Chapter 103
Aiden
The ride back was quiet, the city blurred past—taillights, neon, nothing I could be bothered to name, because my head was still a fucking riot.
I’d watched my boy feed his cock to a goddess and swallow her whole on stage, and yeah, my cock had sprinted to attention more times than I could count—no lie, it had—and the roar of the crowd had hit me like a drug. So, sure, I'd also been tempted…. I could still feel that boy, Anthony, on his knees, sucking me like he’d been born for it, and damn, I had to give it to him, he was good. Professional cocksucker level good… And yet the only memory I wanted to keep was my boy walking away from that sex goddess, who could’ve owned Noah’s body without breaking a sweat.
God, it had taken fucking balls to do that—and his were probably blue from days of no release—yet he had chosen me over everything else on that stage.
Unfortunately, I figured we might’ve looked like shit in front of the club that night. The sub that couldn’t perform without his master, and the master who not only allowed it but ditched the willing, gorgeous submissive at his feet to condone his boy’s disobedience. Not the impression anyone wanted to make on a first official performance. But right then, I couldn’t have given a rat’s ass.
I’d handed Noah a choice, raw and wide open, and he’d decided. And Jesus, that choice had hit me like oxygen. Pride so sharp it hurt—pure, possessive, unhinged pride. The kind that could make a man reckless.
He’d risked the sponsorship, the “normal” future… He’d risked being laughed at, he’d risked being shamed—and he still came home to me.
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The second the door shut behind us, Noah did exactly what I knew he would—obedient to his routine, not daring to meet my eyes, he stripped down to nothing. Skin flushed, muscles taut, cock already half-hard. He glanced up at me at last, guilt and desperation swirling in those eyes.
“Sir, I’m so sorry for every—”
I didn’t let him finish. My hand shot to the back of his neck, dragging him in for a kiss that scorched us both. Hungry, unrelenting. There would be time for apologies, explanations, all the messy words he thought he owed me—but not now. Right now, I wanted nothing between us.
“Undress me,” I ordered, already kicking off my shoes. He fumbled at my shirt buttons while I worked my belt loose, shoving my pants down. I backed him toward the bathroom, flicking the light on, twisting the water tap until steam curled against the glass.
“I don’t want anyone’s scent on your body. None but mine.” My voice was low, guttural, as my clothes hit the floor.
Noah’s chest heaved. “I don’t want anyone’s in you either, Sir,” he hissed, stripping my shirt down my arms.
That snapped something in me. I hauled him under the spray with me, pressing him back into my chest as the first blast of heat cascaded over us. The water slicked down his skin, pinking it, steam fogging the glass walls until the world outside ceased to exist.
“Better?” I muttered against his throat, teeth grazing the tendon between neck and shoulder.
His nod was shaky, silent. But I felt his cock stiffen against my thigh.
“You think I should punish you for tonight? For walking off that stage?” My teeth bit down, sharp enough to make him gasp.
A sound tumbled out of him—half moan, half plea.
I hummed, slow and deliberate, the way I always did when I wanted him squirming in anticipation. And Christ, I didn’t need to look to know his cock was already leaking for me.
I dropped to my knees. Even after all this time, the look in his eyes when I knelt for him—like he couldn’t believe it was real—was enough to light me on fire. My hand wrapped around his shaft, hot and slick, and then I swallowed him whole.
“Fuck!” His shout bounced off the tile as his hand slapped against the wall for balance.
Water pounded my back as I worked him with my mouth, sucking greedy, sloppy, wet. He jolted when I gagged around him, the sound echoing, filthy and perfect. The more noise I made, the harder he pulsed. My fingers slid behind him, teasing, pushing into his tight heat until he cried out, his whole body trembling.
“Sir—I’m close—” His voice cracked, needy, sure I’d edge him, drag it out.
Not tonight. Tonight, I doubled down, shoving a third finger into him, fondling his balls with my free hand, hollowing my cheeks and taking him deeper until his thighs shook.
“Ahh, fuck!” His whole body spasmed. Hot cum flooded my mouth, thick and bitter and his.
I didn’t stop. I popped off him only long enough to spit his load down his ass crack, my hand jerking myself once before I lined up.
“Hold on, baby,” I growled, rubbing my cock into the mess, coating myself. And then I drove in. Hard.
Noah gasped, back arching, already pliant from my fingers. He bent forward, hands flat on the wall, pushing his ass back, begging for more.
I slammed into him, fast, relentless, each thrust nailing his prostate until he was crying out like I was tearing him apart. The shower echoed with the sound of skin on skin, the slap of water, and the broken noises ripping from his throat.
My hands gripped his hips, pulling him back onto me as I pounded him until his legs shook so badly he could barely hold himself upright. I slowed only to grind deep, rolling my hips, pressing his back flush to my chest, keeping myself buried in him.
“One more. Come for me, Noah.” My fist wrapped around his cock, stroking him hard, mercilessly.
He whimpered—beautiful, broken—as his release tore through him again, cum painting the shower wall while his body clamped down around me. That sent me over. I bit into his shoulder as I spilled inside him, grinding him against the tiles until every last pulse of my cock had emptied.
By the time I pulled out, his legs were jelly, his chest heaving. I steadied him, rinsed us both down, forced his trembling hands under the water until he caught his breath.
When the steam finally cleared, I handed him a towel, pressing it to his chest. His eyes were still glazed, lips swollen from my kiss. I wanted to drag him straight to bed, fuck him all night until neither of us could walk tomorrow—but I forced myself to pause, to breathe, to let him stand in the silence.
Because tonight had been more than just sex. It had been a line crossed, a choice made, a stage burned down. And I wasn’t about to let him forget it.
I handed him a towel and grabbed one for myself, the sting of hot water still buzzing in my skin. He gulped down the bottle I pressed into his hand, and for once I didn’t say a word. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was full, heavy, grounding.
We ended up sprawled across the bed, damp towels between us and the sheets, the television flickering through the steam that still clung to my skin. Some late-night sports recap was running—commentators talking about the season ahead, about names people should watch, about futures already being built.
I let the noise wash over me, one arm behind my head, chest finally slowing down from the wreck we’d just made in the shower. I knew it wouldn’t be long before his name came up, praised, dissected, elevated to some level where the rest of the world would want a piece of him. And with every cheer, every headline, every pat on the back, there would be the reminder that I was just a college coach—ordinary compared to the stage waiting for him.
For now, I held on to the quiet. To the weight of the room, the hum of the TV, the simple comfort of having him here. The glory, the separation—it would all come soon enough.