Chapter 13 Laney
Chapter thirteen
Laney
Respecting My Elders
"Good job Laney." Miguel says as he stands from the water. His hair is wet, and loose around his face like he’s a creature from the underworld emerging on the shore.
A merman sent to tempt me and turn my entire brain into a pile of lust.
Droplets of water tumble down his sculpted chest and abs and I am mesmerized. His trunks cling to his thighs, leaving nothing to what’s left of my imagination.
His deep breaths cause each abdominal muscle to undulate and flex and my hips almost roll involuntarily in his direction.
"Um, thanks." I reply a moment too late, after I swallow down the lump in my throat caused by fixating on the one in his swimsuit.
"How are you feeling?" He asks as he steps closer to me. The water lapping against our thighs as we stand on the sandbar. His lion tattoo gets splashed in the face with each wave and I picture him coming to life and whipping off the water in a rough shake.
"Good, yeah, I feel pretty good." I answer after a few blinks.
"Are you ready for the stats?" He asks as he pulls his wrist up between us.
"Yes sir!" I cheer but Miguel keeps his eyes on me. Then he quickly flicks his gaze down to my chest and back up to my face.
I bite my lip.
I knew I was playing with fire when I wore my bikini instead of my tri suit.
Or even a regular swimsuit. But I got here early and enjoyed myself for a bit with a hockey romance about a backup goalie and his real estate agent from the Little Free Library on our block.
Without deliveries, I have a Friday night open for the first time in years and I started it as soon as I dropped off the last dog on my daily walking schedule.
Miguel clears his throat. "You covered 1,500 meters in just over nineteen minutes."
"No way."
He beams and I feel it in my chest. "Yeah Laney, you killed it."
"Holy shit!" I exclaim. I fight my body and take a full step back instead of jumping into his arms again. Miguel has been very clear about his stance on our physical attraction. And I hear him, I do.
But I also see the way he looks at me. I hear the way he says my name. I see the war he's waging with himself when it comes to touching me.
And I wish he would give in.
We could be so good together. I just know it.
The things I dream of doing to him, with him, for him. He’s giving me so much of his time, and attention, and I want to repay him.
"Thank you, Miguel." I say, genuinely, and I meet his deep brown eyes. The sun is setting and the buildings behind him almost glow in the fading light.
He nods an acknowledgement and holds my eye contact for a beat before turning toward the shore. We cross the sand at each other’s side without a word.
What I would give to know what he’s thinking.
"I'm glad you were able to get the night off for this." He unlocks his bike and stands. I slide my t-shirt on and start to unlock my bike too. "It was a good session."
"It was." I agree. "But, dinner is going to have to be microwave noodles instead of a plate of lamb biryani since I’m headed home." I picked up the packet between dog walks earlier today. I got myself a banana too. The whole meal was only $3.69. Not bad.
"Microwave noodles?"
"Yep and a banana." I say as I slide on my bike helmet.
Miguel shakes his head and growls a low sound.
"I'm sorry? Did you say something?"
"No, you can't fill your body with that crap. Especially after such rigorous training."
"I can," I cross my arms because I don’t like feeling exposed to the truth of my dire financial straits. "Besides, I don't have any other options."
"Yes you do."
He means well, he means well, he means well.
Don’t lash out, don’t lash out, don’t lash out.
"Listen," I say after a deep breath. "I normally would have gotten a shift meal tonight but since I asked to switch for next Friday instead I have microwave noodles waiting for me at home."
"But next Friday is the night before a race." Miguel reminds me of the obvious
"Yeah, I'm going to work and then drive down after."
"No."
"Again, not your call, Coach." The nickname laced with derision. I know I’ve put him in charge of my training, and I can’t deny it’s working, but he isn’t in control of me.
"I'm going to make it my call. You're coming over for dinner." He starts to walk away, leading his bike to the path.
"What?" I call after him as I hustle to unlock my bike and join him.
"You’re coming to my place. I'm going to make you dinner and give you food that will help to fuel your body and replenish the energy you spent.
Nutrition is a vital part of your training, Laney.
I spent my morning making you meals for the week.
I would have brought them over earlier if I knew what your dinner plans were. Did you even eat lunch?"
My lips roll in between my teeth because I don’t think it’s worth telling him about the handful of tortilla chips with shredded cheese I microwaved before dog walks today.
"I figured. So, you’re coming home with me, and then," He drags his hand through his wet hair, "I don’t fucking know Laney. I’ve got to do something so you can focus on your goals." He takes a deep breath and settles his gaze on me.
"I am focused on my goals." The words are quiet coming out of my mouth. Maybe I haven’t been wholly focused on my goals though. Maybe I’ve let my attraction to Miguel interfere. "But I still have to work, my income is limited until a sponsor picks me up."
"I know, but you’re also making decisions that could set you back."
"Like what?"
"Like working the night before a race when you need to be there to check in, set up your transition areas, and fucking sleep before you push yourself over one hundred and forty miles." Miguel’s fury is simmering under his skin. His words come across as harsh, and cold. But he’s right.
"You’re putting in the work and seeing results.
Keep doing the things that have contributed to your growth and you’ll be unstoppable.
" He grips and releases his handlebars. His face contorts a little before he continues and he snaps his head to the side like he’s cracking his neck.
"Now, respect your elders and follow me. "
I bark out a laugh. "Was that a joke, Coach? Is there a hidden giggle guy under the gruff, shut down exterior?"
"No."
I clip in and pedal after him. Smiling because Miguel was able to dish out the tough love and then lighten the mood, balancing his expectations of me with his care for me. "I think there is."
"Laney, just focus on the road."
"Yes, sir."
"Umm, your place is really nice." I say as I step past Miguel into his condo.
I knew Miguel was older, and more established in the sport. But the contrast between his living situation and mine makes me feel down-right juvenile.
We locked our bikes up in the parking garage under the mid-rise building. Then we walked through a sleek and modern marble floored lobby to the elevators which whisked us up to the seventh floor.
As soon as I crossed the threshold I walked to the floor to ceiling windows which overlook the lake, Oak Street Beach, and there’s a view down Michigan Avenue.
To my left the kitchen takes up one wall with an island separating it from the rest of the space.
To my right is a sofa and TV, there's a stationary bike in the corner next to a rack of free weights.
I assume the short hallway behind me leads to the bathroom and bedroom.
"Thank you, what were you expecting exactly?"
"I dunno, something like Bruce Wayne’s lair."
Miguel blinks at me then chuckles. "I'm always surprised by what comes out of your mouth."
But not what could go in it?
Encouraged by the way Miguel looked at me in my bikini, I've decided it’s entirely possible to be dedicated to my training and flirtatious with my devastatingly handsome coach.
Miguel might be driven to take care of me, and he might be misguided in some of those attempts, but I want to take care of him too. I want to test this electric current buzzing between us. "Do you mind if I freshen up?" I ask.
"No," he chokes out. "The powder room is down the hall. I'll get dinner started."
"Okay, thanks." I say as I step slowly down the hallway. I see the half bath in front of me but decide to turn into his bedroom instead. I could really use a shower after being in the lake. The water is clean enough but I still feel musty.
Miguel's bathroom is exactly what I expected it to be. Sleek, modern finishes and grey towels. An empty counter and a neatly organized medicine cabinet, because obviously I peeked inside.
The sink is clean of any shave trimmings or toothpaste residue. After poking around for a minute and taking a whiff of his "Coal Ember" aftershave I lean into the shower and start the water.
There are two bottles on the shelf in the corner; a shampoo and a conditioner. I'm impressed he has conditioner. I look around and see a bar of soap balanced on a dish in the opposite corner.
As the water warms, I deftly unbraid my hair and finger comb a few tangles out. A sigh of relief washes over me as I step under the spray, indulging in the massaging effect of the pressure along my muscles.
I reach for the shampoo and smell it before lathering any in my hands. The product is spicy, almost like black pepper with a hint of orange and I inhale deeply and let the scent fill me.
As my brain registers the smells of the product I realize this is how Miguel smells.
This complex, and layered aroma mixes with a hint of cinnamon from the gum he's always chewing.
I can feel the soapy bubbles cascading down my back and as I push the suds out of my hair under the water I close my eyes and let myself simply feel.
The press of the humid shower steam against my skin.
The pooling water around my feet.
The droplets, rolling and gathering momentum as they forge a path down my body.
I follow one with the tip of my finger from my chest down past my breasts to my core and shudder when I find a silky wetness gathered there.
I open my eyes quickly. The light of the bathroom jarring me out of my impulse to touch myself in Miguel’s shower.
My body aches with the familiar strain of a workout but also with something else.
A yearning. As I wash my body with his bar of soap, I cave and imagine his hands in place of my own.
My movements slow, no longer focused on the act of cleaning myself but rather on indulging the very dirty thoughts running through my mind.
I turn to let the water caress my breasts as I feel the rest of my skin. All too easily, I imagine the touch of my hands being his.
Over the curve of my hip, up to my breasts, pinching myself, scraping my nails down my side, and finally, finally, allowing my fingers to pass through my labia again.
My knees almost buckle when I connect with my swollen clit and I brace myself against the tile.
My head falls forward and I curl into the pressure my fingers are creating as they rub swiftly up and down a millimeter in each direction on my clit.
My knees twitch again as I picture Miguel on his working me with his mouth and his hands.
His VO2 Max conditioning benefiting us both when he doesn't need to come up for air.
Suddenly the image morphs and Miguel is behind me with a firm grip on my hips, drilling into me at a punishing pace.
My head whips back as I work myself closer and closer to the finish line, the water of the shower continuing to crash over my body.
Imagination Miguel grips my hair and tugs firmly as he drives into me and that final image does me in. “Miguel. Yes…” I can’t help but praise his efforts out loud.
My legs tremble as I tumble over the edge and freefall through my orgasm. Slowly, after the crescendo calms, my breathing returns to normal, the sparks in my vision clear, and I rinse one last time before stepping out.
I sling a towel around my body and I stare into the mirror. The flush on my cheeks is a tell tale sign of my activities. I’ll need to cool it down before I join Miguel for dinner.
Except, shoot.
I glance down at my bikini sitting on top of my now thoroughly damp t-shirt in a pile on the floor.
I didn’t bring a change of clothes since this dinner invitation was a last minute demand.
I wonder how Miguel would react if I walked out of here looking freshly (self) fucked in his clothing?
I scrunch my hair dry with the towel before braiding it back. Then I find the things I need in his dresser and walk down the hall following the smell of grilled meat and vegetables.