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Monika Krasnorada
| 2
Fragile
“W
HAT
do you think, Doc?” The deep-timbred voice came
out of nowhere, pitched low and close to the ear of interim
team doctor, Andy Jameson, so that he felt it down to his
toes.
Stifling a start, Andy closed his eyes for a second,
relishing the warm breath at his cheek, before he swallowed
hard and refocused on the injured player in front of him.
“Umm, Coach….” He struggled, clearing his throat, sparing
only a sidelong glance at the man pressed close to his side,
the heat that radiated off his much larger body and seeped
through the layers of Andy’s clothes making it hard for Andy
to concentrate. He took another deep, steadying breath,
taking in the autumnal scent he would always wistfully
associate with the coach, before continuing on. “Coach
Sheridan. It looks pretty bad, as you can see.” Andy willed
his fingers steady as he pointed out areas of concern.
Having this man so close
—
close enough to reach out
and touch and taste, if he were to give in to his rampant
urges
—
was its own kind of torture for Andy, but he had a job
to do and couldn’t let his errant infatuation, and way too
vivid imagination, lead him astray.
“Definitely needs to be checked out at the medical
center.” Andy spoke to both the coach and player as he
confidently drew up the dose of anesthetic to help minimize
the pain. Not that it could swell much more, the knee now
grotesquely large and turning that angry shade of purple
that meant the bruising went to the bone.
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“They’re on their way,” the coach reassured him. He
knew how bad it had been. The hit had been painful to
watch: a 300-pound steamroller, pile-driving helmet first into
the receiver’s knee. “Bad” was an understatement.
Andy nodded his head, turning his focus away from the
coach and back to the injured player sprawled on the table
in front of him, still suited up in his game-time garb. A loud
groan of pain from the big guy put the coach into action
helping a few assistant trainers remove the uncomfortable
padded uniform as gently as they could after Andy inserted
the needle into the wounded knee.
Everyone froze at the sight of the needle piercing the
painful injury and the sound the player made as Andy
pushed the plunger, but all were soon shuffled and pushed
away as the EMTs arrived.
It was one of those nights that seemed to go on forever
as Andy saw to a few other minor injuries while the coach
went to the hospital to watch over his player. It was closing
in on 2 a.m., and Andy was sitting at the desk in the coach’s
anteroom filling out the requisite papers on post-game
injuries when he heard footsteps behind him.
It always gave him a little hitch whenever he saw the
coach, but watching him walk in now was like a pain to the
center of his chest.
This was Andy’s last night on the job, as he had turned
in his notice a little more than a month earlier. The job had
been contracted from spring practice until the last game of
the regular season, and had seemed the perfect, easy break
it had truly ended up being before he started his full-time
residency in a little less than two weeks at the hospital the
injured player had just been taken to.
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It was bittersweet. The easy ride he had signed up for in
the beginning had ended up being a whole lot more than he
had hoped for
—
and that hope was just walking in the door.
This was the last night he’d be working with Coach
Sheridan, unless he didn’t mind tainting his karma and
wishing for more injuries like tonight, just on the off chance
of catching a glimpse of the coach.
Andy couldn’t wish that on anyone, no matter what it
meant to him personally. No, this was it.
So he watched as the man walked toward him now, as
he removed his overcoat and hung it on the rack inside the
door; watched as he pulled down the already loosened tie at
his throat and opened yet another button on his shirt. In all
his disheveled glory, he was the sexiest man Andy had ever
seen. Being able to look at him had been the biggest perk to
Andy’s job.
“Doc, you look as tired as I feel.” His voice was deep and
scratchy, as if he had been talking too much, though it was
probably due more to the emotional overload. He nodded his
head toward the stack of papers lying on the desk in front of
Andy. “You about finished there?”
Andy’s head bobbled like one of those dolls as he
continued to stare up at the man standing in front of him.
He must have looked like an idiot, but he was too tired to
care. These were the last few moments he’d be in the coach’s
presence, and he was going make the most of them.
Andy cleared his throat when he noticed the half-smile
the coach had on his face, bringing him back to reality.
“I just need you to sign off on them, here.” He began
shuffling the papers nervously, searching to put the ones on
top that needed the coach’s signature.
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He nearly jumped out of his skin when the coach’s big
hand clasped his shoulder. “Bring them inside; we’ll take
care of them.”
The warmth of the Coach Sheridan’s palm remained
even after he turned to head into his office, leaving Andy to
snatch up the papers and follow him.
“It’s been a helluva day,” Coach Sheridan offered,
closing the office door as Andy followed behind him. The
coach hung his suit jacket on the back of his desk chair
before collapsing into it with a heavy sigh. He shoved his fist
through his salt and pepper locks, pulling on them in
complete frustration. “A helluva day.” He laid his head back
against the leather of his seat, his eyes closed, every line of
his body echoing the tiredness that was etched onto his face.
“That was a career-ending injury.” His voice was barely
audible, stretched thin with pain. “Just a kid and his dream
could be over.”
This was one of the aspects of the coach that made him
so attractive to Andy. Beyond the rugged good looks and the
swagger of a man who was keenly aware of his appeal to
those around him, he had compassion. To the outside, these
players were nothing more than athletes chosen to increase
the odds of the team making it to a post-season bowl game,
but to those who were lucky enough to see inside the locker
rooms and to be present at practices, these were the coach’s
kids.
In his late forties, and having never been married, he
took these players under his wing. He was always there for
them to lend an ear, offer support, to give advice. Those kids
looked up to him, and the mutual respect they had was the
reason the football team played so consistently well.
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Andy didn’t know what to say… what to do. He sat down
in the opposite chair, forgetting the papers for now. “Is that
what they said?” he asked quietly, wishing now he had gone
to the hospital too. A lot of truth was in what the doctors
didn’t say.
The coach sat up with a groan, rubbing his hands
roughly against his face, as if trying to fight the exhaustion
he had to be feeling after such a long day. “You know how
doctors are.” His smirk made Andy’s stomach flip.
“Cautiously optimistic, they say. But you saw it, hell, we
heard it, out there on the field. If the surgery is successful,
you know how fragile that knee will be from here on out.
This was his last year, this was his last game….” He left the
thought hanging as he reached across the desk for the
papers awaiting his signature.
“Lot of lasts happening tonight,” he offered quietly as he
absently signed off on Andy’s reports without even reading
over them. “Not a great send-off, is it?” He smiled, signing
the last one and putting his pen down before deftly pulling
his tie from around his neck. “You are now no longer an
employee of the university.”
“Well, not the Athletic Department, that’s true.” Andy
offered a tired smile. “It’s been great working with… the
team. And, you, of course, working with you.” He stumbled
over the words, nervously working them in. He mentally
shook himself, but it was hitting him
—
this would be the last
time he’d be in the presence of Coach Sheridan.
The last time….
“Yes, great.” The coach gave up a killer smile, slapping
his hands on his thighs before he stood up. “And what kind
of bon voyage has this been? We need a drink.” The coach
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walked around his desk, unbuttoning his shirt as he crossed
the room. “I’m going to take a quick shower, and then we are
heading out for a farewell celebration.”
Andy wanted to open his mouth and tell him, “No, that’s
okay,” but he just sat there with his mouth open, watching
with wide-eyed adoration that he couldn’t have hidden if he
tried as the coach removed his shirt and stepped into the
bathroom.
The shirt landed in a heap on a chair, and Andy could
have sworn Coach Sheridan gave him a wink as he closed
the door.
He slumped into his chair with a groan of frustration.
Now he was imagining things? Coming to the conclusion that
his momentary insanity was due to the combination of
weariness and wishful thinking, he tried, without success, to
keep from thinking about the man on the other side of that
door. He wanted to melt right through the floor, thinking he
just might if he let his mind concentrate on the sound of
water coming from the bathroom. The coach naked, wet,
with soap-slick skin…. The thought made Andy’s fingers itch
with the need to feel it for himself.
Oh, God, he didn’t need to be anywhere near a drink
and the coach at the same time. That was definitely a bad
idea. He looked at his watch and was reminded of how just
how late it was. True, it was a college town, but surely
nothing would be open at this hour.
Knowing he couldn’t depend on that possibility, Andy
was still trying to come up with a good excuse to leave when
the coach opened the door.
Holy shit.
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A towel wrapped low on his narrow hips, the coach was
a chiseled, dripping-wet god that Andy ached to worship. A
knowing half-smile ghosted the coach’s mouth as he rubbed
another towel against his wet head. “It’s all yours.” He
motioned with a quick thrust of his chin in the general
direction of the bathroom.
With his own absent nod of acknowledgement before
standing up, Andy found himself heading to the bathroom,
not even sure that he needed to go, but he was with it
enough to understand he needed to break the unknowing
spell Coach Sheridan had him under.
The bathroom was still humid from the shower, the
scent of soap and lingering spice hanging in the heavy, damp
air, forcing images into Andy’s head that definitely didn’t
need to be there. Wasting as much time as he thought
prudent, Andy finally used the toilet and washed his hands.
While the water was still cool, he splashed some on his
face before letting his head hang from his shoulders over the
bowl as it filled. The steam rising from the rapidly heating
water did little to soothe his frazzled nerves. This was the
time for inner pep talks and self-promises, but he just
couldn’t manage any of that now.
Andy was in love with a man who had no idea, and how
sad was that? It was a good thing this was his last night on
the job; Andy didn’t know how much longer he could take
being near him… wanting him… needing him, and knowing
nothing would ever come of it but all of that one-sided want.
Wearier with the sadness of that realization than he had
ever been before, he worked up the courage to finally look at
himself in the mirror. Through the rising steam from the
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water that was still running, he saw his reflection and what
was written in the foggy condensation gathered on the glass.
Still dressed in nothing more than his towel, Coach
Sheridan stood, leaning against his desk, bare feet crossed
at the ankles, his arms at each side, supporting his weight
on the smooth edge of the wooden desk. He was the perfect
outward example of calm and collected—except the tension
in his shoulders, forearms, stomach, and thighs showed a
man laid bare and scared about what he had just revealed.
Andy stared at him from the doorway, his mind reeling,
looking at him, really, for the first time; looking at the coach,
taking him in with no fear.
He watched the coach’s throat work, swallowing before
he spoke. “You’re leaving… won’t be working here… I….”
It was the strangest sensation. Andy couldn’t feel his
hands or his feet, a strange kind of heat taking their place.
He shook his head, trying to clear the fog, and didn’t
recognize his own voice when he spoke. “I want… I need to
hear….” His mouth snapped shut as he locked eyes with the
coach, getting lost in their aquamarine depths. “What you
wrote….” The dead weight of his hand followed through with
the mental command, indicating the bathroom.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here, Doc.” The coach
wrapped his arms around his chest.
Andy shook his head. “No.”
The coach winced at that tiny word and rubbed his
arms roughly as if against a chill.
“No.” Andy pointed to the bathroom, holding the Coach
Sheridan’s level gaze. “I want to hear you say it
—
what you
wrote on that mirror.”
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Monika Krasnorada
| 10
Realization seemed to dawn on the coach, his eyes
shining three shades brighter as his face split with a grin.
The coach rolled up from his perch on the desk, fluid in his
movements as he slowly closed the distance between himself
and Andy.
Andy’s skin flushed ice-cold, then white-hot, when the
coach’s hand reached up, tousling the cropped waves and
curls of Andy’s hair, brushing his wide palm against the soft
stubble of his cheek that had grown in over the long day.
His head tilted, Andy looked up at Coach Sheridan
towering over him, wrapped in the autumnal scent of his
ginger and nutmeg cologne, relishing the soft warmth of the
coach’s breath against his face.
“I’m closing in on fifty fast, and I thought I was past
being surprised by much of anything.” The coach’s hand
rested warm and heavy against the side of Andy’s neck. Andy
swallowed a nervous lump that made the coach smile. His
thumb gently traced the curve of Andy’s jaw. “I thought I
knew who I was… what I wanted, but then….” The coach
leaned in, his mouth whisper-close to Andy’s ear. “But then
you fearlessly walked in, handling these boys more than
twice your size… never flinching at injuries that made most
of us dizzy to think about, let alone have to deal with.”
The coach’s other hand wound into the soft locks of
Andy’s hair, gently tugging, pulling his head back and
bringing him in closer. Andy sighed and swallowed again, at
the first touch of the coach’s soft lips barely grazing the
outer shell of his ear. “And I would catch you looking at me,
those blue eyes of yours; I could feel them burning my skin
whenever you thought I wasn’t paying attention.” His voice
was nearly a growl against Andy’s ear, sending violent
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shivers and white-hot heat coursing through his veins,
settling low in his belly, and even lower still.
“You wanted me, I could feel it, Doc, and I fought it, I
did, until you turned in your resignation. Until….” His
fingers tightened their grip on Andy’s head, his own eyes
lifting to look into Andy’s, to search for something—for what,
Andy had no clue. The coach’s eyes glowed with an inner
light as they moved across Andy’s features.
“How…,” the coach whispered. “I don’t… I don’t know
what I’m doing,” he repeated, his words tinged with anguish,
his vulnerability reflected in the worried crease of his brow
and the veil of emotion that now haunted his blue-green
gaze.
The moment hung frozen as Andy stepped into the
coach, lifting his hands, running them gingerly up the length
of the coach’s arms, following the contours of solid muscle
over smooth skin, feeling the dampness that still clung to
them as he brought them to rest on the coach’s broad
shoulders. He felt the coach stiffen briefly before relaxing,
and Andy’s eyes were drawn to the strong column of the
coach’s throat, watching as he swallowed.
The coach licked his lips as his eyes locked on Andy’s,
and Andy found his voice to finally speak. “What do you
want?”
Coach Sheridan gave a low, self-deprecating chuckle as
his hand instinctively tightened in Andy’s hair. “I want to
take you home and get you naked and have my fill of you.”
His words growled over Andy’s lips before finally… finally…
they met.
It wasn’t gentle: no tender, explorative first kiss, but
Andy wasn’t surprised, let alone disappointed. That first
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meeting of lips was rough, explosive, and all-consuming, and
Andy opened readily to the coach’s greedy assault.
It was all he had dreamed of and more as he felt the
rough beard stubble of the coach’s face, felt the power
contained in the wide shoulders as he clung desperately to
the coach, aching for more, more taste, their tongues dueling
in quick time.
Andy’s fingers dug into the rock-hard muscle of the
coach’s shoulders, and he swallowed the fierce growl of
approval that met that action.
The coach’s mouth moved along Andy’s jaw, biting and
nipping, his tongue soothing the harshness as Andy
struggled to breathe.
“Take me home,” Andy begged.
Coach Sheridan did growl then, marking Andy’s throat
before stepping away, running his fingers through his hair in
frustration.
Lips tingling, throat stinging, Andy shivered from the
cold air. Now that he had been scorched from the heat of the
coach’s embrace, the room now seemed frigid without the
warmth of the coach’s skin beneath his hands, without the
coach’s arms wrapped tightly around him, without the
pounding rhythm of the coach’s heartbeat against his own.
Andy smiled, running his own shaky hand down the front of
his shirt, smoothing it in reflex, trying to calm himself down,
trying to keep just one last thread of control as his eyes
locked on the massive erection the coach’s towel did nothing
to conceal.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Coach Sheridan threatened
wickedly. “Or I’ll have you over my desk, here and now.”
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Andy couldn’t help but laugh, throwing his hands up in
supplication. On the verge of begging for him to do just that,
Andy was thankful for this little respite
—
time to gather his
thoughts and get over the gobsmacked realization that this
was not a dream.
The coach dressed quickly, and they were in his car,
leaving Andy’s to chance for all he cared, pulling out of the
empty, cavernous garage faster than Andy would have
thought possible.
Andy was more than ready to give directions to his
humble home in the Old City downtown area, but he kept
silent as the coach pulled his sleek, dark SUV onto the
interstate heading away from downtown.
Holding back a gulp, he tried not to think too far ahead,
discreetly wiping his sweating palms on his thighs as they
made it to the coach’s house in silence and record time.
Andy reached for the door handle but stopped as the
coach’s hand squeezed his knee. The coach gave him that
dead-sexy crooked smile Andy had come to relish when Andy
finally looked up at him for the first time since they had left
the football stadium.
Jumping out of the car quickly, Coach Sheridan came
around and opened Andy’s door and, much to his chagrin,
helped him down from the tall vehicle. Their hands clasped,
Andy could feel the dampness in the coach’s own firm grip,
and that, as much as any reassuring words he could have
spoken, calmed Andy.
The coach led Andy up the meticulously landscaped
walkway, their path clearly marked by tiny lights along the
edge, to the door at the side of the house.
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So now here he was, about to enter this man’s home…
this man who had filled his teeming imagination and held
his fascination for months. He fought down the urge to gulp
as he stumbled up the path.
“Hey,” the coach urged softly, pulling Andy close to his
side. “You okay? Second thoughts?” He brushed a wayward
lock of hair gently from Andy’s forehead.
Andy quickly shook his head. “No, no second thoughts,
just… nervous.” He tried to give a little laugh.
“Me too,” Coach Sheridan quietly admitted before
pressing his lips to Andy’s forehead as he managed to unlock
the door.
They entered a small anteroom that led to a large
kitchen that opened into an informal living room.
“Would you like a drink?” the coach asked over his
shoulder as he moved into the room to turn on a few lights.
Andy shrugged out of his suit jacket, placing it on the
back of a wrought-iron barstool at the long bar island that
ran the length of the kitchen.
“Sure, maybe a beer, if you have one?”
The coach met Andy’s gave with that wicked lift of his
eyebrow that always drove Andy a little mad. “An SEC
football coach without beer in his refrigerator? I could be
brought up on NCAA charges of violation on an infraction
like that,” he teased as he pulled two bottles out of the
doublewide refrigerator. He popped the tops on them with
the opener mounted over the sink and slid one over to Andy.
“Though they are imports, so I might be charged still yet.” He
winked as he took a long, slow pull from the icy bottle.
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Andy refrained from mentioning the brand was his
personal favorite as he took a refreshing drink of the cold
beer.
The coach took his hand again and led him through the
massive house, taking his time, showing Andy the pool, the
weight room, the bonus room and all three bathrooms before
stopping at the foot of the stairs that led to the second story.
“Upstairs are the bedrooms, three of them, And a
bathroom….” His words faded as he held his gaze locked on
the upstairs balcony.
Andy couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him right
then
—
his nervousness was palpable. Tightening the grip he
held on the coach’s hand, he slid closer, pressing his lips to
the skin bared at the edge of the coach’s short-sleeved shirt.
“I’d like to see your room,” he offered quietly, his mouth
moving against the coach’s sensitized skin.
He felt the gooseflesh rise beneath his lips as a shiver
ran through the coach’s frame.
Coach Sheridan pulled him up, meeting his mouth for a
quick, super-heated kiss that left Andy reeling before he was
pulled behind the coach up the stairs.
The time for words had passed
—
the culmination of
dreams and confessions materialized into fervent neediness.
Andy barely registered the masculinity of the master
bedroom, vaguely aware that it reflected the man quickly
undressing in front of him. He peeled his own clothes off in
record time, and they soon stood naked in front of each
other, taking in every detail of the other’s body.
Andy’s cock stood proud from the trim thatch of
caramel-colored hair between his legs, where the coach’s
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grew long and hard and thick from the mass of the same
black curls that peppered his chest and narrowed into that
perfect line below his navel.
“Fucking gorgeous,” Coach Sheridan breathed, licking
his lips as his eyes devoured the sight of Andy’s trim, athletic
body.
Andy could feel the heat rise up his throat, scorching
his face at the compliment as the coach stepped forward,
reaching with his hand, fingers slightly trembling as he
placed his palm in the center of Andy’s chest. He was glad
the coach could feel the pounding of his heart, hoping it
eased some of the nervousness he could feel emanating from
the coach in waves.
The coach’s fingers tensed before he cleared his throat
to speak. “I’m not sure exactly… how to go about this….”
Andy smiled at the admission. “I think it’s pretty much
the same as….”
What should he say? Regular sex? Normal sex? This was
regular, normal sex for Andy, but he understood what the
coach meant. First times were hard no matter what.
“You think?” the coach asked with a doubtful lift of his
brow.
Andy shrugged noncommittally. “I wouldn’t know about
the… other,” he offered quietly.
Coach Sheridan nodded in understanding, and as if he
had now consulted his playbook, he finally lowered his head
to Andy’s, seeking his mouth with tenderness. Gone was the
near-terrifying intensity of their earlier kiss in the locker
room. This kiss was a beginning, an exploration of what
could be.
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The coach’s lips were pillow soft, his tongue gently
probing, teasing the outer corners of Andy’s mouth before
slipping slowly inside. Andy relished the taste of him this
time, the tang of beer mingling with the elemental flavor that
was uniquely the other man’s.
As Andy reveled in the kiss, he let his hands roam,
searching out and tracing the lines of defined muscle across
the coach’s chest, letting his palms rasp against the light
covering of coarse hair, tweaking the hard peaks of each
nipple before following the trailing line of hair that led to the
coach’s waiting cock.
He inhaled sharply against Andy’s mouth when Andy’s
wandering hand finally wrapped around his throbbing
length. As Andy slowly stroked from base to tip with
confident pressure, Coach Sheridan’s head fell back on his
shoulders, his back arching and forcing his cock to rock in
Andy’s grip.
Struck by the sight of the coach’s pleasure, Andy licked
at the exposed throat, peppering kisses along his chest and
abdomen as he lowered himself to his knees on the floor at
the coach’s feet. Gripping each hip, Andy pressed kisses low
on the coach’s stomach, feeling the muscles contract as he
sucked in a breath.
Andy nuzzled his face in the thick, dark curls at the
base of the coach’s cock, the enticing musky scent of sex
mingling with the autumnal fragrance the coach wore. The
coach’s hands fluttered against Andy’s shoulders as his
cheek caressed the long length.
He didn’t want to give the coach any kind of idle time,
knowing how much easier this first time together would be if
he didn’t have to think, if he could just get lost in the
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sensations. Forcing down the twinge of guilt at manipulating
the situation, Andy boldly wrapped his hand around the
thick cock on offer in front of him, sliding the foreskin back
at the same time he leaned in to lick the glistening drop of
moisture that beaded at the tip.
As Coach Sheridan hissed through clenched teeth, Andy
wrapped his mouth around the swollen head, groaning in
satisfaction at the taste before slowly taking more of the
length deep into his mouth.
“Fucking hell, Doc.” The coach moaned hoarsely. “Oh…
you little liar,” he breathed, letting his hands mold around
Andy’s skull and holding him in place as he thrust a little
deeper into the hot, wet cavern of Andy’s hungry mouth.
Andy allowed him the liberty, concentrating on relaxing
his throat, steadying his breathing to take Coach Sheridan
as deeply as he could before he pulled back. He tilted his
head so that he could catch the coach’s eye as he watched
with avid interest at sight of his cock, slick and wet, sliding
effortlessly out of Andy’s mouth.
“Liar?” Andy asked flirtatiously as his tongue teased the
sensitive slit at the tip of the coach’s cock, his hand
squeezing up the shaft, milking another drop of moisture
from the hard length. The coach’s hands tightened in Andy’s
hair as he watched him lick at the drop hungrily.
“Fucking little liar,” he growled. “This isn’t the same as
anything I’ve ever done.”
“It’s not?” Andy continued innocently, tracing the flared
head before dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin along
the underneath.
“Doc,” his voice held a warning, “this could get ugly, real
fast.”
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Andy looked back up, finding the sea-green gaze that
had always been so captivating now darkened ominously,
like the turbulent seas just before the storm.
He had forgotten, for a moment, just what this all meant
to a man like the coach, realizing for the first time his
attraction for another man. As jubilant as Andy had been to
see that confession written on the bathroom mirror, the
coach must have been just as equally frightened. This
moment was a milestone in the coach’s life, and Andy was
teasing and playing….
Andy tightened his grip and put his mouth back on the
coach, meeting each firm upstroke of his hand with a
sucking downstroke of his mouth until finally the coach was
fucking his throat. His free hand played with the heavy sac
that hung behind, feeling it grow tighter and fuller.
Finally, Andy pulled away, gasping for air as Coach
Sheridan tried to hold him in place with a frustrated groan.
Andy quickly stood, whispering against the coach’s lips, “I
want you to come inside me.”
Coach Sheridan’s stormy eyes grew wide, and then he
was suddenly lifting Andy, nearly carrying him to the bed,
where they fell in a tangled heap of groping hands and
hungry mouths. The coach’s hands were all over Andy, who
writhed in pleasure from each firm caress and each rugged
touch, until finally, the coach leaned to the side, the sound
of a drawer in the bedside table sliding open breaking into
Andy’s haze of lust. The coach was quickly sheathing his
erection with a condom as Andy reached for the bottle of
lube that lay on the bed between the coach’s knees, where he
knelt between Andy’s own.
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Monika Krasnorada
| 20
Their eyes met, and the color grew deeper in Coach
Sheridan’s cheeks. The coach shrugged, his hand continuing
to slowly stroke the erection in his fist. “It’s been a while. I
was… hoping,” he admitted softly.
Andy leaned up, quickly kissing him reassuringly as he
whispered into his mouth, “I’m glad.”
Popping the lid on the bottle he held, Andy squeezed
some onto the fingers of his left hand before handing it to the
coach. As he watched with an intense, burning gaze, Andy
reached between his legs, sliding his middle finger deftly
beneath his balls and into the tight hole hidden there. His
eyes drifted to the hefty cock that jutted impatiently from
between the coach’s thighs, and he slid another finger in,
scissoring them both in preparation.
Coach Sheridan just stared at what he was doing, and
Andy was now the one blushing deeply. “It’s been a while for
me too,” he offered almost sheepishly.
The coach swallowed hard. “I’m glad,” he echoed, now
pumping his cock with renewed interest as he watched Andy
with barely concealed astonishment. “That’s the hottest
fucking thing I have ever seen.”
Andy couldn’t help but smile, pulling his fingers free
and then grabbing the coach’s waiting cock, slicking the
residual wetness down his length, guiding him between his
legs.
“You don’t have to be gentle,” he quietly confessed.
The coach leaned in to kiss him lightly before letting his
forehead rest against Andy’s. “Good, because I don’t think I
can be.”
Fragile |
Monika Krasnorada
| 21
And with that, he was entering Andy, slowly but
insistently, until he was buried completely in the tight, hot
depths of Andy’s ass.
“God…,” he breathed, lifting himself up on his fists,
angling and arching his back so that he went even deeper.
“Fuck, Doc… it’s good, it’s so good.”
Andy’s hands caressed and clutched at the coach’s tight
buttocks as he began to move inside of him. Lifting his
knees, Andy met each pounding thrust the coach battered
him with. Stroke after stroke, the intensity built, each
climbing, reaching for the end.
Andy stroked his own cock in time with Coach
Sheridan’s hungry thrusts, the pleasure of being filled by the
coach almost enough on its own, but he knew the coach was
close, could feel that tension building in every muscle, and
he wanted to be with him in that moment… coming together
this first time.
Andy felt the coach’s eyes on him as he worked to bring
himself off at the same time. With a low moan from deep in
his chest, the coach thrust forcefully twice more as he
wrapped his own hand tightly around Andy’s, working his
cock together as the coach came.
“Say my name,” he ordered roughly, his eyes tightly
shut, his fist pumping madly as Andy felt the deep pulses of
his come inside of him with the heat that flooded the
condom.
At the order, Andy stiffened, arching into the coach’s
grasp and grinding his ass deeper onto the still hardened
cock as he came, the warm, thick jets spilling over their
hands. “Erik,” he breathed the coach’s name for the first
time ever outside of his own dark fantasies.
Fragile |
Monika Krasnorada
| 22
The room was silent except for their heavy breathing as
the coach lay where he had collapsed across Andy. He kissed
Erik’s shoulder as the coach nuzzled his throat, and Andy
traced designs on the damp skin of his back.
“You know,” he spoke softly against the coach’s skin.
“You never did say what I asked you, earlier.”
The coach managed a small chuckle, the sensation
tickling Andy’s neck. “Hmm, I don’t guess I did,” he teased.
Andy waited a moment before pushing gently on his
shoulder. “Well?” he demanded.
With another low laugh, the coach rose up on his
elbows and looked down into Andy’s face before his still-
stormy gaze turned serious. “I think I could love you,
Andrew,” he confessed to the words he had written on that
mirror earlier.
Andy smiled warmly up at him before leaning in to kiss
him tenderly. “That’s good, because I know I love you…
Erik.”
About the Author
M
ONIKA
K
RASNORADA
grew up in the foothills of the Great
Smoky Mountains in rural east Tennessee. Forever the
perennial black sheep, she never fell into step with the
country life. Her teenage obsession with Duran Duran and
the dream of being Andy Warhol’s “latest discovery” filled
many notebooks with stories of teenage angst.
She worked as a labor and delivery nurse for nearly ten
years before becoming a stay-at-home mother of two, but
those notebooks of her youth were never forgotten. An avid
reader, she always felt she had a story to tell, and thanks to
the encouragement of some very special friends, she now has
the opportunity to tell it.
Copyright
Fragile ©Copyright Monika Krasnorada, 2011
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Catt Ford
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite
244-149, Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
Released in the United States of America
June 2011
eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-026-4
