"Can I take over here?" I hear my wife's voice from a foot away and look over from where I'm lying on the massage table to see her talking to the masseuse who's been working on me for the past hour.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice low. We're in the training room, only a curtain to separate us from the rest of the room where there are other players getting taped up, being massaged, or taking ice baths. "Don't you have papers to grade? Why is your hair in pigtails, Dr. King?"

Cassie shrugs. "I'll do the ol' random grade assignment thing," she jokes, even though she wouldn't do anything like that. I know how seriously she takes her job as a university professor. She's up for tenure this year, and she's anything except careless with her work.

She doesn't respond to the pigtail question. Instead, she leans over me, her hands moving across my lower back. "Roll over."

I flip over onto my back, my head turned toward her as she runs her hand over my chest and down my abs.

And my cock is immediately rock hard.

That's what she does to me. After nine years, she touches my bare chest and I'm instantly hard.

Although that's happened less lately, between long hours working and twin five-year-old boys – and a fuckton of stress.

"Adam and James are sleeping over at Jonathan and Sable's house tonight," she whispers before I can even ask. "They wanted to have a sleepover with Rael and Emily. We'll return the favor and take their kids next month for their anniversary. You've been stressed out about the playoffs and you're too cranky for me to handle lately."

After we graduated, Tank went to play for a team in Colorado, but two years ago he got traded and came back to Texas. He and Sable ended up together, but not immediately. There were a couple of rocky years there where both of them played the field. But when Sable got engaged to a European billionaire, Tank went and got her back. Or, more accurately, he picked her up and carried her out of the middle of her engagement party, put her in his SUV, and drove away.

Sable's parents went absolutely bat-shit. A big brutish football player does not walk into the middle of a Pierce engagement party and carry out the fiancée. The photo of Tank with Sable on his shoulder was plastered across the cover of every national magazine for a week.

Tank has one of the covers framed on a wall in the living room in his house.

I snort. "So you're going to take one for the team and put out?" I whisper.

"Well, first, I'm going to finish this massage," she whispers. "Then I'm going to put out. After that, I'll take you home and fuck you until your attitude improves."

I smile. I'm a pretty simple man and Cassie knows exactly how to fix things when I'm all jacked up and stressed out. Between the playoffs and the nagging pain in my shoulder, "stressed out" would be an understatement.

Cassie wraps a hand, slick with massage oil, around the base of my cock, sliding it all the way up to the tip.

"You have a softer touch than Raphael," I joke, referring to my massage therapist.

She slaps my arm. I close my eyes, savoring her touch as she strokes me silently. "You know that's just a curtain there," I whisper.

"Yep."

"And that there are other people outside of it."

Her hand never stops moving and I have to swallow the groan that comes up through my chest in response to her touch.

"Saw them when I came in," she whispers.

Then her overcoat falls open just a little and I catch a glimpse of what she has on underneath. I sit up like a rocket, pulling open her jacket. "Holy…" I start, then stop because I think my jaw might have opened so far it hit the ground. "You left the house wearing that?"

Underneath, she's has on a Catholic schoolgirl outfit – a plaid skirt that I can tell in no way covers that perfect ass, and a black bra underneath a white button-down skirt. Her hair is pulled into pigtails and her glasses are perched on her nose. Shit, she's even wearing little white ankle socks. With ruffles.

She pulls a ruler out of the pocket of the coat, and hands it to me.

"I've been a very bad wife," she says, her eyes twinkling.

I groan. "You bought that car, didn't you?"

She grins. "I did not, and I'm insulted that you just suggested that."

A couple of the players walk past the curtain on their way out of the training room, their conversation unintelligible.

"I'm going to smack your ass for coming here dressed like that."

"With the ruler?" she asks, taking her lower lip between her teeth.

"Take off that coat," I whisper. "Wait – look out there and see who's still here."

She pokes her head out of the curtain. "I think Jeremy's in an ice bath," she says. "Everyone else is gone."

She lets the coat fall to the floor and walks up to the massage table, putting a hand on the inside of each of my legs, and pushing them apart so she can get between them. I reach down and pull the little skirt up.

"No panties. You dirty little –"

"Slut," she finishes.

"Filthy," I whisper, grabbing a handful of ass. I toss the ruler on the floor. "I'm going to use that on you later."

"I hope so."

My hands on her waist, I pick her straight up off the floor and set her on the edge of the massage table, swinging my legs out and lying down. She crawls on top of me and guides my cock between her legs.

"Holy shit, you're wet," I say.

"I was thinking about this on the drive over." She presses the head of my cock against her entrance and slides onto me in one fluid motion.

"God, you feel so good."

Her palms on my chest, pigtails swinging back and forth, she rides me. When I rip her shirt open, buttons pinging off the massage table, she grins. "That was not a cheap shirt," she whispers, shaking her head. "Nothing changes, Colton."

I unhook her bra and cover her breasts with my hands. "I hope not."

She leans forward, her pigtails brushing my face with every movement she makes, and she rides me until she's heavy-lidded and panting. "Tonight, I'm yours, baby," she moans. "Whatever you want."

I could come inside her right now, hearing her say that.

I grab her waist, pulling her down hard on my cock. "You're mine all the time, Cassie. Don't forget it."

"I'm so close, Colton."

The words that never fail to send me over the edge. I grip her tightly, pulling her down forcefully onto me as her pussy tightens. A whimper escapes her lips, and she grabs my hand, wrapping her lips around two fingers and sucking them to mute the sound.

I'm going to store a mental image of this in my head for times when I'm at away games – my wife, dressed in a schoolgirl outfit, her shirt torn open, her expression the one she makes when she's coming, sitting on my cock with my fingers in her mouth.

Then she drives her pussy down on my cock again and I grab her waist with one hand, pushing her down hard against me and letting go inside her in a surge of heat that nearly knocks the wind out of me.

"Better?" she asks, looking down at me and grinning.

"You mean, am I less stressed out?"

"Yep."

She looks proud of herself. She should be.

"I'm going to need a lot more of that to be less stressed out."

"Then you'd better get moving on it," she says. "We have a long night ahead of us."