The Coach’s Daughter #3
I had spent years watching hockey players attempt to remain unreadable in front of my father. He could reduce grown men to nervous silence with one raised eyebrow.
This man had stood in the backyard less than an hour earlier and answered him calmly.
Now he was fighting not to make a sound because of me.
Every broken breath felt like a victory.
I kept my eyes on his as I continued, learning what made his jaw tighten and what made his hips shift despite his effort to remain still.
His fingers flexed in my hair.
“If you don’t stop,” he said through clenched teeth, “this is going to end embarrassingly fast.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
He laughed once, breathlessly.
Then I took him into my mouth again and the laugh became something rougher.
A fist knocked lightly against the bedroom door.
We both froze.
“Sweetheart?” my mother called from the hallway.
The player stared at me in naked terror.
I pressed my lips together.
“Yes?”
“Have you seen the extra bags of ice?”
I looked at the man lying beneath me, shirt open and trousers pushed low, one hand still tangled in my hair, his cock in my hand.
“No.”
“I thought it might have been in the garage in the freezer but it’s not there.”
“I haven’t seen it.”
“All right.”
Her footsteps moved away.
I waited until they reached the stairs.
Then I started laughing.
He covered his face with both hands.
“I’m going to die.”
“Not if you keep your voice down.”
“This is your fault.”
“You’re the one who accepted the invitation.”
He lowered his hands and looked at me.
Any remaining fear had been replaced by hunger.
“Finish it.”
The command sent heat straight through me.
I did.
This time, he stopped trying to stay perfectly still. His hand returned to my hair. His breath turned uneven, every quiet sound forced through clenched teeth as I pushed him closer to the edge.
When the tension finally broke, his body went rigid beneath me.
He dragged a pillow over his face to silence himself, and I felt his cum shoot down my throat. I stayed there until I felt his breathing start to steady.
Then I climbed back up beside him.
For several seconds, we lay shoulder to shoulder on my childhood bed, staring at the ceiling.
He pointed toward the faded star.
“What is that?”
“Glow-in-the-dark sticker.”
“You seduced me beneath a glow-in-the-dark sticker.”
“I was nine when I put it there.”
“Please don’t tell me that right now.”
I laughed and rolled onto my side.
He looked wrecked.
His shirt hung open. His hair was disordered. A faint mark from my lipstick stained the side of his neck.
I reached out and rubbed at it.
“You cannot go downstairs like this.”
“I cannot go downstairs at all.”
“You have to.”
“I’ll climb out the window.”
“We’re on the second floor.”
“Worth it.”
I kissed him once.
Softly this time.
His hand came to rest on my waist.
“Was this the plan from the beginning?” he asked.
“Since the charity event?”
“Since I walked through the gate.”
“I didn’t know whether you’d come upstairs.”
“You knew.”
“I hoped.”
“That’s worse.”
“Are you sorry?”
He studied me.
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Something shifted in my chest.
I hadn’t expected that.
The entire thing had begun as fun, a chance to flirt with a man who had no idea whose daughter I was. Then it had become a challenge when I saw how hard he tried to avoid me.
I hadn’t considered what came after.
He seemed to read the thought on my face.
“This can’t become a thing,” he said. “Your father would trade me to Siberia.”
“He doesn’t have that authority.”
“He would find it.”
I smiled.
“Then we should get back before he notices we’re gone.”
We dressed quickly.
I buttoned my dress in front of the mirror while he fixed his belt and tried to flatten his hair with both hands.
It didn’t work.
“You look suspicious,” I told him.
“You look pleased.”
“I am.”
He caught my waist before I reached the door.
“Hold on.”
“What?”
He kissed me hard enough to make me forget the party for several seconds.
We left separately.
I went first, stopping in the upstairs bathroom to wash my hands and check my face. He waited several minutes before coming down.
By the time he returned to the backyard, I was seated beside my mother at the patio table, eating potato salad.
He caught my eye and winked.
I smiled into my drink.
The party began breaking up around sunset. Players thanked my parents and filed toward the gate in small groups.
He stayed longer than I expected, helping stack chairs and carry empty trays into the kitchen.
Still trying to be a good person.
Eventually, he approached my father near the grill.
“Thanks for having me, Coach.”
My father shook his hand.
“Glad you came.”
The player’s eyes flicked toward me.
Only for a second.
My father continued.
“Really appreciate you coming.”
I pressed my lips together.
It didn’t work.
A giggle escaped.
Both men looked at me.
My father frowned.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
The player’s face went red.
I lifted my drink to hide my smile.
The player cleared his throat.
“Great party.”
“See you at the rink Monday,” my father said.
“Yes, Coach.”