to lose my patience and kick him out of my office, he takes three long steps forward and pushes the door closed. Crowding me against the wall, Jack suddenly presses his mouth to mine. The kiss, or rather the stiff press of our mouths, seems to startle him as much as it does me. He pulls back quickly, eyes wide as he stares at my mouth, like he can't believe what he just did.
I can't believe what he just did, either. What’s more surprising is how I feel about it.
Grabbing Jack by the front of his shirt, I pull him against me and then turn him around so his back is against the door. I stare at his lips for the briefest of moments before I take his mouth.
This time, our lips move against each other, albeit not softly. I coax his mouth open, dipping my tongue in to lick against his. We're all teeth and tongues, hands pulling at each other's clothes, the energy between us crackling.
