Chapter Twenty-Nine
My footsteps echo off of the tile floors and white walls as I head down the hall toward Rafael’s office.
I meant to email him last night but got caught up with another essay and forgot. We need to get the plan for this week's practices squared away, and as much as I hate to admit it, his drills have been helpful.
His office door is cracked open, and when I knock, it creaks, opening wider to reveal a distraught Rafael. He’s hunched over his wooden desk, his elbows digging into the hard surface as he cradles his head in his hands.
“Coach?” I ask, chewing the inside of my cheek, my mouth going dry.
His head snaps up, his jaw clenched shut as he glares at me, sucking in a breath. He shakes his head, loosening his jaw, running a shaky hand through his overgrown waves.
“I can come back,” I say, backpedalling. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, but I don’t think I want to find out right now.
He shakes his head again, grunting as he does. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Have a seat,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Against my better judgement, I shut the door behind me and take a seat in the dark-red tweed chair in front of his desk. I’ve always been one for making questionable decisions, why stop now?
He scrubs a hand over his cheek, the stubble residing there much more prominent than I’ve previously seen it. The dark circles I’d noticed earlier look even worse in the crappy overhead light of his office, and a heavy weight settles in my gut.
I scoot my chair closer to his desk, unable to stop my body’s response to him.
I want to comfort him, I realise, the thought foreign to me.
I give into the feeling, settling my hand over his, my whole body tensing as his gaze lazily travels from my hand to my face.
I give his hand a quick squeeze, but I can’t seem to tear the offending appendage from him.
This isn’t a man who anyone would describe as “sunshine” by any stretch of the imagination, but as someone who’s been told I’m “too grumpy” about a million times, I recognise this isn’t his baseline piss-poor attitude. No, this is something far beyond what I’d consider typical for him.
“Do you—” I clear my throat. “Do you need someone to talk to?” My thighs squeeze as his expression shifts to something more intense, verging on feral.
He stands abruptly, his hand remaining under mine as he leans across the table, planting his other hand flat, and he brings his face mere inches from mine.
Rafael slips the hand from under mine, pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, dragging my mouth closer to his. “No, Elise,” he grits out, “I don’t need to talk about it. What I need is a goddamn distraction .”
His voice is rough and low, almost menacing, but my body betrays me.
My chest heaves at the proximity between us, and my core spasms, all self-preservation flying out the window with my sanity, replaced by lust and driven by an obscene need to let this man use my body for his own whims. My lips part, and there’s a flutter low in my belly.
This is what I get for listening to all those damn mafia romance books on audio.
Evidently, I’m attracted to unhinged men, like this one, who looks like he could simultaneously fulfil all of my wildest and most erotic fantasies as he tears my heart and mind apart, piece by dreadful piece.
I swallow thickly and do my best to sound confident, but the words leave my mouth like a whisper. “I could be that for you.” Since when am I this meek little girl?
His nostrils flare, and he works his jaw. “A distraction. Just this once, ” I clarify, pushing more conviction into my words this time.
I’m rewarded with a visual of the exact moment his resolve snaps.
His warm, callused hand scrapes along my jaw, dragging down my throat, where his fingers dig into the delicate flesh over my pulse.
He brings his lips to hover above my ear, his cool breath a tickle over my heated skin, and I clench my eyes shut, begging my pebbled nipples to relax.
“Just this once,” he whispers, the words rough, scraping across my skin as if physically capable of doing such a thing. My breath hitches, getting caught in my throat. “We’ll get it out of our systems and move on with our lives after this, you understand, Elise?”
God, yes. I want nothing more than to fuck this man out of my system.
I nod, realising he can only feel the movement. “Y-yes.” I stutter my agreement.
“Good,” he says, pushing me out of his grasp by my throat. I fall back into the chair as he rounds his desk, prowling to the door to lock it before returning. “Before this goes any further, we need to agree on a few things here.”
I nod my agreement, worrying my lower lip.
“I don’t do slow and gentle. We’re not ‘making love’.” He says the last two words as if they’re dirty and tainted. “We’re fucking. Rough and fast, and I can’t coddle you throughout. If we do this, I want to get lost in you .”
I groan loudly, my heartbeat pounding in my throat as he drags the chair back a foot before standing in front of me and dropping to his knees. “Is that alright with you, or do we need to pretend this never happened?” His words are gruff, and they scrape against my skin like sandpaper.
“God, yes, that’s perfect. I have absolutely no desire to be treated like porcelain.”
His eyes narrow, searching my face for any semblance of a lie, and when he finds none, I’m rewarded with an almost imperceptible quirk of his lips—it might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
“You might be in charge out there”—he flicks his chin to the door—“but in here? I’m the one in control. Now let me see what’s for lunch.”
Oh, Christ, this man and his sinful mouth. I knew he’d be a dirty talker. My head falls back, my gaze averted to the popcorn ceiling above us for a moment as I regain my composure, but it’s a moment too long for him.
“Eyes on me,” he grunts out, sliding his callused hands up my thighs. Our eyes lock as his fingers dig into the material of my spandex shorts. He drags them down my legs, along with my thong, pulling them off of my ankles and dropping them beside him.
He takes a deep lungful of air, and I find myself mirroring the movement, reminding me to breathe as I shake with need.
Rafael grips my foot and calf, bending it up and dropping it over the top of the armrest. He repeats the movement with my other leg, splaying me wide open for him. The cool, stagnant air in this small space both chills me to my core and suffocates me all at once.
He rests back on his haunches, scrubbing a hand down his face and clenching his eyes shut as he releases a long groan.
I bend forward as best I can, tapping the centre of his forehead with my forefinger, a sly smirk spreading my lips, regaining some of my usual bravado.
“Uh, uh, uh.” I tsk. “Eyes on me,” I say, my cheek quirking when he rolls his eyes, a hint of a smile playing on his face.
“Who’s calling the shots here, Elise?” he asks, his deep voice dropping another octave as he sits up, bringing his face to mine. He dips his chin and drags the tip of his nose over my jawline, his mouth hovering an inch from where I want it.
The thought is so strange. I never kiss the people I have sex with, because that is all we’re doing.
Fucking and moving on. Kissing feels intimate, it feels like more .
More than I can or even want to entertain giving to someone, but that doesn’t put a stop to the needy way my body reacts to this man.
A whimper climbs up my throat, and I’m half a second from begging him to shove his tongue down in my mouth.
I wasn’t joking when I told Letty I want him to fill all of my holes.
He drops a hand to my core, and I suck a breath through my teeth, the heat radiating off of him seeping into me as he strokes my wet slit.
His other hand winds into the hair at the base of my skull, tugging my mouth to his.
Rafael’s full lips press against mine as he pushes a finger inside me.
I buck off the chair, but his body keeps me firmly in place as his lips mould to me.
He pumps a thick finger into my cunt, my insides melting as heat radiates through me, starting in my core and spreading outward.
I whine against his mouth, his lips pressing firmly onto mine.
He swipes his hot tongue across the seam, and I open for him, allowing his tongue to slip inside and tangle with mine.
My muscles clench, tingles shooting through me. Strangled moans leave my throat, only to be devoured by Rafael. The heel of his palm rubs deliciously against my clit, and I wind my arms around his neck, digging my nails into his traps.
He groans loudly, tilting his head for better access as he presses me further into the chair, squishing me to the seat.
His hot mouth leaves mine, but only for a second. He nips my bottom lip, and I practically dissolve against him, whining as he smirks down at me. “I think I asked you a question, peligrosa, ” he says, lazily pumping his finger in and out of my pussy.
“I don’t remember what it was, nor do I care,” I answer, earning a second finger slamming into me.
I arch into his warm, muscular body, my head falling back, exposing my neck.
He ducks his chin, nipping the thin skin over my pulse and scraping his teeth up to my ear.
I love that he’s not delicate with me. I hate being treated like stained glass.
“Elise,” he warns, “who’s in charge here?” His breath coasts over the shell of my ear.
“You’re, oh god, ” I cry, his fingers spreading inside me, stretching me out.
“Sorry, what was that?” he teases with a dark, humourless chuckle that’s as sexy as it is infuriating.
“I said…” I grind my molars, trying to overcome the pleasure building from his hands.
“You’re not going to like my answer,” I say, purposefully taunting him.
This little back-and-forth turns him on nearly as much as it does me, and I have a feeling he enjoys it when I talk back to him. Masochistic fuck.
The more turned on he is, the more he tries to punish me for it, and I fucking love it.