Rivals’ Secret Supply Closet Tryst
Owens had her against the supply closet wall, one hand fisted in the hem of her skirt where he’d shoved it up around her waist. He’d dragged her underwear down a breath ago, peeled them past her thighs and let them snag at one knee, and now his mouth was locked between her legs like he’d die without it. Carly’s voice drifted just outside the door, bright and oblivious, laughing with someone in the hallway not six feet away.
Thalia’s fingers twisted in his hair and yanked. She hated him. Hated the heat of his mouth, hated how fast her body opened for the one man she’d spent two years trying to bury. His tongue dragged flat and slow over her clit and her spine arched off the cold cinderblock. She clamped her own free hand over her mouth, teeth grinding into her knuckles, swallowing the sound before it could escape.
He couldn’t stop. That was the thing clawing at the back of Owens’s skull as he licked into her—he hated her, hated her smug mouth in every meeting, hated the way she beat him to every win, and now he was on his knees in a closet with her taste flooding his tongue and he could not make himself stop. She was slick, salt and heat, soaking his chin already. He growled low into her, the vibration making her hips jerk, and dug his fingers harder into the meat of her thigh to hold her open.
“Fuck,” he rasped against her, lips brushing wet flesh with every word. “You taste perfect. Look how soaked you are for me already.” He flattened his tongue and dragged up, slow, then circled tight and fast until her thighs shook against his ears. “That’s it. That’s how good you take it.”
Thalia bit down on her knuckles harder. The obscene wet sounds of his mouth filled the cramped dark, and Carly was right there, right outside, and every slick suck threatened to give them away. She forced her thighs not to clamp around his head. They trembled with the effort, strung tight, screaming to lock him in place. Her whole body wanted to ride his face until she screamed, and she couldn’t make a single sound.
He felt her fighting it. Felt the tremor, the strangled hitch of her breath above him, and something vicious and satisfied curled in his chest. Her rival. His enemy. Falling apart on his tongue and choking on her own moans to stay hidden. He sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked, working two fingers up into her at the same time, curling them, and the sound she made behind her hand was a broken, ruined thing.
“There she is,” he murmured into her, hot breath fanning the wetness. “Dripping down my hand. Your cunt answers me so damn well, you know that? Doesn’t lie like the rest of you.”
Thalia glared down at him through the dark even as her hips rocked into his face, even as her own slick ran down his wrist. She wanted to hate the words. She wanted to hate the way they lit her up. Owens. Devouring her like he needed it to breathe, like he’d been starving for years and only now admitting it.
He pulled his mouth off her with a wet, filthy sound and stood in one motion, his face slick to the chin, his eyes black in the dim. He didn’t ask. He hooked a finger in the underwear bunched at her knee and dragged it the rest of the way down her calf and off her foot, dropping it somewhere in the dark, then gripped her under the thighs, fingers biting into her flesh, and hauled her up off the floor onto the narrow counter bolted flush against the cinderblock wall. Bottles rattled and skidded. Her bare ass hit the cold laminate and she sucked in a sharp breath at the shock of it against her overheated skin, her back settling flat against the cinderblock behind her.
Her legs fell open on instinct, knees splayed wide, and she felt the obscene vulnerability of it—spread to the cold air, exposed, gleaming wet in the half-light. Owens stared down at her like he’d never seen anything he wanted to wreck more.
He shoved his fly open, dragged himself free, and stepped into the cradle of her thighs. The blunt head of his cock dragged through her folds, grinding slow against her slick, against her clit, and they both bit back the sound it tore out of them. Hot, wet, mindless friction. His hips rolled, working himself through the mess she’d made, and her hands flew to his shoulders, nails carving into muscle.
“Hurry,” she hissed against his jaw. Carly was still talking, still right there, the words muffled through the door.
He almost laughed. He’d waited two years and she wanted him to hurry. He notched himself at her entrance and shoved inside with one brutal stroke that bottomed out and stole the air from both their lungs.
The stretch ripped a strangled cry from her throat and he slapped his palm over her mouth, swallowing it, his other hand braced on the counter beside her hip. “Quiet,” he breathed, ragged, his forehead dropping to hers for half a second before he started to move. “Quiet, fuck—you feel that? How perfectly you take me? Like you were built for it.”
Thalia couldn’t answer with his hand sealed over her lips, so she dug her heels into the backs of his thighs and dragged him deeper, and the muffled sound she made was pure surrender. Owens snapped his hips, hard, the wet rhythmic impact of skin on skin obscene in the small space. Every drive bottomed out and dragged back through her, and the coil low in her gut wound tighter with each one.
His breathing was coming apart. He could feel his own control fraying thread by thread—she was tight and soaked and gripping him like she never wanted him to leave, and the hate in him had curdled into something hotter and uglier and far more desperate. He hated that he loved how she felt. He hated that he wanted to stay buried in her forever.
“So good,” he ground out against the side of her face, hips snapping faster, the counter rocking beneath her. “So fucking good for me. Look at you taking all of it. Made for me. This body—mine right now.” He dropped his hand from her mouth just long enough to watch her bite her own lip bloody to stay silent. “Quiet, baby. She’s right outside. You’re gonna come on my cock without making a sound.”
Thalia clamped her hand back over her own mouth, eyes squeezing shut, her stifled gasps breaking against her palm with every thrust. The risk burned through her—Carly’s voice, the thin door, the certainty that one slip would expose them both—and somehow it only dragged her higher, faster, the pleasure coiling unbearable and tight.
Then he caught both her wrists—one already at her mouth, the other clawed into his shoulder—wrenching them together and trapping them in one big hand, slamming them flat above her head against the cold cinderblock at her back. His other hand left the counter and clamped hard around her hip to hold her steady against the rock of it.
Pinned. Helpless. Exposed. She couldn’t move, couldn’t touch him, couldn’t even muffle herself anymore—both her hands trapped, strung up against the wall, completely open to whatever he wanted. She strained against his grip and his fingers only tightened, crushing her wrists to the cinderblock, and the loss of control shoved her right to the edge. She had nothing left to hide behind.
“There it is,” Owens growled into her throat, watching her writhe, helpless and spread and his. “Nowhere to go. Just take it. Come for me—come on it, let go, I’ve got you.” His hand dug deeper into her hip, dragging her down onto every drive, his hips hammering into her, brutal, relentless, his own restraint gone. “Perfect. So fucking perfect. Best I’ve ever had and you know it.”
She broke. Her thighs locked vice-tight around his hips, her whole body seizing, and the moan that tore out of her was raw and unguarded—no hand left to stop it. He drove his mouth over hers to catch it, swallowing her cry as she clenched and pulsed around him. The feel of her coming apart under him, wrists pinned and helpless, hauled him over with a guttural sound he muffled against her lips. He buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, pulsing hard inside her, his grip never loosening on her wrists.
For a long, ragged moment they just breathed, chests heaving, sweat-slick skin stuck together in the dark. Out in the hall, Carly’s footsteps finally faded.
Owens released her wrists and pulled out, already tucking himself away. Thalia’s arms dropped, boneless. She shoved at his chest, harder than she needed to.
“Don’t read into it,” she said, voice wrecked, sliding off the counter onto unsteady legs.
“Wasn’t planning to.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still hard on her, the old loathing snapping right back into place between them like nothing had moved. “Same time you screw me over at the Friday pitch?”
She bent and snatched her underwear off the floor, dragging the damp scrap back up her legs, then yanked her skirt down over her hips and smoothed it flat. She met his glare with one of her own and reached past him for the door handle. “Wouldn’t miss it.”