Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
JOSIE
H e's watching me. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, suffocating and demanding. My muscles tense as I glide across the ice, trying to shake it off, but it’s impossible. It’s always impossible when it comes to Christopher Jackson; the man just gets under my skin.
He's so demanding and moody. It’s been the same grunt responses for the whole training session. The same narrowed eyes. The slight nods, as if he didn't offer to bite my lip and spank my ass sixty fucking minutes ago.
My blades carve into the ice with every stroke, sharp and clean. I launch into a spin, the rink a blur around me as I gather speed. The cold air stings my face, but I welcome it, needing the burn to clear my head. My leg shoots out, extending perfectly as I whirl into a camel spin, but his voice snaps through the silence before I can settle into the rhythm.
“Faster, Richards! That’s not fast enough. Push harder.”
I grit my teeth, ignoring how his voice sets my nerves on fire. Harder? I’m already giving everything I have, but of course, it's not enough for him. It's never enough for anyone. All people want is more from me. All people do is fucking take from me. I'm an idiot to think that when Christopher Jackson offered to train me, that it had anything to do with me and not everything to do with him.
I push off, going into a series of footwork, my blades slicing the ice as I try to block out the sound of his commands. My body moves on autopilot, each step calculated, each twist sharp, but I’m losing focus. His voice is like a hammer, relentless.
“Your transitions are sloppy! Fix it.”
Sloppy? My chest tightens with anger. My hands clench into fists, but I keep skating, forcing myself through a lutz jump. My arms extend, my body twisting perfectly in the air, but as I land, the frustration builds.
“Again,” he barks. “You can’t afford to mess up those landings.”
The second my blades hit the ice, I’m seething. Mess up? I didn’t mess up! He’s just looking for a reason to tear me down, to get under my skin. And it’s working. I glare at him as I glide past him, but he doesn’t flinch. He stands there with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed, daring me to argue.
“Come on, princess, is that all you’ve got? Don’t waste my time.”
I slam my skate into the ice, spraying snow in his direction. I spin around, skating back toward him with fury radiating off me.
“Maybe if you’d stop barking at me like a damn dog, I could concentrate!” I snap, my breath coming out in angry puffs. I’m practically shaking with anger, but he just raises an eyebrow, looking annoyingly calm.
“If you can’t handle a little pressure, Josie, you’ll never survive out there.” His voice is calm and condescending, and it only makes me angrier.
“I can handle pressure,” I hiss, stepping closer to him, “but I can’t handle you breathing down my neck every second!”
For a moment, we stare at each other, tension crackling between us. His gorgeous blue eyes darken, and something flashes in them—something heated, almost dangerous.
“That’s what you think this is? Me breathing down your neck?” His voice drops lower, a quiet intensity taking over.
I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close we are, the heat rolling off of him in waves. But I refuse to back down. Not now.
“Yes,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re always watching me, always pushing–"
"That's my job, princess."
"No, you're winding me up. I feel tight. I feel fucking tension." I grunt, running my fingers through my hair and yanking on the knots steadily forming. " I need to be loose, and if we're going to do this, I have to be loose."
He leans in closer, and the ice from my glide spraying over him dances on his eyelashes. "Where do you feel tense?"
"What?" I scoff, turning away from him, but he laces his fingers around my elbow and pulls me closer.
I can smell the firewood scent radiating off of him again. The heat of his touch burns like the fucking sun, and I want to pull him into me. To see if I can harness the fire for myself. His grip on my elbow tightens just enough to send a jolt of awareness through my body. The cold from the rink seeps into my skin, but his heat—his touch—overpowers it, and I’m stuck between two extremes. I meet his gaze, glaring, but my breath catches when I see the intensity burning in his eyes.
I yank my arm away, crossing my arms tightly over my chest, trying to create some kind of barrier between us. But he’s not backing off, not even close. He steps closer, invading my space like always, forcing me to acknowledge him, forcing me to acknowledge what he’s doing to me.
“I said, where do you feel tense? You said it’s because of me, right?” He tries to catch my eyes again, but I avoid him, looking down at the slowly shrinking space between us.
“You think I don’t know, Josie?” His voice is low, a dangerous murmur that sends a shiver down my spine. “I can see it every time you’re on that ice. You’re so wound up, so damn tight that you can’t move the way you’re supposed to.”
"I thought you wanted me to be tight." I bite back.
His chuckle rolls over my skin, and every hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. He balls his left hand into a fist and places the knuckles against my abdomen. "Your core is supposed to be tight."
Heat under his touch shoots right to the space between my legs, and I have to swallow hard not to have my voice tremble.
"Is that the only thing that is supposed to be tight?"
"Josie." He warns, and the way he sings my name is a warning, which makes my center pool with heat .
"Coach Jackson," I gasp as he pushes his fist harder against my core, and I flex against his weight. "It's a simple question."
"Answer mine first, naughty girl." His hand spreads across my stomach and curves around my hip. "Where do you feel tension?"
His fingers trail down my hip, leaving a glittering trail of heat in his wake. Coach Jackson's breath flutters over my ear. "Do you feel it here?"
I don't respond; I just lightly shake my head. No.
"Use your words, Josie." His hand moves around to my ass, and he grips me tightly. "Do you feel it here?"
"N-no." I stutter, my breath catching in my throat. This is unlike me. Coach Jackson is just fucking that— my coach. I can't do this. I have to…
"Don't think what you're thinking." His voice is smooth like molasses and deep like the ocean. It whispers in my ear, and I feel drunk off the sensation.
"Coach, I–" I start as he pulls me in closer.
"Christopher, or Chris." He corrects, his other hand trailing a knuckle down the center of my chest, right between my breasts. My nipples pebble at the sensation. "When my hands are about to find out what else about you is tight, you call me by my name, or if you want to be a polite girl, you call me sir, understand?"
My body tingles with desire, and before I can think, I nod my head. "Yes, sir."
Christopher groans out his approval as his other hand trails back up the center of my chest, the column of my neck, and up to cradle my face. "Let me find where your tension is so you can do this trick."
His thumb brushes against my bottom lip, and my mouth instinctively opens, allowing him to slip inside. The sensation is electric. My body feels a drunk kind of headiness, and for once, everything is empty. There are no thoughts about my next move. I just follow whatever Christopher says or does next, and it doesn't scare me. Why doesn't that scare me?
Just as my brows start to furrow, he kisses me deeply and possessively, his tongue exploring my mouth, and he tastes like the ashes of a fire and tartness of cherries. I want more, and just as I pull him in closer, he pulls away, leaving me breathless and yearning. I don't think I've ever yearned before, but fuck do I want him. I want him to make all the noise disappear in my head again.
I look at him with hooded eyes, and he grunts in approval again, running his fingers through my hair. He pulls my head back slightly and smiles down at me.
"Good girl," he praises, and my knees go weak. My center is slick with my own desire. My bottom lip quivers, and I realize I want him. No, I need him to say that again.
He looks at me with those blue eyes that remind me of sapphires. His lips a whisper away from mine as he mutters."Let’s get rid of some of that tension."
He guides me over to a nearby bench, positioning me so that I sit facing him while he stands between my legs. The cold metal of the sideline wall seeps through my thin cream leggings, but I barely notice as Christopher begins to unbutton my pink cardigan and I silently curse myself for the white thick-ass shirt that I am wearing underneath, because I want him to touch all of me. I've never felt that way about Dylan, sure I've been turned on, but I've never needed him when I had my own ways of easing the tension. Christopher is different. I need him, because that heat between my legs? That small-ass rose bud dildo won't do. It has to be him.
"Spread your legs, Josie," he commands, his voice firm yet soothing.
I obey, my thighs parting hesitantly, but Christopher gives me no time to think as his hands work deftly, sliding my leggings and underwear down to my knees to expose my glistening core. A wave of embarrassment washes over me as the cold bites at my wet core, but it is quickly replaced by anticipation as Christopher's fingers hover above my entrance.
"Relax," he instructs, his voice a calming balm. "Submit to me."