She giggles against my neck and tilts her hips up, clenching around me. Her nails dig into my shoulders through my t-shirt and her mouth finds my neck again, and every thrust is this overwhelming full-contact thing that makes the back of my brain go white.
I can hear a distant voice in the hallway and pause my movement.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers, pulling my hips closer. “Don’t you dare.”
I don’t stop. If anything the sound of those footsteps makes my grip on her hips tighten and I don’t understand that about myself yet, I don’t understand why the danger makes everything more vivid but it does and I can feel it in both of us, an edge that has nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with where we are.
She pulls back from my neck and looks at me and her hand comes up to my face and her thumb traces along my jaw and I slow down without deciding to. I press my forehead against hers and my hips slow to something that barely counts as moving and she lets out a shaky exhale and holds my face with both hands.
“I got the internship,” she whispers again, and her voice cracks on it this time, and I realize the bravado and the racy text and the ambush in the storage closet were all Mackie’s way of processing something that scared her as much as it thrilled her, because she doesn’t know how to sit still with good news, she has to burn through it.
“I’m so proud of you, Mack.”
“Don’t make me cry right now, I swear to god?—”
I kiss her and move deeper. Her breath catches and her fingers tighten in my hair and I can feel her getting close and I hold her there, both arms around her, my face buried in her neck, and when she comes she bites down on my shoulder to keep from making a sound and the sharp pain sends me right after her. I thrust twice more and bury myself in her, muffling a groan into her neck as I pulse inside her, and the feeling is so intense that for a moment I don’t care about the risk or the meeting or the footsteps or any of it. My whole body is shaking and I’m pressed into her so hard the shelf creaks behind her and there’s nothing in my head. Nothing.Just her and the warmth between us and the fact that I never want to move again.
For a few seconds we stay together, breathing hard. Her legs still wrapped around me, my arms still holding her up, both of us too wrecked to move. It’s almost too much, this raw overwhelming awareness of everywhere we’re connected and the fact that there’s nothing separating us and I don’t want to pull out. I don’t want this to end. I want to stay exactly here in this storage closet forever and never put clothes on again.
She laughs first, a quiet, disbelieving sound against my chest.
“We just did that.”
“Fuck. We just did that in the facility.”
I pull out slowly, lowering her from the shelf and she snags a towel from behind her. “Oh, shit, I didn’t actually think this through.” She mumbles, wiping at her inner thighs.
I watch her clean up with a towel that belongs to the Puckaneers organization and something about this is either the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me or the most depraved. I can’t tell, and I also cannot stop staring.
“Oh my god, stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what.”
“Like you’re having a religious experience.” She slaps the towel on my chest and I flinch back slightly. “You too. We’re not walking out of here like this.”
I clean up as she buttons her jeans. She’s trying to finger-comb her hair into something that doesn’t look like she just had sex in a storage closet, and I’m standing here with my joggers back up feeling like someone rearranged every cell in my body.
She zips her hoodie and smooths her hair one more time and then tilts her head and looks at my neck.
“Oh,” she giggles, “That looks bad… it’s really visible.”
“Are you serious?” I reach up and touch the spot.
“It’s good.” She stands on her toes and kisses my neck. “Noweveryone will know someone’s got you. They just won’t know who.”
She checks her own reflection in her phone camera, wiping under her eyes. “Okay, you have four minutes. Go.”
“I look like I just?—”
“You look fine. Fix your hair.” She reaches up and pushes it off my forehead. “And good luck explaining that.” She taps the hickey and grins. “Consider it a souvenir.” She kisses me once more, then slips out the door, leaving me standing in a storage room with a hickey and absolutely no way to cover any of this up.
I makeit to the meeting room with ninety seconds to spare. Barrett is at the front going over something on the whiteboard. I drop into the chair next to Rodriguez and pull my shirt up as casually as I can.
Barrett talks for a few minutes about defensive zone coverage and special teams adjustments for the final stretch and I absorb approximately none of it because I’m angled slightly to the right with my hand on my jaw like I’m thinking deeply about hockey when I’m actually trying to cover the side of my neck.
Rodriguez is quiet the whole time which should have been my first warning sign.
Barrett finishes. “Questions? No? Good. Get out of here.”
