Page 47 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

I just shake my head.

The door swings in, and the automatic light flickers on when Oliver crosses the threshold. I look around, expecting to see some sort of familiarity.

I don’t. It’s as unfamiliar as his home, as this school, as the boys in front of me.

Penn locks the door and pulls the shade down. His hands are already at his jeans, popping the button. “Remember what I said?”

“Choking, gagging, crying.” My voice comes out breathy. “Got it. And… what do I get out of this?”

Oliver is the one behind me now, and his laugh goes straight into me like an arrow. “Haven’t you enjoyed the peace of the last few weeks? Wouldn’t you want to know that’s permanent?” He steps closer and lifts my shirt. “This needs to come off.”

I let him drag it off and drop it on Dad’s chair. He unbuttons my jeans, his hands reaching around me, and I slap at them.

Penn tsks.

I focus back on the goalie. His cock is out, and he strokes it slowly. He twists at the top, squeezing the head, before going down to the root. There are dark swirls…

“You tattooed your dick?”

He lets out a groan. “Makes it taste better. Promise.”

I shake my head.

Oliver has my pants undone, so fast I hadn’t realized he was back at it until cool air brushes my thighs.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks suddenly, the only voice in the silence. “On your knees.”

I’m actually going to do this. It’s kind of crazy to even think about, let alone let myself be in the moment for it. I let my mind take a backseat to the physical desire.

Scarlett always called me a prude… but really, I just never resonated with vanilla.

There’s a thrill with Carter because he’s not mine. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Sex with your ex is supposed to be against the rules, right?

But these two are against the rules, too.

I drop to my knees and inch forward, until his cock is at eye level. It’s bigger up close, and an unexpected dose of nerves flutters in my chest.

I look up at him. “Do you want crying beforehand or?—?”

He shakes his head once and grips the back of my head. His fingers curl into my hair, and he waits only a moment for me to open my mouth.

His dick slides across my tongue and keeps going. And going. Until he’s pressed against the ring of muscles at my throat. I gag, and he groans.

“Relax,” he grunts.

He pushes in, blocking off my airway. I gag again, my throat working around him, but there’s nothing I can do. I can’t pull off him—his fingers tighten painfully in my hair, pulling at my scalp. My nose is almost to his pubic bone.

Don’t fucking panic.

I claw his thighs and flick my tongue against his shaft. He seems content to suffocate me, waiting until I’m on the verge of passing out before he withdraws.

I inhale sharply, getting half a lungful before he thrusts back in. My eyes roll. It’s really his show for this, and I’m along for the ride.

Hands touch my hips from behind, and I flinch.

Penn laughs. His grip on my hair doesn’t let me withdraw, although I try.

“Can’t tell if she likes that or was surprised,” he says.