For Leah… A user requested story taking place after a COED soccer game with an older coach…
The shower beat down, a punishing, glorious heat that turned her skin a furious pink. $name1 tipped her head back, letting the water sluice through her hair, trying to wash away the echo of his touch.
It was stupid. It was just a coed rec league game. But when Liam had steadied her after that near-collision, his hands spanning her waist, his laugh rumbling against her back… it had short-circuited something.
Her nipples tightened now, just thinking about it, the spray hitting them like little electric shocks. She let out a slow breath, fogging the steam-clogged air. The locker room was empty, just the hiss of water and the distant, ghostly cheer of a game long finished. She slid a hand over her stomach, fingers trembling slightly, imagining a different, rougher touch. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip.
The door creaked.
She froze. Water coursed over her shoulders. She didn’t turn.
Footsteps, quiet on the wet tile. A locker door clanged shut. Then silence, thick and waiting. She could feel a presence, a shift in the pressure of the steam.
“$namae1? That you?”
Liam’s voice. It wrapped around her, lower here, stripped of the field’s echo. She turned, slowly, not bothering to cover herself. The steam parted just enough.
He was leaning against the tile wall by the bank of lockers, a white towel slung low around his hips. Water from his hair traced paths down his chest, over the defined planes of his stomach, disappearing into the terrycloth. He was watching her, his gaze a physical weight.
“Thought everyone was gone,” he said. His eyes weren’t on her face.
“Almost,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. “Just… cooling down.”
A faint, knowing smile touched his mouth. “Looks pretty hot from here.”
The air between them crackled, humid and charged. She saw his eyes darken, taking in the water slicking her skin, the curve of her breasts, the juncture of her thighs. She made no move to hide. Let him look. She wanted him to.
“You played well today,” he said, pushing off the wall. He took a step closer. The distance shrank, charged with everything they hadn’t said for weeks.
“You passed well.” She arched her back just a little, a challenge. The water hit her throat. “That last assist was perfect.”
Another step. He was close enough now that the heat from his body rivaled the shower’s. The scent of him—clean sweat, cheap soap, pure male—cut through the chlorine. “Saw you watching me. After.”
“Maybe.”
His hand came up, not touching her, just hovering beside her cheek, blocking some of the spray. “Maybe?”
She met his stare, all defiant spark. “I wasn’t watching the game.”
That did it. The control in him snapped. A low growl escaped his throat as his hand finally made contact, cupping the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her wet hair. He pulled her to him and his mouth crashed down on hers.
It wasn’t gentle. It was possession. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting of mint and aggression. She moaned into him, her hands flying to his shoulders, digging into the hard muscle there. The towel around his hips was the only barrier. She could feel the thick, hard length of him straining against it, pressing into her stomach.
He broke the kiss, breathing ragged. “This is a fucking bad idea.”
“Yeah.” She nodded, nipping at his lower lip. “Terrible.”
“We should stop.”
“You first.”
He didn’t. His mouth moved to her jaw, her throat, sucking a mark into the tender skin just above her collarbone. She gasped, her head falling back. His other hand slid down her spine, over the swell of her ass, gripping hard and pulling her tighter against his erection. The rough terrycloth scratched her sensitive skin, a delicious friction.
“Liam…” His name was a plea.
“Tell me to stop, $name1.” His words were hot against her ear. His fingers traced the cleft of her ass, dipping lower, teasing.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
He spun her, gently but firmly, pressing her palms flat against the cool, wet tile. The contrast of the cold surface against her front and the relentless hot spray on her back made her shiver. He kicked her feet apart with his own. She heard the rustle as his towel hit the floor.
Then she felt him. The broad, blunt head of his cock nudging against her entrance from behind. He was already slick, maybe from the shower, maybe from her. He teased her, rubbing himself along her soaked slit, coating himself in her. She pushed back, a wordless demand.
“So fucking ready,” he muttered, one hand gripping her hip, the other guiding himself.
With one slow, brutal thrust, he filled her completely. A raw, ragged cry tore from her throat, echoing off the tiles. He was huge, stretching her, burning her up from the inside. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, both of them panting.
“Christ, you’re tight,” he groaned, his forehead dropping between her shoulder blades.
“Move.” She begged. “Please, move.”
He withdrew almost all the way, then slammed back in. A rhythm started, deep and punishing, each thrust driving her into the wall. The slap of skin on wet skin, their grunts and moans, mingled with the hissing shower. His grip on her hips was iron, sure to leave bruises. She loved it. Every jarring impact, every guttural sound he made.
One of his hands snaked around her front, fingers finding her clit, already swollen and throbbing. He rubbed tight, furious circles, perfectly in time with his thrusts. The double sensation, the fullness and the friction, coiled a tension low in her belly, tighter and tighter.
“Look at you,” he rasped, his pace becoming frantic, erratic. “Taking all of me. So fucking beautiful.”
His words tipped her over. The orgasm ripped through her, violent and blinding. Her inner muscles clenched around him, pulsing wildly, her cries muffled against her arm. The force of it made her legs buckle, but he held her up, fucking her through the convulsions, his own control shattering.
With a final, deep drive and a choked shout, he came, hot pulses filling her as he shuddered against her back. He collapsed over her, both of them braced against the wall, gasping for air under the relentless water.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their breathing and the spray. Slowly, he softened inside her. He pressed a kiss, surprisingly tender, to her shoulder. She became acutely aware of the cold tile, the water starting to run lukewarm, the reality of where they were seeping back in.
He pulled out, and she felt a sudden, shocking emptiness. A chill. He turned her around, his hands on her face, searching her eyes. His own were dark, sated, but clouded with something else. Concern. Doubt.
“$name1…”
She didn’t let him finish. She kissed him, soft this time, trying to seal the moment in a bubble. But the bubble was already popping. A shout from somewhere outside the locker room hallway—a janitor, maybe—made them jump apart.
The momentum of what they’d done, its sheer, reckless weight, settled between them as the water finally ran cold.
The cold water was a shock, a slap back into their messy reality. Liam reached past her, his arm brushing her breast, and shut the squeaking valve off. The sudden silence was louder than the shower had been. Dripping, they just looked at each other. “Well,” $name1 finally said, her voice too bright, too thin. “That happened.”
He handed her a towel without meeting her eyes. “Yeah.” They dried off in hurried, awkward silence, the steam retreating to reveal the sterile, ugly room. She dressed fast, her sports clothes clinging to her damp skin. He pulled on his jeans, the denim darkening where it touched his still-wet legs. “We should talk,” he said, zipping his fly.
“We should not.” She shoved her feet into her sneakers, not bothering with the laces. “That was a one-time locker room thing. Post-game adrenaline. Let’s just… be cool.”
She pushed the heavy door open, the hallway air cold and smelling of industrial cleaner. His footsteps followed hers, echoing. He caught her arm just outside the back exit, in the dim, concrete alley smelling of wet asphalt and garbage. The rain had stopped, leaving the world slick and gleaming under a single security light. “$name1, wait.”
“What, Liam?” She turned, pulling her arm free. “It was just a fuck. A good one. But just a fuck.”
“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping closer, his body blocking the light. “Don’t cheapen it because you’re scared.” He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. “I’m not sorry.”
She kissed him again, because it was easier than answering, her back against the cold brick wall of the alley. This kiss was different—softer, slower, a question. He groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding under her shirt, finding her skin. “My car’s here,” he breathed against her neck, nipping at her earlobe.
She nodded, fumbling for his belt buckle. “Now. Fuck me now, right here.” He spun her around, bending her over the hood of his sedan, the metal cold and shocking through her thin leggings. He yanked her pants down just enough, freeing himself with a rough pull of his zipper. He didn’t wait, didn’t tease. He drove into her from behind in one smooth, deep stroke, and she cried out, the sound swallowed by the alley and the city humming beyond.
The cold metal of the hood bit into her palms. Each thrust was a jolt, a desperate punctuation to the chaos in her head.
He fucked her like he was trying to erase something, his hands rough on her hips, his breath coming in ragged clouds in the damp air. “You feel that?” he grunted, his pace brutal and perfect. “Feel how fucking deep I am?” She could only moan, pushing back against him, meeting every slam with a roll of her own hips.
The pleasure was sharp, a bright wire of sensation tightened to breaking. It wasn’t just physical; it felt like a fight, a victory, a surrender. He leaned over her, his chest hot against her back, his mouth at her ear. “Tell me you’re mine.” She shook her head, sweat and rainwater stinging her eyes. “Fuck you,” she gasped.
He chuckled, dark and low, and slipped a hand around to her front, his fingers finding her clit, wet and swollen. “Lie to me, then.” His touch was ruthless, knowing exactly how to break her.
The orgasm tore through her, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her body clamped around him. He followed seconds later, a raw shout against her neck, his whole body shuddering as he emptied into her. For a long moment, there was just the sound of their breathing and a distant siren.
He softened inside her. Gently, he pulled out. He turned her around, his gaze searching her face.
He didn’t ask if she was okay. He just looked, his thumb wiping a streak of dirt from her cheek. “I’m walking you to your car.” It wasn’t a question. She nodded, pulling her clothes right, her limbs feeling liquid and used.
He took her hand, his grip firm, and led her out of the alley without another word. When they reached her beat-up sedan, he stopped. He kissed her, softly, just once. “Go home, $name1.” He turned and walked away, not looking back.
She watched him until he disappeared around the corner. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The engine turned over on the second try. She sat for a minute, the heater blasting cold air. She looked toward the empty mouth of the alley. Then she put the car in drive, pulled out of the lot, and turned left—following the path his taillights had taken.