Chapter 6: A Dangerous Game
The phone buzzed on the carpet like an angry insect, its screen casting a sickly pallor over their tangled legs. DEREK. The name was a bucket of ice water.
Josh’s post-coital haze shattered. He stared at it, his mind racing through excuses, his body still throbbing from release.
Mia watched him, a sly curve on her lips. She didn’t move to cover herself. Instead, she pushed his shoulder, a silent command to answer.
He lunged for it, his voice a sandpaper rasp as he accepted the call. “Coach?”
“Josh. Where are you?” Derek’s tone was flat, a blade searching for a gap in armor.
“My room. Just… decompressing after the meeting.” Josh forced a lightness into his words, turning away from Mia as if that could hide her presence.
Mia’s smirk widened. She moved on silent feet, her naked body a predatory silhouette. Before he could react, she was sinking to her knees in front of him. Her hands grasped his hips, holding him in place. Her mouth, hot and demanding, took his spent, sensitive cock into a deep, wet embrace.
Josh’s whole body jolted. A ragged groan tore from his throat. He clapped a hand over the phone’s mic, turning the sound into a strangled cough. “Sorry,” he rasped into the receiver, his eyes screwed shut. “Bit of a cold coming on, I think.”
“Sounds rough,” Derek said, suspicion dripping from each syllable. “Curfew’s eleven sharp tonight. Media breakfast at seven tomorrow. Non-negotiable. I’ll be doing room checks.”
On the word ‘checks’, Mia hollowed her cheeks, sucking with a brutal, deliberate pressure. Her tongue swirled around the head, coaxing him back to life with obscene efficiency. Josh’s knuckles were white around the phone. He could feel himself hardening again, the sensation a dizzying contrast to the cold dread in his gut.
“Understood,” Josh managed, his voice tight. “Eleven. I’ll be here.”
“See that you are.” The line went dead.
Josh threw the phone onto the bed as if it had scalded him. He looked down. Mia’s green eyes glinted up at him, full of challenge and dark amusement. His cock, now fully erect, brushed her lips.
“You fucking…” he breathed, the sentence dying.
She finished it for him. “Yeah. I am.”
Her mouth was a revelation. It wasn’t gentle or teasing. It was a claiming. She took him deep, her nose pressing into his pubic bone, her throat working around him. She gagged, a wet, choked sound that sent a bolt of pure electricity straight to his core. Tears sprung to the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t pull back. She held him there, swallowing against him, her hands gripping his arse to pull him deeper.
“Christ, Mia,” he groaned, his fingers tangling in her caramel hair. He wasn’t gentle. He held her head, setting a punishing rhythm, fucking her mouth in short, sharp thrusts. The wet sounds were filthy, explicit. Drool slicked her chin. Her submission was absolute, and it ignited something feral in him.
He could see the reflection of them in the dark television screen—a distorted image of his athletic frame dominating her kneeling form. It was a view he knew she’d imagine for her other audience, and the thought made him thrust harder.
“You like that?” he grunted, past civility now. “You like gagging on my cock while my coach threatens to sack me?”
Her only answer was a muffled moan, a vibration that traveled the length of his shaft. Her hand snaked between her own legs, and he could see her fingers working in frantic circles. She was getting off on this, on the risk, on the degradation.
The coil in his abdomen wound impossibly tight. “I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice a low growl. “You’re gonna swallow every fucking drop.”
She redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing fiercely, one hand pumping the base of his cock while her mouth sucked the tip. The sight, the sensation, the sheer audacity of it all tipped him over the edge.
His climax ripped through him with a violence that buckled his knees. He held her head firmly in place as he pulsed into her throat, a raw, guttural shout tearing from his lips. Wave after wave emptied into her. She swallowed diligently, her throat convulsing around him, taking everything he gave.
When he finally softened, she didn’t let go immediately. She cleaned him with slow, tender licks, a shocking contrast to the roughness of moments before. Then she released him, sitting back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her grin was triumphant, debauched.
“Tasted like victory,” she said, her voice hoarse.
He hauled her up, kissing her hard, tasting the salt-bitter tang of himself on her tongue. The kiss was a battle, all teeth and desperate heat. He walked her backward until her legs hit the bed and she tumbled onto the crisp linen.
“Round two,” he said, the words a promise and a threat.
He didn’t give her time to prepare. He pushed her thighs apart, his gaze raking over the slick, swollen mess he and her fingers had made. He lowered his head, but not to kiss her. He drove his tongue into her cunt in one deep, licking thrust.
She arched off the bed with a sharp cry. Her hands fisted in his hair. He ate her with a single-minded hunger, lapping at her essence, tracing the tight furl of her arsehole, sucking her clit between his lips until her thighs trembled. He was marking her, rewriting the memory of her own touch with his.
“Josh, please,” she begged, her composure shattered. “I need you inside. Now.”
He rose over her, lining himself up. He paused, the head of his cock just pressing against her entrance. Her huge, natural breasts rose and fell with her panting. Her green eyes were wide, pleading.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
“Fuck me,” she whispered.
“Louder.”
“Fuck me!” she shouted, nails digging into his shoulders.
He slammed home.
The impact punched the air from her lungs. He set a brutal, piston-like pace, each drive deeper than the last. The bedframe groaned in protest, knocking a steady rhythm against the wall. There was no art to it, no technique—just raw, grinding connection. Her heels hooked behind his back, pulling him deeper still, taking all of him.
“Whose pussy is this?” he growled against her neck, his sweat dripping onto her skin.
“Yours!” she cried, her head thrashing side to side.
“And what happens when I get caught?”
“You won’t,” she moaned, but it was a lie, and they both knew it.
He fucked her through the lie, through the fear, through the exhilarating thrill of it. Her climax built, a trembling tide, and when it broke, it was silent for a second before the sound burst out—a ragged, screaming release that he felt in every clenched muscle of her core. It pulled his own second orgasm from him, a deeper, draining spill that left him hollow and spent.
He collapsed beside her, the room spinning. The city’s neon glow painted stripes across the ceiling. For a long time, the only sound was their labored breathing slowly returning to normal.
Then Mia stirred, propping herself on an elbow. She traced the sweat-sheened lines of his abdomen. “He’s really going to check, isn’t he?”
Josh stared at the ceiling. The cold knot was back, tighter now. “Yes.”
“What will you do?”
He didn’t answer. He was calculating times, distances, alibis. The passion that had just consumed him felt like a distant country. The map in his mind was now all exits and evasions. He was due back in his own room, the one the team had registered, in less than two hours.
Mia’s fingers stopped tracing. She understood his silence. The game within the game was turning, and the stakes were no longer just about pleasure. They were about everything he’d worked for. She curled into his side, her body a warm, complicated solace, and for the first time, Josh felt completely, terrifyingly alone.