Kayla’s dorm smelled like lavender air freshener and leftover microwave popcorn. The curtains were drawn even though it was only six in the evening, the glow from a laptop casting blue light over the rumpled twin bed.

Adrian pushed into her slowly, trying to find rhythm against the too-thin mattress. She stared at the ceiling, one arm bent lazily over her head, nails chipped pink.

“Ugh—wait,” she muttered, frowning. “That kinda hurts.”

He stopped, breath tight. “You want me to—”

“It’s fine,” she cut in, adjusting her hair like she was posing for a mirror. “Just… slower, I guess.”

He tried slower. She sighed, not the good kind, just impatient, like she was waiting in line. When he brushed her hair off her cheek and kissed her throat, she didn’t move—didn’t even look at him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, it’s… whatever,” she said, eyes flicking toward the digital clock on her desk. “It’s just been a long day.”

He almost laughed. Me too.

He rolled his hips again, hoping maybe her body would warm to it, that some spark would catch. Instead, she winced. “Seriously, you’re kind of… big, okay?” she whispered, half-accusing, like it was his fault for being built like an athlete.

He stopped altogether and pulled out halfway. “We can quit if you want.”

“I didn’t say that,” she said quickly. “Just, like—don’t go so deep. And maybe don’t hold my hips like that, it leaves marks.”

He looked down at her — pretty enough, with that college-girl gloss: spray-tan legs, a glitter phone case charging on the nightstand, a half-finished iced coffee sweating on the floor. But there was nothing alive in her face. Just another girl doing what she thought she was supposed to do.

He adjusted, tried again. Her expression barely changed.

After a minute she asked, “Are you almost done?”

That killed it. He closed his eyes, ground through the motion just long enough to finish, then slid off her with a grunt. The air conditioner hummed, filling the silence.

Kayla stretched, yawning like she’d just woken from a nap. “I think I need to shower before my roommate gets back,” she said, sitting up and grabbing her phone. “She freaks out about smells.”

Adrian sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his boxers. “You always know how to make a guy feel special.”

She smirked without looking up from her screen. “I’m just being honest. Most guys don’t care.”

He pulled his shirt over his head. “Yeah, maybe that’s the problem.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer. He found his jeans, stepped into them, buttoned them slow to keep from saying something that would start a fight.

Kayla kept scrolling. “You mad or something?”

He laughed under his breath. “No. Just—forget it.”

“Seriously, if this is about me not, like, moaning loud enough or whatever, I’m not that girl,” she said flatly. “You don’t need a performance.”

He turned, finally looking at her. “No, Kayla, I need something real. And this—” he gestured around the cramped dorm, at her distracted face, the artificial scent in the air— “ain’t it.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, you sound like one of those guys who reads self-help podcasts.”

“Maybe I just know bad sex when I’m in it.”

Her head snapped up. “Wow. Thanks for that.”

He snatched his keys off the desk. “You’re welcome.”

“Whatever,” she muttered, already texting someone.

He opened the door and paused, half tempted to apologize just to fill the silence. Then he heard her humming to herself as she typed, completely unfazed, and felt the irritation rise again.

The door clicked shut hard behind him.

Out in the hallway, the music from another room thudded through the walls. Adrian exhaled, jaw tight, shoulders still humming with the kind of frustration that had nothing to do with exhaustion. He’d had sex, technically. But it might as well have been a scrimmage with no scoreboard.

As he headed down the stairwell toward the parking lot, he knew exactly how he’d describe it later: just another shallow campus hookup—one more reason all these football-groupie girls felt like a waste of time. None of them had even come close to her.

That thought—Mrs. H—slipped through his mind like a breath he didn’t want to admit he still took.

He shoved it away, let the heavy door slam behind him, and stepped out into the cooling night.

——-

The locker room smelled like wet turf and menthol rub, steam rolling low from the showers and mixing with the sharp scent of sweat and detergent. Cleats clattered against tile, metal doors slammed, somebody cursed at a jammed lock.

Adrian dropped onto the bench, towel hanging around his neck, muscles aching from another punishing practice. Hunter sat a few lockers down, whistling off-key while D’Angelo peeled athletic tape from his wrists.

“Bro, I’m done,” Hunter groaned. “Coach ran us like we stole something.”

Adrian managed a tired smirk. “He’s making up for yesterday.”

D’Angelo flexed his hands. “He got all of us.” He glanced over. “You good, man? You look like you fought a bear.”

For a moment Adrian didn’t answer. He looked at his two closest friends—the same guys he’d first met back in junior high when the three of them were awkward, wide-eyed kids trying out for Pop Warner. They’d sweated together through summer camps, Friday-night lights, the highs of championship runs and the lows of heartbreak losses. High school had only tightened the bond; now, by some miracle, they’d landed at the same state university, still side by side, chasing the same dream. Different town, bigger stage—same brothers.

Adrian let out a breath that came from somewhere deep. “Yeah. Just had a long night a couple days ago.”

Hunter grinned immediately. “Ohhh, that kind of night?”

“Yeah,” Adrian said flatly. “Except it sucked.”

That stopped both of them.

“Hold up,” Hunter said. “You? Mr. Franchise? The golden boy? What happened—somebody forget how to spell your name?”

Adrian shook his head. “Nah, man. Kayla. One of those campus groupies. Looked good in selfies, dead in person. No rhythm, no reaction, nothing. Halfway through she tells me it hurts.”

Hunter burst out laughing. “Damn! You broke another one!”

“Not funny,” Adrian said. “It was like trying to connect with a mannequin. Every girl’s the same lately—fake moaning, no passion, like they’re checking a box so they can brag to their sorority sisters later.”

D’Angelo nodded slowly. “You’re not wrong. Most of ’em don’t even like sex—they just like the idea of saying they did it with a player.”

“Exactly.” Adrian rubbed a hand over his face. “I swear, man, it’s getting boring. I’m starting to think the best I’ll ever have already happened.”

Hunter blinked. “You mean—”

“Yeah.” Adrian gave a low laugh. “Mrs. H.”

The name alone hung in the humid air like a secret they all felt but never said out loud.

“Still the best,” D’Angelo said quietly. “No contest.”

Hunter grinned, shaking his head. “She looked so proper, too. Every guy at school wanted to know if the rumors were real.”

Adrian chuckled under his breath. “They were. And she didn’t play games. She felt everything. Gave it back, twice as hard. You can’t fake that.”

Hunter laughed again, slapping the bench. “Man, you sound like a preacher right now.”

“Maybe,” Adrian said. “But tell me I’m lying.”

They all laughed then—loud, unguarded, the kind of laughter that felt like release after weeks of grind.

But when the laughter faded, the quiet left behind was heavier than before, thick with memory and a kind of guilt that none of them wanted to name.

A sudden voice from behind the locker row made all three of them jolt.

“Well, now that is a story I’d like to hear.”

They turned. Assistant Coach Brown stood there, towel around his neck, smirk cutting across his face. The man was built like a retired linebacker—broad, confident, eyes that saw more than anyone wanted him to.

Hunter nearly dropped his water bottle. “Coach! Uh… we were just—”

“Talking about film review, right?” Brown said, one brow raised. “Sounded like quite the… educational tape.”

D’Angelo coughed into his fist, and Adrian started to stammer something about locker-room talk, but Brown waved it off.

“Relax, fellas. I’m not gonna write you up for having a conversation. But this ‘Mrs. H’ business you’re whispering about—now that has my attention.” He grabbed his duffel from the bench beside them. “I’m buying dinner. Murphy’s Burger Bar. Thirty minutes.”

Hunter blinked. “For real?”

Brown nodded. “For real. You three owe me the story, and I’ve got questions. I want to know what made this woman so damn unforgettable.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder and started toward the exit. “See you there—or don’t. But something tells me curiosity’s gonna win.”

The door swung shut behind him, leaving the echo of his footsteps and the faint squeak of hinges.

Hunter looked at Adrian. “Dude, what just happened?”

Adrian exhaled slowly. “I think we just got invited to dinner… with trouble.”

D’Angelo gave a half-smile. “Guess we better not be late.”

——-

Murphy’s Burger Bar sat at the edge of campus, wedged between a laundromat and a vape shop, the kind of place where the tables were always sticky and the fries were always perfect. The late dinner crowd hummed with noise—TVs playing sports highlights, bursts of laughter from a group of grad students near the bar, the clink of plates and glasses.

Coach Brown had claimed a corner booth big enough for four. He waved the boys over when they walked in, already halfway through a beer.

“About time,” he said as they slid into the seats. “I was starting to think y’all chickened out.”

“Wouldn’t miss free food,” Hunter said, grinning.

“Smart man,” Brown replied.

A waitress appeared at the table—a curvy brunette with an easy smile, maybe mid-thirties, wearing jeans and a fitted white top that strained just enough to draw every male eye in the booth. She handed out menus with a practiced rhythm.

“What can I get you gentlemen tonight?”

Her voice had a low, teasing warmth to it that made Hunter forget his order for a second.

“I’ll take the double bacon cheeseburger,” Adrian said first. “Fries, root beer.”

“Same,” D’Angelo added.

“Make mine a chili burger and a shake,” Hunter said, flashing a grin.

The waitress jotted the notes, then turned to Brown.

“And for you, Coach?”

He smiled, gaze drifting just a little lower than her name tag. “Steak burger, medium rare. And a cold draft.”

“You got it,” she said, giving a half-smile before walking away toward the counter.

Brown’s eyes followed her, not bothering to hide it. He let out a soft whistle. “Now that’s a woman who knows how to fill out a uniform.”

Hunter laughed, shaking his head. “Coach, you’re shameless.”

“Guilty as charged,” Brown said, leaning back with a grin. “Anyway… while we wait for our food—why don’t y’all tell me about this ‘Mrs. H’ I keep hearing about?”

The three guys exchanged a quick look.

Adrian folded his hands on the table. “She was… our teacher,” he began carefully. “English. Vanessa Hudson. But everyone just called her Mrs. H.”

Brown’s brows rose. “So we’re talking a teacher, huh? Go on.”

“She was… different,” Hunter said, eyes unfocused like he was seeing the memory play out. “Not one of those mean types or the ones who talk down to you. She actually cared. Stayed after class, helped us with assignments. Half the football team wouldn’t have stayed eligible without her.”

“She’d bake cookies sometimes,” D’Angelo added. “Said studying was easier with sugar. She’d stay in that classroom long after the janitors left, making sure we got through essays line by line.”

Adrian nodded slowly. “And she wasn’t fake about it either. She believed in us. Treated us like we could actually be something besides jocks.”

Brown tapped the table with a finger. “That kind of woman sticks with you.”

“Yeah,” Adrian said softly. “She did.”

“So how’d she end up at that… party you mentioned?” Brown asked, taking a sip of his beer.

Hunter scratched his neck. “It was right after the championship game. We invited her—half-joking, really. Didn’t think she’d come.”

“But she did,” D’Angelo said. “Showed up in a sundress. Everyone was surprised. She said her husband told her to go, said she deserved a night out.”

Adrian gave a small, ironic laugh. “That was… one decision he probably regretted.”

Brown smirked. “I can imagine.”

“She was just supposed to hang out, dance, have fun,” Hunter said. “But it got late, people left, and it was just us. The rest you can probably fill in.”

Brown’s grin widened. “I don’t need details, son. I can read between the lines.”

“Her husband showed up,” Adrian said, voice low. “Walked in on it. Took her home. We never saw her again after that.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Only the muffled chatter of the restaurant filled the space between them.

Finally, Brown leaned forward, resting his thick forearms on the table. “And she was… special, huh?”

All three nodded.

“Why?” he asked. “What made it different from the other girls?”

Adrian thought for a moment. “She was real,” he said finally. “She wasn’t pretending. She wasn’t doing it to brag or post or prove something. She wanted it, and she made sure we knew it.”

Hunter chimed in. “Yeah. She wasn’t just into the idea of us—she was into us. Like, the energy, the chemistry. You felt it.”

D’Angelo nodded. “She had confidence. You could feel it when she touched you. Like she knew what she was doing, but also didn’t have anything to prove.”

“It’s true,” Brown chuckled under his breath. “Mature women—especially married ones—have had experiences that, good or bad, makes them know what they want.”

The boys nodded thoughtfully.

“Sounds like y’all got a first-class education that night,” Brown added.

Hunter grinned. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Brown took a long sip of beer, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “You boys ever think about… recapturing that? That kind of magic?”

Adrian frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Brown said, lowering his voice, “there are a lot of women out there—married, divorced, lonely—who’d kill for that kind of attention. Real, physical connection from young, strong guys who actually know how to give it.” He set his glass down with a soft clink. “And you three could make a damn fortune doing what you’re already good at.”

Hunter laughed. “You’re kidding.”

Brown smiled. “Dead serious. You want extra tuition money? Rent? Food? This is a business waiting to happen. Discreet. Safe. Hell, I’d even help you run it.”

Adrian blinked. “You’re saying… like an escort service?”

“Not that word,” Brown said quickly. “Think of it as—mutually beneficial relationships. You provide what these women are missing, they make sure you boys stay comfortable. Everyone wins.”

The waitress returned with their plates then, sliding the food onto the table with a bright smile. “Here you go, gentlemen. Anything else?”

Brown grinned at her again, gaze lingering just a second longer than polite. “We’re good for now, sweetheart.”

When she walked away, he leaned back and said, “See? She’s exactly the type I’m talking about. Probably married, definitely underappreciated, and I’d bet she hasn’t had a real night in years.”

Adrian couldn’t help but chuckle, though the idea was still sinking in. “You’re serious about this.”

“Serious as a heart attack,” Brown said. “And from what I just heard, you’ve already proven you know how to deliver.”

The three teammates exchanged glances—half disbelief, half curiosity.

Hunter broke the silence. “Coach, this has got to be the weirdest recruiting pitch we’ve ever heard.”

Brown laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Call it whatever you want, son. But I think the three of you just found your new playbook.”

Brown raised his beer in a toast. “To opportunity—and to Mrs. H, wherever she is.”

The boys lifted their glasses, still unsure what to make of any of this, but the gesture felt fitting. Glass met glass with a soft clink, sealing something unspoken between them.

The rest of the meal passed in lighter conversation—football, grades, upcoming games—but the idea hung in the air, floating just beneath the noise of the restaurant.

Eventually, Coach Brown stood, tossed a couple of folded bills onto the check, and told them, “Stay out of trouble, gentlemen.” He gave that easy smile that made it sound like both advice and challenge.

The boys were still finishing their fries when they saw him over by the counter, chatting with their waitress. She laughed, touched his arm, and leaned closer as he slid his card across the counter. Her body language said everything.

Hunter elbowed Adrian. “Dude… is he flirting with her?”

“Looks like more than flirting,” Adrian said.

They watched the waitress hug Brown before he handed her a slip of paper along with the signed receipt. She smiled, cheeks flushed, and followed him toward the door.

“No way,” D’Angelo muttered.

Through the window, they saw her walking beside him to the parking lot. Brown opened the passenger door of his dark sedan, let her climb in, then rounded to the driver’s side. The engine started, headlights flashing against the glass.

As the car backed out, Coach Brown glanced toward the window and spotted them still sitting in the booth. He gave a slow, unmistakable wink and flashed that same confident smile before easing out onto the street.

For a long moment, none of them spoke.

Hunter whistled softly. “Man’s got game.”

Adrian leaned back, smirking. “Guess he wasn’t kidding.”

D’Angelo nodded once, eyes still on the spot where the taillights disappeared. “Maybe we should hear him out.”

Adrian glanced at his teammates, the corners of his mouth lifting into a knowing grin. “Yeah. I think we just met the real deal.”

——-

It was the first time the guys had seen Coach Brown since the night at Murphy’s.

They caught him the next afternoon just as he was stepping out of the staff lounge, coffee in hand, that same easy grin plastered across his face.

Hunter called out, “Yo, Coach! So… how’d it go last night?”

Brown slowed, smirk deepening. “You mean with Erica?”

Adrian raised an eyebrow. “That her name?”

“That’s her name,” Brown said, clearly pleased with himself. “And yes, she’s married. Two kids. Husband’s a regional sales rep who’s out of town half the month. Sweet woman. Just needed someone to make her feel like a woman again.”

Hunter let out a low whistle. “You actually pulled that off?”

Brown chuckled. “Pulled it off? Son, she called me twice today before breakfast. Told me she couldn’t stop smiling.”

D’Angelo shook his head, half amused, half impressed. “Man’s got game.”

“Game?” Brown said with mock offense. “No, boys—what I’ve got is experience.” He tapped his temple. “You learn to see what people need, not just what they say they want.”

He gestured toward his office. “Now come on. Close the door. We’ve got something to discuss.”

They followed him in, the three of them crowding around his desk while he took his seat, coffee steaming beside a yellow legal pad filled with scribbles.

Brown leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been thinking about our little conversation last night. What you boys had with that teacher wasn’t just a one-time story—it’s a business model waiting to happen.”

Hunter grinned. “So you really meant all that stuff about starting something?”

“Damn right I did,” Brown said. “Think about it. There are women out there—married, single, divorced—who are starving for attention. Not just sex, but that spark, that thrill. They want to feel alive again. You three have what they’re missing—youth, energy, looks, stamina. Combine that with discretion, and we’re sitting on gold.”

D’Angelo folded his arms. “How would this even work?”

“Simple,” Brown said, leaning forward. “I handle logistics: screening, setting rules, finding safe meeting spots, making sure nobody gets burned. Payment goes through me. You boys keep your hands clean—figuratively, anyway.”

Hunter laughed. “And you get a cut, right?”

Brown grinned. “Of course. I’m the head coach here, remember? Somebody’s gotta keep this team organized.”

Adrian leaned back, thinking aloud. “So what—we’d call it something like Team M.I.L.F.?”

Hunter immediately cracked up. “Bro, that’s perfect!”

Even D’Angelo grinned. “Short, bold, unforgettable.”

Coach Brown blinked once—then burst into laughter so hard his coffee nearly spilled. “You boys are outta your damn minds.”

Adrian shrugged, smiling. “What? It fits. We’re a team. We’ll specialize in mature women—MILFs!”

“Oh, it fits, all right,” Brown said, still chuckling, “but it’s also about as subtle as a confession. You want this thing to work, it needs cover. Something clean—something that sounds like a mentorship program or outreach effort if anyone ever starts asking questions.”

Hunter grinned. “So what would you call it then, Coach?”

Brown leaned forward, tapping his pen against the desk. “Hmm… how about something that actually sounds respectable? Maybe with a little sexy twist: Training and Guidance.”

“Training and Guidance?” D’Angelo repeated.

“Yeah,” Brown said. “That’s the official name. But between us—and the people who understand what it really means—we call it the T.A.G. Team.”

Hunter’s grin spread. “Tag team. I get it. That’s slick, Coach.”

Adrian laughed. “Man, that’s actually better than mine.”

Brown smirked. “Of course it is. I’m the one with the experience.”

The room broke into laughter, the tension gone, replaced with a sense of excitement none of them quite wanted to admit.

Brown jotted a few notes on his pad and looked up. “Here’s what I’ll do—I’ll write up something detailed. Rules, structure, screening, the whole nine yards. Think of it as your playbook. You read it, and if you’re still on board, we take the next step.”

Adrian nodded. “Yeah, Coach. Write it up. We’ll check it out.”

“Good,” Brown said, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “Because once you see what I’ve got in mind, you’ll realize this isn’t just a hustle. This is a system. Discipline, teamwork, reward. That’s how champions are made—on the field and off.”

As they turned to leave, Hunter muttered, “Training and Guidance… the T.A.G. Team. I like it.”

“Better start living up to the name,” Adrian said with a grin.

Behind them, Brown called out, “Oh, you will, boys. You will.”

——-

Two weeks later, the team’s Thursday practice ended the way most did—humid air, pounding music, and players dragging their exhausted bodies toward the locker room. Coach Brown caught Adrian, Hunter, and D’Angelo on their way out with a sharp whistle.

“Office,” he said. “Now.”

The three exchanged looks. D’Angelo muttered, “We in trouble again?”

“Not this time,” Brown said with a grin as they followed him inside.

His office still smelled faintly of coffee and leather. The blinds were drawn, and a slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he dropped into his chair. “Boys, remember our little pilot program?”

Adrian nodded. “The T.A.G. Team.”

“That’s the one.” Brown folded his hands. “Well, I’ve got news. Erica’s been thinking about that night at Murphy’s—and she’s interested. Very interested.”

Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, seriously?”

Brown leaned back. “Dead serious. We’ve been seeing each other off and on. Last night she told me she’s ready to try something… different. Something with a few more participants.”

The room went still for a moment.

Adrian gave a slow grin. “She wants a trial?”

“She wants to meet the team,” Brown corrected. “Next weekend. Saturday night. My place. She’s comfortable there.”

D’Angelo whistled softly. “Damn, Coach. You move fast.”

“Fast?” Brown laughed. “This has been two weeks of groundwork. Patience, persuasion, and planning. You’ll learn that part too.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “So clear your calendars. Between now and then, get your heads right. This isn’t a party—it’s practice. Think of it as your first scrimmage.”

Adrian nodded, the same pre-game spark lighting in his eyes. “Got it.”

“Good,” Brown said, standing and grabbing his whistle off the desk. “Then we’re officially in motion. T.A.G. Team, Phase One: Evaluation.”

——-

The following weekend came faster than any of them expected. By Saturday evening, the butterflies in their stomachs felt a lot like the ones that hit before a championship kickoff. Coach Brown’s apartment lights glowed through the blinds, the sound of low jazz playing inside. When the door opened, that same mix of bourbon, cologne, and quiet authority greeted them again. Brown was already there, sleeves rolled, the picture of calm confidence.

“Glad you boys showed up on time,” he said, motioning them inside. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes before our guest arrives. Let’s go over a few things first.”

Coach Brown’s apartment looked exactly how the players had imagined—tasteful, masculine, and slightly intimidating. Dark leather couches. Framed jerseys from his playing days. A neat bar setup by the window. The air carried that faint mix of cologne, bourbon, and authority that just felt like him.

Adrian, Hunter, and D’Angelo stood awkwardly at first, scanning the room while Brown poured three glasses of water and handed them out like it was pre-game hydration.

“Take a seat, boys,” he said, settling into the armchair across from them. He had that same energy he brought to film review—serious but steady, confident without trying.

“So,” he began, “this isn’t a party. This is a trial. That means you treat it like practice—controlled, focused, professional. Got it?”

All three nodded.

Brown leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Now, Erica’s no rookie, but she’s not a wild one either. Married woman, mid-thirties, comfortable in her skin but still learning what she likes. She trusts me—but you will have to earn her trust in the moment.”

Hunter raised a hand like it was class. “So she knows we’re all gonna be here?”

Brown smirked. “She knows most of what’s about to happen. We talked. She wants to explore something new, but she’s not into disrespect or chaos. You follow her lead, and when she gives you the look—that’s when you take charge. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Adrian nodded. “Got it.”

“Good,” Brown said. “Now listen—women like her, they’re not impressed by noise or bravado. They want presence. Eye contact. Confidence without cockiness. You read her reactions, not just her words. Touch isn’t about what you want; it’s about what she responds to.”

He stood and paced a little, the way he did on the sideline before a big game. “Erica’s always been more sensual than kinky. She likes control, but she likes to feel safe giving it up. She enjoys attention—being desired—but not being treated like a conquest. You want to win? Make her forget she’s doing something she wasn’t supposed to do.”

There was a brief silence, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner.

D’Angelo finally said, “Feels kinda weird thinking about it like a playbook.”

Brown grinned. “That’s exactly what it is. Every play has a purpose. Every touch, every look—it’s about rhythm. Read the field, adapt, and make it flow.”

Hunter chuckled. “Never thought we’d be running drills for this kind of game.”

“Welcome to the T.A.G. Team,” Brown said with a wink. “Training and Guidance starts right here.”

He checked his watch, then moved to the bar and poured himself a short bourbon. “She’ll be here in fifteen. Make sure you’re ready—mentally and physically. Phones off, egos off, and remember—this is about her.”

He took a sip, smiled faintly. “And boys? Don’t screw this up. First impressions matter.”

A quiet laugh moved through the room, but under it was that pulse of nervous energy that came before every big game.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. Brown turned toward it, that same confident grin forming again.

“Game time,” he said, setting down his glass and heading for the door.

The door opened slowly. Coach Brown stood aside, letting her step inside.

Erica walked in, dressed in a tight outfit, hair and makeup beautiful. She wore dark jeans that hugged her hips and thighs, paired with a soft burgundy top that dipped low enough to show the curve of her collarbones. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot, tendrils framing her face. She looked polished, elegant—but beneath that, there was a nervous energy that made her glance around the room, eyes wide and searching.

Coach Brown noticed she seemed nervous, but also noticed the boys were, too. Hunter shifted his weight from foot to foot, D’Angelo’s gaze dropped to the floor for a second, and Adrian ran a hand over his jaw like he was checking for stubble.

Brown smiled warmly, stepping closer to her. “Glad you made it, Baby,” he said, giving her a tender kiss.

“Thanks for having me,” she said softly, her voice carrying a slight tremor.

He turned toward the others. “You remember Adrian, Hunter, and D’Angelo.”

She nodded, forcing a smile. “From Murphy’s. Of course.”

Hunter stepped forward first, extending a hand. “Hey, Erica. Good to see you again.”

She shook his hand—a brief, firm grip—but her eyes flickered toward Brown as if seeking reassurance.

D’Angelo followed, nodding respectfully. “Nice to see you.”

Adrian moved last, meeting her gaze steadily. “You look great,” he said, the compliment sounding sincere, not slick.

Brown watched her shoulders relax slightly. Good start. He gestured toward the couch. Why don’t we all sit? Drinks?”

Erica nodded, smoothing her jeans as she took a seat beside Brown. The boys settled across from her—Adrian leaning forward with elbows on knees, Hunter leaning back casually, D’Angelo sitting upright, hands clasped loosely.

Brown poured her a glass of wine. “So,” he said, handing it to her. “How’s the restaurant tonight?”

She took a small sip. “Busy. Saturday rush.”

Hunter grinned. “Still serving those killer milkshakes?”

She laughed softly, tension easing a little. “Always.”

The conversation flowed slowly at first—safe topics: work, campus life, the upcoming game—but Brown steered it gently toward more personal territory. He asked Erica about her kids, her hobbies, the books she’d been reading lately. She talked about her son’s soccer team, her daughter’s art projects, how she’d started painting again after years. The boys listened intently, asking questions when it felt natural.

Brown watched her carefully. Her posture loosened, her smile grew more genuine. She laughed at Hunter’s jokes, nodded thoughtfully at Adrian’s observations, and met D’Angelo’s quiet gaze without flinching. Good. She was warming to them.

He leaned closer to her, voice low. “You doing okay?”

She glanced at him, then at the boys, and nodded. “Yeah. Better than I thought.”

Brown smiled. “Good.” He turned to the others. “Why don’t we move to something a little more comfortable?”

Hunter stood first, stretching casually. “Sounds good.”

Adrian followed, offering Erica a hand. “Need help?”

She hesitated, then took it, letting him pull her gently to her feet. Brown noticed the brief contact—how her fingers lingered against Adrian’s palm before she let go.

D’Angelo moved toward the stereo, turning the jazz down a notch. The room felt quieter now, softer.

Brown guided Erica toward the center of the living room, away from the couches. He stood behind her, hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “Relax,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply.

Brown looked at the boys. “Adrian?”

Adrian stepped forward, meeting Erica’s gaze. He didn’t rush. He moved slowly, deliberately, stopping just inches from her. His hand lifted, fingers brushing her cheekbone. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, eyes locked on his. “Yeah.”

His thumb traced her jawline, then slid down her throat. She shivered slightly but didn’t pull away.

Brown watched her reaction—the quickening breath, the way her lips parted.

Adrian’s hand drifted lower, settling at her waist. His other hand took hers, fingers intertwining loosely. The music shifted—something slower, smoother—and Adrian began to move. Just a gentle sway at first, stepping side to side, guiding her with subtle pressure. Erica followed his lead, her movements stiff at first but gradually softening. Her hips brushed against his thigh as they turned.

Brown watched from the edge of the room, arms crossed. Hunter leaned against the wall, grinning slightly. D’Angelo stood near the stereo, expression unreadable but attentive.

Adrian’s hand slid lower, resting firmly on the curve of her hip. His grip tightened, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush. Erica’s breath hitched—a soft, audible sound—as his thigh pressed between hers. He dipped his head, lips brushing her temple. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just feel it.”

She melted against him, her head tilting to rest against his shoulder. Adrian’s hand slid down further, fingers splaying over the swell of her ass. He pressed her firmly against him, grinding his hips into hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The movement was sensual, possessive—not rushed, not rough. Just deep, rolling pressure that made her gasp softly against his neck.

Erica’s hands tightened on his shoulders. Her hips rolled back against his, matching his rhythm. Her breathing grew shallow, ragged. She wasn’t just responding—she was leaning into it, her body arching against his as if seeking more contact, more friction. Her eyes drifted shut, lips parting in a silent sigh.

Hunter shifted against the wall, grinning wider now. D’Angelo’s gaze sharpened, focused. Brown watched Erica’s face—the flush spreading across her cheeks, the way her lashes fluttered. She wasn’t just comfortable. She was turned on.

Adrian’s lips trailed down her neck, teeth grazing lightly at her pulse point. Erica shuddered, a low moan escaping her throat. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The dance had shifted completely—from sweet to raw, intimate need.

Brown stepped forward, his voice cutting through the heavy air. “Okay,” he said softly. “That’s enough for now.”

Adrian froze instantly, pulling back just enough to break contact but keeping his hands on her waist. Erica blinked, dazed, her chest heaving.

Brown moved closer, placing a hand on her lower back. “You good?” he asked her.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

He turned to Adrian. “Good job.”

Adrian nodded, stepping back fully now, giving her space. His expression was calm, composed—but Brown saw the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

Hunter pushed off the wall, stretching lazily. “Damn, QB. Smooth.”

D’Angelo remained silent, but Brown caught the slight nod he gave Adrian—approval.

Hunter stepped forward next, his grin easy and infectious. “My turn?” he asked Erica, extending a hand. She hesitated, glancing at Brown. He gave her a reassuring nod.

She took Hunter’s hand. He pulled her close immediately, spinning her once before settling her against him. Where Adrian had been deliberate and controlled, Hunter was fluid, playful. His hands slid down to her hips, thumbs tracing circles against her jeans.

“You dance?” he asked, already guiding her into a loose shuffle-step.

Erica laughed softly. “Not like this.”

Hunter’s grin widened. “Just follow me.” He dipped her suddenly, low and fast. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as he pulled her back up smoothly. “See? Easy.”

His hands slid lower, gripping her ass firmly as he pulled her flush against him. He rolled his hips against hers—a quick, teasing grind—then pulled back. Erica’s breath caught, her eyes widening.

Hunter laughed, low and warm. “Too much?”

She shook her head, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “No.”

He spun her again, pulling her back tight against his chest. One hand slid up her side, fingers brushing the underside of her breast through her thin top. Erica shivered, leaning back into him. Hunter’s other hand stayed firm on her hip, guiding her movements as he ground against her from behind. His lips brushed her ear. “You feel amazing.”

Erica’s head tilted back against his shoulder, exposing her throat. Hunter’s teeth grazed her skin lightly, making her gasp. His hand slid higher, cupping her breast fully now, thumb rubbing slow circles over her nipple through the fabric. Erica arched into his touch, a soft whimper escaping her.

Hunter’s movements grew bolder, hips rolling harder against her ass. His grip tightened, pulling her tighter against him. Erica’s breathing grew ragged, her body moving instinctively against his. She was lost in it—grinding back against him, her hips matching his rhythm.

Brown watched, arms still crossed. Hunter was good—too good. He was pulling her in, making her forget everything else. Brown cleared his throat pointedly.

Hunter froze mid-movement, hands stilling. He pulled back slightly, giving Erica space. She blinked, flushed and breathless.

Hunter grinned at Brown. “Just warming her up, Coach.”

Brown nodded, expression neutral. “Right.”

D’Angelo stepped forward silently. Hunter stepped aside, giving him space. Erica turned to face D’Angelo, her expression uncertain.

D’Angelo didn’t speak. He simply extended a hand. Erica hesitated, then took it.

His grip was firm, grounding. He pulled her close—not flush against him like the others, but close enough that their bodies brushed as they moved. His hand settled low on her back, guiding her into a slow, simple sway. No flashy spins, no teasing grinds. Just steady, rhythmic movement.

Erica relaxed visibly, her shoulders dropping. She rested her head against his chest. D’Angelo’s hand slid lower, settling firmly on the curve of her ass. He didn’t pull her tight—just held her there, his touch possessive but not demanding.

His other hand came up to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling gently in her hair. He tilted her face up toward his. Their eyes locked—his intense, unwavering; hers searching.

D’Angelo leaned down slowly, his lips brushing hers—soft, tentative. Erica froze for a heartbeat, then kissed him back. It was gentle at first, almost shy. Then D’Angelo deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. Erica moaned softly into his mouth, her hands gripping his shoulders.

His hand on her ass tightened, pulling her closer. His hips pressed forward, grinding against her in a slow, deep roll. Erica’s body arched into his, her hips rocking against his thigh. The kiss grew hungrier, more urgent. D’Angelo’s hand slid from her hair down her back, then lower, gripping her ass firmly as he lifted her slightly against him.

Erica’s legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. D’Angelo held her there effortlessly, his strength evident as he continued to move—grinding against her core with slow, deliberate thrusts. Erica gasped into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Brown watched, a faint smile touching his lips. D’Angelo was quiet, intense—and it was working. Erica was completely lost in him, her body moving against his with desperate need.

D’Angelo broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at her. His breathing was steady, controlled. Erica’s was ragged, her eyes wide and dark with arousal.

“Okay?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

He lowered her slowly, letting her feet touch the floor.

Brown stepped forward, his voice low and steady. “You ready to take this to the next level?”

Erica glanced at the boys—Adrian leaning forward intently, Hunter grinning eagerly, D’Angelo watching her with quiet intensity. She took a deep breath, then nodded firmly. “Yes.”

Brown turned to D’Angelo. “Help her.”

D’Angelo moved behind Erica. His hands settled on her shoulders, fingers brushing the strap of her burgundy top. She froze for a heartbeat, then relaxed as his touch remained gentle.

He slid the straps slowly down her arms. The fabric pooled at her waist, revealing smooth skin and the curve of her shoulders. D’Angelo’s hands slid down her arms, guiding the top lower until it slipped past her hips and pooled at her feet.

Erica stood in her dark jeans and a cream-colored bra—lace-trimmed, delicate. The boys’ eyes locked on her. Hunter let out a low whistle. Adrian’s gaze sharpened. D’Angelo remained behind her, hands resting lightly on her hips.

Brown nodded to D’Angelo. “Jeans.”

D’Angelo’s fingers hooked into the waistband of her jeans. He popped the button, then slowly drew the zipper down. Erica shivered as the teeth parted. He slid the jeans down her hips, guiding them over her curves until they pooled at her ankles. She stepped out of them gracefully.

Now she stood before them in just her cream-colored bra and matching panties—simple lace, elegant. Her skin flushed pink under their gaze. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, eyes darting between them nervously.

Brown stepped closer, placing a hand on her lower back. “Relax,” he murmured. “They’re impressed.”

Hunter grinned. “Damn right we are.”

Adrian nodded slowly, his gaze appreciative. “Stunning.”

D’Angelo remained silent, his eyes tracing the curve of her spine.

Brown smiled warmly. “See? Nothing to worry about.” 

Brown leaned close to Adrian, his breath warm against his ear. “Sit her down on the sofa. Start slow—make it feel real.”

Adrian nodded, stepping forward smoothly. He took Erica’s hand gently. “Let’s get comfortable.”

She let him guide her to the plush leather sofa. Adrian sat first, pulling her down beside him. Their thighs brushed as he turned toward her, his gaze locking onto hers. He didn’t rush. His hand lifted, fingers tracing her jawline. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Erica’s breath hitched. “Adrian—”

He cut her off with a kiss—soft at first, tentative. Her lips parted beneath his, and he deepened it slowly. His tongue slid against hers, exploring. Erica moaned softly, her hands lifting to grip his shoulders.

Adrian’s hand slid down her neck, over her collarbone, then settled on her breast. He palmed it through the lace, thumb rubbing slow circles over her nipple. Erica arched into his touch, her hips shifting closer.

Hunter watched, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. D’Angelo stood near the stereo again, focused. Brown paced slowly behind the sofa, observing.

Adrian’s other hand slid down Erica’s side, settling on her hip. He pulled her tighter against him as they kissed—deep, hungry kisses now. Erica’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Her hips rocked against his thigh, seeking friction.

Then her hand drifted down. Fingers fumbled with the button of Adrian’s jeans. She popped it open, then drew the zipper down slowly. Adrian groaned into her mouth as her hand slipped inside his underwear. Her fingers wrapped around his hardening cock, stroking him firmly over the fabric.

Hunter sucked in a sharp breath. “Holy shit.”

D’Angelo’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on Erica’s hand moving beneath Adrian’s waistband.

Brown watched, a faint smile touching his lips. Adrian’s hips bucked slightly into her touch, his breathing ragged. Erica broke the kiss, panting. Her eyes met Adrian’s—dark, hungry. She squeezed him harder, her thumb rubbing the head of his cock through the cotton.

Adrian’s head dropped back against the sofa, a low groan tearing from his throat. “Fuck, Erica—”

Hunter shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the growing bulge in his jeans. D’Angelo’s hand clenched at his side. Brown’s smile widened.

Soon, Adrian’s cock was free of his underwear, thick and hard! Erica lowered her Mouth over it, slowly sliding it down, then back up just as slowly. She began licking all around the shaft. Adrian’s eyes closed and mouth opened as he focused on the sensation below his waist!

Brown moved closer, leaning down behind Erica. His lips brushed her ear. “Stand up,” he murmured softly.

Erica froze, her hand stilling inside Adrian’s jeans. She glanced at Brown over her shoulder, confusion flickering in her eyes. But she obeyed, pulling her hand free and rising slowly.

Adrian shifted, adjusting himself. Hunter grinned eagerly. D’Angelo remained still, watching Brown.

Brown guided Erica away from the sofa toward the center of the room. He turned her to face him, his hands settling on her hips. 

Brown’s hands slid up her sides, over her ribs, then settled on the clasp of her bra. He unhooked it smoothly. The straps slid down her arms, pooling at her wrists. Her breasts spilled free—full, soft, nipples hard and dark.

Hunter whistled low. Adrian leaned forward intently. D’Angelo’s gaze sharpened.

Brown’s hands slid down her stomach, settling at the waistband of her lace panties. He hooked his thumbs beneath the fabric. Erica gasped as he slid them down slowly, guiding them over her hips, down her thighs. She stepped out of them gracefully.

Now she stood completely naked before them—skin flushed pink, breathing shallow. Brown stepped back slightly, admiring her. “Beautiful.”

Erica shifted nervously under their intense gazes. She kept her hands clasped behind her back, shoulders tense.

Brown circled her slowly, his eyes raking over her body. He stopped behind her, his hands settling on her hips. He sat her back down on the sofa, right next to Adrian, who by now had already removed his pants and underwear. As Erica stroked his tool, he leaned over and began kissing, licking, and sucking her breast.

Brown glanced at D’Angelo, then whispered, “Go feast on her married pussy.”

D’Angelo moved forward silently. He knelt before Erica, his gaze level with her stomach. His hands settled on her hips, thumbs brushing her hipbones. Erica watched him, eyes wide, breath catching.

D’Angelo didn’t hesitate. His hands slid down her thighs, then inward. His thumbs hooked into her folds, spreading her wide. Erica gasped sharply as cool air hit her exposed flesh.

Then D’Angelo leaned forward. His tongue flicked out—slow, deliberate—licking a long stripe up her slit. Erica cried out, her hips jerking forward instinctively.

D’Angelo gripped her hips firmly, holding her still. He buried his face between her thighs, tongue delving deep inside her. Erica gasped, her head dropping back, eyes squeezing shut. Her hands clenched behind her back.

Hunter watched, transfixed. Adrian shifted on the sofa, his hand drifting to his own crotch.

D’Angelo’s tongue worked relentlessly—lapping at her entrance, circling her clit, plunging deep. Erica moaned, her hips rocking against his mouth. Her breathing grew ragged, desperate.

“Oh god—” she gasped. “Yes! Right there—”

He didn’t slow. His tongue flicked faster over her clit, pressing hard. Erica cried out, her thighs trembling. Her hands twisted behind her back, fingers digging into her own skin.

Brown leaned close to her ear. “Let go,” he murmured. “Come for him.”

D’Angelo sucked her clit into his mouth, tongue vibrating against it. Erica screamed—a raw, ragged sound—as her hips bucked violently against his face. Her thighs clamped around his head as she came, shuddering uncontrollably.

D’Angelo held her firmly, tongue still working her through the spasms. Erica gasped, her body trembling as the waves subsided.

He pulled back slowly, lips glistening. Erica sagged against Brown, breathing hard. Brown steadied her, his hands firm on her hips.

Now in a state that was perhaps her most aroused, Erica leaned over to continue sucking Adrian‘s thick cock. Her hunger was so strong that she got on her knees on the sofa while leaning over to devour him with her slick, hot mouth.

Hunter stepped forward eagerly. “My turn?”

Brown nodded sharply, handing him a condom. Hunter urgently rolled it over his shaft.

“Get behind her,” Coach instructed.

Hunter grinned, letting his jeans fall to the ground and pulling his shirt off, then moving quickly behind Erica. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. His cock pressed hard against her ass. D’Angelo watched Hunter’s hands slide up Erica’s body—palming her breasts, pinching her nipples. Erica moaned, arching back against Hunter as he lined himself up with her slick entrance.

Hunter gripped Erica’s hips firmly, pulling her back onto him. She gasped sharply as he slid inside her—slow at first, then deeper. Adrian groaned softly beneath her mouth. Hunter’s hips snapped forward sharply, burying himself to the hilt. Erica cried out around Adrian’s cock, her body jerking.

Hunter grinned down at Adrian. “She likes it.”

Adrian chuckled softly, his fingers tangling in Erica’s hair. “Feels like it.”

Hunter began moving—deep, powerful thrusts that rocked Erica forward onto Adrian’s cock. She moaned continuously now—low, guttural sounds muffled against Adrian’s skin. Her hips rocked back against Hunter’s thrusts, meeting him stroke for stroke.

Adrian’s head tipped back against the sofa cushions, eyes closed. Erica’s mouth worked him fiercely—sucking, licking, taking him deep. Hunter’s thrusts grew faster, harder. Erica’s moans pitched higher, sharper.

Brown watched intently. D’Angelo stood nearby, eyes fixed on Erica’s body—the flex of her back muscles, the bounce of her breasts with each thrust. Hunter’s hands tightened on Erica’s hips, pulling her harder against him. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Fuck—” Hunter gasped. “So tight—”

Erica whimpered around Adrian’s cock, her hips grinding back frantically. Hunter’s thrusts lost rhythm—harder, faster, desperate. He slammed into her, hips pistoning. Erica screamed—a raw, ragged sound muffled against Adrian’s thigh.

Hunter groaned loudly, his hips jerking erratically. He buried himself deep, shuddering against her back. Then he slumped forward, panting heavily, forehead pressed between Erica’s shoulder blades.

Erica sagged against Adrian, trembling. Hunter pulled out slowly, stepping back unsteadily. Adrian gently guided Erica’s mouth off him, helping her sit back. She gasped for air, chest heaving.

Brown stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

Erica nodded weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yeah.”

Brown glanced at Adrian. “Get her some water.”

Adrian rose quickly, heading toward the kitchen. Hunter sank onto the sofa beside Erica, draping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, still trembling.

D’Angelo remained standing nearby, watching Erica intently. His gaze was intense, unreadable. Erica glanced up at him, a faint smile touching her lips. “You’re quiet.”

D’Angelo’s expression softened slightly. “Watching.”

Hunter chuckled as he removed the full condom. “He’s always watching.”

Adrian returned with a glass of water, handing it to Erica. She drank deeply, her breathing slowly steadying. She leaned back against Hunter, closing her eyes briefly.

Brown smiled warmly. “Take a minute.” He glanced at the boys. “Then we finish this.”

Adrian sat beside Erica, handing her the water. She took it gratefully, sipping slowly. Her breathing steadied, color returning to her cheeks. Hunter draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest.

Brown watched them—Adrian leaning forward intently, Hunter grinning lazily, D’Angelo standing nearby. Erica looked relaxed now—sated, comfortable. Good.

Brown nodded to D’Angelo. “Your turn.”

Brown stepped forward, handing D’Angelo a condom. He rolled it on smoothly.

Brown whispered into his ear, “Sit next to her, and tell her you want her to ride you.”

D’Angelo walked over and sat beside Erica.

“Ride me like a cowgirl, Baby,” he smiled.

Returning his smile, she straddled him, her knees sinking into the soft leather cushions. His hands settled on her hips, guiding her down onto his cock. Erica gasped sharply as he slid inside her—slow, deep.

Adrian leaned forward, his hand settling on Erica’s lower back. Hunter grinned, sliding closer beside her. D’Angelo’s hips rolled upward, thrusting deep into her. Erica moaned, her head dropping back.

Hunter’s hand slid up her thigh, fingers brushing her clit. Erica gasped, hips jerking against D’Angelo’s thrusts. Adrian’s hand slid around her waist, palming her breast. His thumb rubbed slow circles over her nipple.

Erica cried out as Hunter’s fingers found her clit, rubbing firm circles. D’Angelo’s thrusts grew faster, deeper. Adrian’s thumb pinched her nipple sharply, making her gasp.

“Oh god—” she panted. “Yes—”

Hunter grinned, fingers working faster. “Come for him.”

Adrian leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. “Let go.”

D’Angelo’s thrusts grew harder, faster. Erica screamed—a sharp, desperate sound—as her body convulsed. Her hips ground down against D’Angelo’s cock as she came, shuddering violently.

D’Angelo groaned deeply, his hips jerking upward. He buried himself deep inside her, shuddering against her. Erica slumped forward against him, gasping for air.

Brown stepped forward, resting a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “Good. Very good.”

Adrian nodded, his gaze fixed on Erica. She looked utterly spent—breathing hard, hair plastered to her forehead.

Brown glanced at Hunter. “Get her water.”

Hunter nodded, sliding off the sofa. He returned with another bottle, handing it to Erica. She took it gratefully, sipping slowly.

Brown looked at Adrian. “Your turn.”

Adrian nodded, sliding a condom over his cock. He moved to kneel beside Erica. She watched him, eyes wide.

He leaned forward, kissing her deeply. His hands slid down her sides, settling on her hips. He pulled her forward, guiding her onto her back. She sank into the cushions, legs spreading instinctively.

Adrian settled between her thighs, lining himself up with her entrance. He pushed inside slowly—deep, deliberate. Erica gasped, her eyes fluttering shut.

Adrian’s hips rolled forward, thrusting deep. Erica moaned softly, her hands settling on his shoulders. He kissed her neck, lips brushing her skin.

Hunter grinned, sliding closer. His hand settled on Erica’s thigh, fingers brushing her clit. Erica gasped sharply, hips jerking against Adrian’s thrusts.

Adrian’s thrusts grew faster, deeper. Hunter’s fingers worked faster against her. Erica cried out, her body arching upward.

D’Angelo watched silently, his gaze fixed on Erica’s face. Brown leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Adrian’s thrusts grew harder, faster. Erica screamed—a sharp, desperate sound—as her body convulsed. Her hips jerked against Adrian’s cock as she came, shuddering violently.

Adrian groaned deeply, hips jerking forward. He buried himself deep inside her, shuddering against her. Erica slumped back against the cushions, gasping for air.

“I…I don’t think I’ve ever cum that many times in one day,” she breathed with a weak smile.

Brown grinned, stepping forward. He unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall to the floor. His cock stood thick and hard against the dim light. Erica’s eyes widened—a flicker of hunger beneath the exhaustion. "Think you've got one more in you, sweetheart?" he asked, voice low and rough.

Erica didn't hesitate. She slid off the sofa onto her knees, wiping sweat from her brow. "For you? Always," she murmured, her voice hoarse. Her hands wrapped around his shaft, thumb swirling the head. She leaned in, tongue tracing the vein before taking him deep. A wet, sucking sound filled the room as she bobbed—slow at first, then faster. Drool slicked her chin, glistening.

Adrian shifted, elbows on knees. Hunter whistled low. "Damn, Coach." D'Angelo stayed statue-still, eyes tracking Erica's movements. Brown's fingers tangled in her dark hair, guiding her rhythm. "That's it, sweetheart. Take it all." Her gag reflex kicked once, throat bulging, but she pushed through, nose pressed to his pelvis.

Brown's groan started deep, rattling up through concrete floors. "Gonna—" Erica pulled back just enough to let the first thick pulse hit her tongue. Then she swallowed, throat working frantically as more flooded her mouth. Overflow streaked her chin, pearly against flushed skin. She kept sucking, hollowing her cheeks until he shuddered and pushed her away gently.

"Shit, Baby." Brown thumbed the mess on her jawline. "You're a fucking marvel." 

She grinned, licking her lips with exaggerated relish as the boys watched. Adrian leaned forward, elbows on knees—analytical, absorbing. Hunter whistled low, appreciative. D'Angelo stayed statue-still, eyes dark and unreadable.

Erica sat back against the leather sofa, eyes still half-closed, chest rising and falling in soft, uneven breaths. The room had gone quiet except for the slow rhythm of her recovery—the faint clink of glass, the hum of the air conditioner, the low murmur of music still playing somewhere in the background.

Coach Brown crouched beside her, resting a steady hand on her shoulder. “You all right, sweetheart?”

Erica smiled faintly, still catching her breath. “More than all right.” Her voice came out husky, satisfied. She reached for the water bottle Hunter had left on the table and took a long drink. “That was… a lot.”

“Good kind of a lot?” Brown asked, eyes warm with the knowing calm of experience.

She laughed softly. “The best kind.”

Hunter, shirtless and grinning, handed her a small towel. “Guess we passed the test then?”

Erica dabbed the sweat from her neck and smiled up at him. “You passed,” she said, her tone playful but genuine. Then she turned toward Adrian, who was sitting quietly on the arm of the couch, and gave his hand a squeeze. “All of you did.”

D’Angelo, ever the quiet one, handed her the bra she’d left draped over the side of the sofa. “Here,” he said simply.

“Thanks.” She smiled, touched by the small gesture. One by one, she rose to her feet, beginning to dress again—methodically, without shame or hurry. The boys looked away respectfully while she pulled her jeans back up, clasped her bra, and slipped her top over her head. The air in the room felt different now—no longer charged with tension, but heavy with warmth and quiet satisfaction.

When she was dressed, Erica turned back to them. “You boys were incredible,” she said softly, her voice carrying gratitude rather than lust. “I haven’t felt that wanted, that cared for, in… I can’t even remember.”

Brown rose to his feet and stepped closer, cupping the back of her neck with one large, comforting hand. “That’s what it’s about, baby. Connection first. Everything else follows.”

She smiled up at him, eyes glistening. “You were right.” Then, one by one, she hugged each of them—Hunter first, who hugged her back with the easy warmth of a younger brother; D’Angelo next, whose quiet strength lingered in the embrace; and finally Adrian, who held her a heartbeat longer than the others, his forehead resting briefly against hers.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anytime,” Adrian murmured.

Brown escorted her to the door, hand resting at the small of her back. Before she stepped out into the hallway, she turned once more toward the group. “You’ve got something special here,” she said. “Don’t waste it.” Then she smiled—glowing, centered—and was gone.

The door clicked shut, leaving a stillness that lasted several long seconds.

Finally, Brown exhaled and turned toward the guys. “Not bad for a first scrimmage,” he said with a grin.

Hunter grinned back. “You think she’ll be back for another round?”

“Oh, she’ll be back,” Brown said, lowering himself into the armchair again. “But before that happens, we debrief.”

Adrian leaned forward, elbows on knees. “What’d we do right?”

Brown counted off on his fingers. “Presence. Timing. Control. You read her well, especially when she got nervous early on. That’s what builds trust. But—” he pointed toward Hunter with a faint smirk, “—ease up on the showboating next time. This ain’t a highlight reel.”

Hunter laughed. “Yes, Coach.”

Brown’s gaze shifted to D’Angelo. “And you—hell of a finish. But remember, silence is good until it turns into mystery. Some women like to be told what’s happening, even when they already know.”

D’Angelo nodded thoughtfully. “Got it.”

“Overall?” Brown said, rising to his feet again. “You three did damn well. You made her feel adored. That’s step one. Everything else—technique, rhythm, confidence—that’ll come with time.”

He poured himself a fresh drink and raised the glass. “Gentlemen, welcome to the game. You just completed your first field test. T.A.G. Team, Phase One—success.”

The boys grinned, exchanging glances of relief and quiet pride.

Brown smiled wider. “Now get some rest. Tomorrow we start thinking bigger.”

TO BE CONTINUED…