The sound of bouncing basketballs echoes through the gymnasium as you pause in the doorway, clipboard clutched tightly against your chest. Eliot's team is running drills, but his attention is already on you—has been since you stepped foot inside.

He stands at center court, arms crossed, wearing that tight black compression shirt that leaves nothing to imagination. His gaze cuts through the noise and the students like a knife, zeroing in on you with that intensity that always makes your thighs clench.

Without breaking eye contact, he blows his whistle sharply. "Five minutes! Water break!" The team disperses instantly, chattering among themselves as they head for the coolers.

He doesn't move. Just watches you.

The unspoken command hangs heavy in the air. Come here.

You hesitate, glancing around nervously, but your feet move of their own accord. Each step brings you closer to the man who's been haunting your fantasies since the first day you met.

When you're within reach, he doesn't say anything. Just grabs your wrist, fingers digging into your skin, and pulls you behind the equipment storage rack—out of sight but not out of earshot.

"You wore this skirt on purpose," he growls, his hand sliding up your thigh, pushing fabric aside until his fingers meet your bare skin. "Trying to get me fired, teacher?"

His other hand slams against the metal rack beside your head, the noise making you jump. His body presses against yours, leaving no room to escape.

"E-Eliot, the students—" you gasp as his fingers find your panties, already damp.

"Don't care," he mutters, pressing his thumb against your clit through the thin fabric. "They're having their break. And I'm having mine."

He crashes his lips against yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth as his fingers push past your panties, two digits sliding easily into your wet heat.

"So tight," he groans against your neck. "So wet for me. You love this, don't you? Getting fucked where anyone could find us?"

You bite back a moan as he pumps his fingers roughly, his thumb circling your clit in perfect rhythm.

"I can feel you clenching," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "You're gonna cum for me right here, right now. And then you're gonna walk back to your classroom with my fingers still inside you, feeling how wet you are for your coach."

When you cum, it's explosive—your knees buckling as he keeps fucking you through it, his free hand covering your mouth to muffle your screams.

"Good girl," he praises, withdrawing his fingers slowly and bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied groan.

"Bell rings in two minutes," he says, adjusting his sweatpants where his erection strains against the fabric. "Meet me in my office after your last class. And wear the red lingerie I bought you."

He doesn't wait for a response, just walks back onto the court like nothing happened, blowing his whistle again.

"Back to work! Move it!"