The Coach’s Daughter #2
His eyes widened slightly at the volume of my voice.
I laughed.
“No. He does not know.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“You seemed to like my mouth the last time.”
His gaze dropped to it.
The shift was immediate.
There was the man from the hotel again, the one who had pressed me against a wall and asked for my number.
Then he remembered where he was.
He looked away.
“You need to stop.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m extremely convinced.”
His fingers tightened around the bottle of water in his hand.
I stepped closer.
No one was watching us. Even if they had been, we looked like two people having a perfectly ordinary conversation at a team cookout.
His voice dropped.
“I thought about getting your number from the charity organizers. I thought about asking teammates if they knew you. I thought about going back to that hotel bar the next night in case you showed up.”
“I didn’t.”
“I noticed.”
“I was hoping I’d see you here.”
“You planned this?”
“The party? No. My father has hosted it for years.”
“The rest of it.”
I let my gaze move slowly over him.
“I might have worn this dress with you in mind.”
It was casual by any normal standard, a soft yellow sundress that buttoned down the front and ended midway down my thighs.
The way he looked at it was not casual.
“You’re trying to get me killed.”
I smiled.
“You’re much less cocky here.”
“I’m standing twenty feet from the man who controls my ice time while his daughter tells me she dressed for me.”
“You liked me better when you thought I was a stranger?”
“I liked you before I knew how dangerous you were.”
“And now?”
“Now I know.”
Someone called his name from across the yard.
He stepped back.
“I have to go.”
“You don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
He walked away before I could stop him.
This time, I followed.
Not immediately. I gave him several minutes, talked to my mother and helped carry empty serving dishes into the kitchen.
Then I found him inside.
He stood at the sink rinsing a bottle opener as though the task required his complete concentration.
“You’re very helpful,” I said.
He closed his eyes briefly.
“You followed me.”
“It’s my house.”
“That somehow makes this worse.”
I moved beside him.
The kitchen windows looked out over the yard. Anyone could glance through them and see us, but the room itself was empty.
He dried his hands on a towel.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
His gaze snapped to mine.
I had given him the same answer in the hallway at the charity event. It affected him more this time.
“That’s not happening here.”
“I didn’t say here.”
“Anywhere in this zip code.”
“Scared?”
“Yes.”
The honesty made me laugh.
He took my hand before I could move away.
His thumb pressed over my pulse.
“Don’t mistake that for not wanting you.”
“I’m not.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
I stepped into him.
His hand moved automatically to my waist, then stopped as though he had caught it misbehaving.
I reached past him and took the towel from his other hand.
“You can go back outside and spend the rest of the afternoon pretending you don’t look at me every time you think no one is watching.”
“And the second?”
“You can come upstairs.”
His stare held mine.
“Upstairs where?”
“To my childhood bedroom.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You don’t have to.”
I turned toward the doorway.
He caught my waist and pulled me back against him. For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he released me.
“Go first,” he said.
I smiled.
The stairs creaked in the same places they had when I used to sneak downstairs after bedtime.
I avoided them without thinking.
He followed several steps behind me, quiet enough that I would not have known he was there if I couldn’t feel his attention against my back.
At the top of the stairs, I turned down the hallway and opened the bedroom door.
He stopped on the threshold.
The room looked nothing like it had when I was a teenager, but a few traces remained.
A row of tiny nail holes where photographs had once hung.
Scratches on the dresser from the curling iron I had dropped before prom.
A faded glow-in-the-dark star my mother had missed when she repainted the ceiling.
He noticed the framed family photograph on the nightstand.
My father stood in the center, one arm around me.
“This is deranged,” he said.
“You can leave.”
He stepped inside and locked the door. The click sent a thrill through me.
I walked toward him.
“But you won’t.”
His hand caught my face and he kissed me.
There was no hesitation this time.
No charity event on the other side of the wall, no mystery about who I was. He knew exactly what he was risking and kissed me like the knowledge had only made him hungrier.
I pushed his shirt from his shoulders.
His restraint broke.
He kissed me harder, walking me backward untilI I fell onto the mattress and pulled him down with me.
The bed squeaked.
We both froze.
Noise from the backyard drifted through the closed window. Laughter. Music. My father’s voice carrying above the others.
He stared at me.
“You have got to be kidding.”
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing.
“This bed has always done that.”
“You might have mentioned it.”
I slid my hands beneath his open shirt.
“So do something that doesn’t make it move.”
His expression changed.
He stood.
For a moment, I thought I had pushed him too far.
Then he knelt in front of me.
My breath caught.
He pushed the hem of my dress upward slowly.
The room felt warmer with every inch of skin he exposed. His gaze followed his hands, taking his time as though he had forgotten the backyard full of people below us.
“You wore this for me?” he asked.
“I hoped you’d notice.”
“I noticed.”
His mouth brushed my knee.
Then the inside of my thigh.
I leaned back on my hands.
“You also spent an hour pretending you didn’t.”
“I was trying to keep my job.”
His kisses moved higher.
“Still trying?”
“Not very hard.”
The first real touch of his mouth to the fabric of my panties stole the clever response I had been preparing.
My fingers tightened in the bedspread.
He glanced up at me, watching my face while his hands held my thighs apart. The confidence he had tried to suppress all afternoon returned in full, sharpened by the knowledge that I was already struggling to stay quiet.
“Someone might hear you,” he murmured.
I pushed my fingers into his hair.
He returned his attention to me.
After that, staying quiet became almost impossible.
He parted my legs further, sliding my dress up above my hips. He pulled my panties to the side, and the feeling of the cool air made me gasp. He used his fingers to gently part my lips, licking me from my opening to my clit and back down.
Every slow movement seemed designed to test how much control I had. Whenever my breathing grew too loud, he eased back just enough to make me ache for him, waiting until I looked down and silently demanded more.
He was punishing me.
For the charity event. For the secret. For making him discover my identity in my father’s backyard.
I loved every second of it.
My head fell back.
The ceiling still held one pale star.
The sight of it, something left over from the girl who had once slept in this room, should have made the moment absurd.
Instead, it made it hotter.
I was no longer the coach’s little girl.
Not with one of his players kneeling between my thighs, his hands gripping my hips while I bit down on my lip to keep my father from hearing what he was doing.
He inserted a finger inside of me, then two, moving them back and forth in a steady rhythm while his tongue traced circles around my clit.
Pleasure wound through me until my legs began to shake.
He felt it.
One hand slid up my body, covering my hand where it clutched the bedspread.
“That’s it,” he said quietly. “Let me have it.”
I could hear voices moving closer beneath the window.
He didn’t let up.
I pulled harder at his hair.
His grip tightened.
The climax hit with a force that folded me forward. He caught me before I could cry out, one hand covering my mouth while the other held me through every shudder.
My eyes opened.
He was watching me.
The satisfaction in his expression made me want to slap him.
Or kiss him.
I chose the second.
I dragged him upward and kissed him before my breathing had steadied.
He braced one hand beside my head.
“Still think this was funny?” he asked.
“Very.”
I pushed against his chest until he rolled onto his back.
Surprise flashed across his face.
I moved over him.
His hands immediately settled on my hips.
“What are you doing?”
“Returning the favor.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
I kissed my way down his chest.
The open shirt fell away from his shoulders. His stomach tightened beneath my mouth as I moved lower, taking my time undoing his belt. I slid his pants down, and felt his hard cock through his boxers.
“Fuck,” he rasped.
That alone was worth the risk.
Downstairs, he was the veteran trying to earn playing time, respectful and controlled beneath my father’s scrutiny.
Here, he was simply a man staring down at me as though he couldn’t believe his luck.
I pulled his boxers down to his knees and lowered my mouth. I kissed the head of him first before licking him from bottom to top, eventually taking him in my mouth.
His head fell back against the pillow.
The bed gave another betraying squeak.
His eyes flew open.
I smiled without lifting my head.
“Quiet,” I whispered.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
I answered by taking him deeper.
His hand caught the edge of the mattress, fingers gripping hard enough to whiten his knuckles. The other slid into my hair, not controlling me, only holding on.
The sight of him unraveling made me bolder.