by Lucia Franco
Since the Fourth of July barbecue, Katja had been to the gym a few times. Watching him embrace her made my heart throb. He’d lace his fingers through her perfectly styled waves, look deeply into her eyes, and pull her mouth to his with passion. As if he needed her to get through the rest of his day. When he pulled away, her mouth would be swollen and red, her eyes glazed over with bliss. But it wasn’t just me who watched, the entire girls’ team watched in awe, too. They were the perfect couple and we all wished we were her.
Then I remembered when Kova had said I was just as pretty. Gorgeous, even.
The vivid images of his hands roaming my body and not Katja’s hit me with force. Wishing I was her was wickedly wrong. I groaned, both in pain from the fall and frustration over my deviant thoughts. There had to be something wrong with me to think of my coach this way, but I couldn’t stop. I wanted him to look at me with the same intensity he did her.
His lips grazing my supple ones, his fingers digging into my backside, crushing me to him. His penis pushed against my stomach, not letting me move, hard and hot. His tongue sliding into my mouth and taking control, but with passion and heat like in the movies. He was much bigger than me. Brute strength and compelling eyes.
He ripped my clothes off, I yanked at his shirt and his buttons went flying. He couldn’t take his wild eyes off of me.
“How are you doing, Ria?”
My head snapped up in surprise and my lips parted. Coach stood beside me and stared down with inquisitive eyes while he waited for a response. Shit, my breathing deepened while my cheeks flushed from the tainted thoughts I had. I was beginning to notice he only used that nickname when it was just us.
His eyes grew heavy, pupils dilating. As if he knew what I’d been thinking. I blushed again, remembering how he said he liked the pinkish color in my cheeks.
I swallowed and said nothing, averting my gaze to his crotch for some reason. Eyes widened, I looked back at his brooding face. God, what was wrong with me? My blood heated faster, even my ears were suddenly on fire as I pictured I was Katja.
I knew two things: I was going straight to hell. And I was as red as a fire hydrant.
“Adrianna.”
“I, ah...I’m okay,” I responded, finding my voice.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “How bad is it?”
I swallowed, wondering how much to tell him. I went for the truth.
“Pretty bad. I was bleeding a little from the fall. I’m not anymore though.” After twenty minutes of icing it, the pain was numb.
Coach’s jaw flexed. “Bleeding, huh. And your thighs,” his voice was smoky.
Unsure at this point, I pushed the chair out and removed both ice bags. Looking down, I said, “They’re pretty red. Scratched up. I’ll have a nice burn for a few days.”
Squatting, Kova got to my level. He placed a hand at the back of my chair to steady himself, the other on my thigh. I flinched, my legs automatically trying to close, but he stopped me.
“Let me see.”
I gulped. While I was uncertain of what he wanted to see, I was positively certain the stain would show through. Talk about embarrassing.
My brows creased together as a shadow cast across his eyes. His thumb began rubbing small, slow circles on the inside of my knee. His touch was exhilarating and soothing, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was his way of apologizing for how he treated me earlier.
“Your thighs, where you hit the beam...let me see.” With that, he placed his other hand on my opposite knee and slowly pushed my legs open.
The rise and fall of his chest matched mine. Our breathing grew heavy as the air thickened. Kova’s large hands moved slowly toward my hips, pushing against me and opening my legs wider. My hips rolled up and my back arched, pushing my chest out.
He paused before he reached the apex of my thighs, and I mean right before. I held my breath and my heart froze. The room grew significantly smaller. He wouldn’t dare go any further, would he? Desire coursed through my body and the thought of stopping him never once occurred. I actually wanted him to touch me where he never should go. The forbidden facet was possibly the calculating equation. His palms and fingers dug into my flesh, scooting me closer to him.
I began to tremble under his hold and he slowly licked his bottom lip. His eyes never left mine as I let him know it was okay. I arched my back, leaving only my shoulders to rest against the chair.
Gone was the cold shock of the bags of ice I had been sitting on moments earlier, and in its place was scorching, hot heat. Need. Want. Something, I just wasn’t sure what. Kova paused, then resumed his glide up my thighs.
“It is a pretty bad burn.” His eyelids lowered and he groaned in the back of his throat. “You are going to be sore for days, make sure to put some balm on it...” he trailed off, his focus at the center of my legs. His thumb soothed the burn that marred my tender skin. He was so close to my sex, I began to throb for his touch.
I nodded instinctively, and without thinking, I reached out. My nails digging into the curve of his bicep when his thumb stopped. He created an ache that needed to be released, a buildup was flowing inside of me.
He knew what he was doing. What he was creating within me.
If I breathed, he’d touch me in a place no one had ever touched me before.
And maybe I wanted that.
My hips undulated when the back of his knuckles swept over my thigh, the tips of his fingers brushing the side of my sex, close to the seam of my lips. A little gasp escaped my mouth, my chest burned from holding in my breath. The touch was so light, so faint, but I felt it, and I think he knew too.
Kova held stock still, frozen in place, as a throbbing pulse resonated from deep within me.
Oh God, it felt like I was ready to come apart and I wanted him to do it again. Imagine my shock when his eyes lowered and his thumb cautiously reached out and deliberately stroked the side of my pussy.
I didn’t say stop. Or not to touch me. I’d always been taught to say no to bad touches, but this wasn’t bad, it felt good. He made me feel good. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. This was my coach, a friend of my dad’s.
And deep down, I wanted it.
“Kova.” His jaw flexed at the sound of my cracked voice. He fought to lift his head, his eyes trained in one spot. My legs widened further, signaling I wanted him to do it again, ready to feel whatever was brewing inside. I was so close, I could feel it. Seconds went by and the pleasure receded.
And then, just when I thought he was going to pull back, his thumb moved a fraction and slid between my lips, over my leo, from bottom to top in a swirling motion on my pussy.
Sweet Jesus!
Instinctively, my nails dug deep in his golden skin as I pushed my chest out. My nipples tightened, hardening to little points. I gave Kova full access as my hips unwound in the chair, reveling in his touch. He growled low as I moved myself against his hand. I needed more, I wanted it. A million tiny explosions were climbing inside me, building up higher and higher. I wanted to reach that pinnacle of bliss.
Kova pressed his thumb hard against my clit and pushed in circles, his fingertips seeking entrance, but my leo was too tight. A rush of wetness coated through the fabric, directly beneath his thumb. Kova rumbled deep in the back of his throat as he rubbed the wet stain. My legs shook and it took everything in me not to yell out from the intensity of the pleasure.
“Oh,” I breathed ever so quietly. “Oh...God. It feels so good.” I was right there. My entire body came apart, tingling with the euphoric bliss he brought me as I blew up. His thumb circled faster, my hips rolled in a wave as I exploded in front of him. I gripped the side of the chair, and released a heavy breath. My shoulders relaxed back.
Kova was breathing low and heavy when I finally found my voice. “What...what was that?”
His shocked gaze snapped to mine and held still. When he didn’t say anything, I asked again, “What was that?”
Removing his hand from my sex, he s
queezed my knee painfully hard. His hand shook and the skin on his knuckles tightened. The vein in his arm twirled down in a spiral as he stared at the ground, lost in thought.
“An orgasm, I presume,” he choked out.
I shook my head vehemently. “No way. I’ve had orgasms before and they never once felt that incredible.”
Kova’s knees cracked as he stood, his pelvis directly in front of my face...along with an obvious erection. I swallowed back and looked up at him, his intoxicating eyes were already trained hard on me. He cupped himself, stroking his hard length. I glanced down, mesmerized as I watched him wrap his hand around his thickness, moving it around almost as if he was trying to push it down.
I licked my dry lips and glanced up. Kova had never taken his eyes off me. He dragged a hand through his hair and expelled a loud breath. His eyes finally left mine and scattered around the cafe.
“Do you think you will be able to go back out and train again?” he asked.
Wait—What? He wanted me to train after that mind-blowing orgasm I just had—he was certifiably insane.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I need to change my leo first.”
That got his attention. “Actually go home, Ria.” His face was void of any emotion and my stomach tightened. “You had enough for today.” He coughed. “That, ah, fall was a bad one.”
I frowned. I didn’t want him to send me home.
“But I still have a half day of training left.”
“I am giving you the rest of the day off.”
I stood to get my point across. “But I need these extra hours, you know I need all the help I can get. I don’t want to go home.”
“Adrianna, at this point I do not care what you want. I said go home, so go. For once, can you not fucking argue with me and just go?”
I flinched and forced back my rising tears. He’d never used such a menacing tone with me since I began training, or cursed. At least not that I could remember. His sudden, hurtful glare got to me. “No, I won’t.”
Muttering in Russian, he glared at me.
“I’ll suck it up and deal. It’s my problem, not yours. It was only a little fall anyway.”
Slowly, he looked in my direction, as if he was ready to body slam me to the floor. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs. I wasn’t sure what I’d done that was so wrong.
“I do not want to see your face until tomorrow. Am I making myself clear?”
Breathing deeper and pulling from within, I pushed back. I was ready to blow, and not in a good way. The Sicilian in me was coming out.
“You can’t make me go home for this. It was a stupid fall, and no one else has been sent home for falling!”
His eyes softened. “You misunderstand. If you do not go home and recover, tomorrow is going to be painful for you.”
This man confused me. One minute he was growling and ready to strangle me, the next, like right this instance, he was concerned and caring.
I nodded. Actually, he was right. “I don’t understand you.”
“You are not supposed to.”
Then he stalked off and left the room as if nothing happened.
Sometimes when the day ended and everyone went home, I liked to come into the gym late at night just to lie on the floor and stare up at the ceiling, visualizing my routines over and over. My body would flinch and jerk as I pictured myself nail each skill and dismount, pleasing my coaches.
Every gymnast had access to the gym with just a swipe of their card, yet I’d never seen any here the few times I came.
In the hushed silence of the night, being surrounded by the equipment was freeing, and it brought a sense of security that filled my soul. No one to yell at me or stare down and tell me how wrong I was. No cold shoulders from my teammates. No side-looks or smirks to shake my confidence. It was just me and the gym as I breathed in the chalky air.
Switching on one light, it illuminated over the parallel bars, leaving the rest of the gym cased in darkness, which was just what I wanted. I liked the obscurity. It was serene and comforting.
A nice little bruise had formed on my pubic bone. I’d had falls on beam before, but this one was probably one of the worst since I’d fallen back-to-back. I iced myself religiously three times, soaked in a bath, and took four Motrin to alleviate the swelling. And nearly a week later, I was good to go.
Walking toward the blue-carpeted spring floor, I zipped up my sweater. The chill hit my bones, a tremble waked through me. Without the heated bodies to fill the gym, it was actually quite cold in here. Once I was in the dead center, I laid down and a shiver crept up my spine.
Meet season would soon be here and I needed to mentally prepare. I wasn’t sure which meets Kova would put me in, but since this year was an Olympic year, elite season dates changed. I had roughly four months to go, then December to June would be nonstop. The competitions were much larger than what I was used to, competing outside the state, and competing against new athletes, mostly younger than me and with harder skills. The younger part worried me the most, though I would never in a million years admit it to anyone. The last few months had been pure hell, both emotionally and physically, and divulging it would make me appear like the weakling I felt I was at times. So I bottled it up and kept my mouth shut.
Just like I did back home.
Expelling a deep sigh, I had to find trust and belief from within to gain the confidence I needed. I had experience and maturity due to my age and upbringing. Hopefully that would work in my favor.
I slipped my ear buds in and began playing The End by Kings of Leon. His deep, baritone voice along with the beats drowned out the negative voices in my head and allowed me to think freely. I was able to forget the weight of my life for a little while without the added pressure of anyone. The music spoke to me and I listened.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been there when something caught the corner of my eye. Craning my neck to the side, I looked toward the light from the door and my stomach dropped.
Coach Kova.
I had no idea what he was doing here. Surely, he got enough of the gym being here all day.
He looked to be on a mission as he strode toward the now illuminated rings, determined and completely oblivious I was present.
Thank God. He probably figured he berated the gymnasts enough they wouldn’t be here after hours.
Wait, I take that back. He only berated me to that extent. I was his punching bag on a bad day.
Reaching behind his neck, he fisted his gray shirt and pulled it over his head. It slid off his back smoothly, like a piece of silk, and dropped it to the ground. I sucked in a breath as he undressed under the muted light. I’d never seen him without a shirt before. Other than an occasional tumbling pass where his shirt would rise up and show a hint of his stomach, it was all the skin of his I’d ever seen.
He toed off his sneakers, leaving only a pair of black basketball shorts on, then cracked his neck, rolling it around in circles. He threw his arms out to the sides, swinging them around wildly to stretch them out. From behind, his golden back was lean, honed to absolute perfection, the muscles flexing as he stretched out his upper half. I couldn’t help but lie still and stare at him in awe. His back was a work of art. Just like him.
He was fucking gorgeous.
I whimpered internally. Only I would see having a hot coach as a curse.
Kova jumped and grasped the rings. The corded muscles in his shoulders tightened and I watched as he began whipping his pointed toes back and forth while he held steady. Arching his back, then hollowing his chest, he had great form.
He went straight into full swings, handstands, and flips, warming up his body. My jaw went slack. He maneuvered the rings with precision, like a champ. I’d never seen him use any apparatus at practice before. He was focused, completely unaware anyone was watching. And I was happy he was oblivious. I was mesmerized by the sight before me. He had such grace and beauty coiled in his toned body that I think if he knew anyone was watching he’d st
op. His control was remarkable at his age. Thirty-two wasn’t old by any means, but for a gymnast it was ancient. Christ, eighteen was over the hill.
Most gymnasts retired around the age of eighteen, very few made it to their mid twenties. Not by choice, but because their bodies could no longer handle the physical strain and demand of the sport. Almost always, there was an injury we sustained.
We defied gravity on the floor with insane jaw dropping tumbling passes, ran toward stationary objects to flip over, and balanced on a four-inch piece of wood with turns, tucks, and fulls. All the while killing our backs and feet from landings and dismounts. The impact shocked our ankles and zoomed up our spines, making us wince in pain. But we grinned and dealt with it and did what we were born to do, because we couldn’t imagine life without it. Just as Kova was doing now. He couldn’t let go.
Kova pulled up into a handstand then slowly extended his arms out to the sides so now he was in an upside down T, his back facing me. His body was pulled tight and locked solid. Roped muscles in his shoulders jutted out, and cut sharp as he began to slowly lower his body into a plank position. I held my breath as I watched. The skill was not an easy one to master. I’d seen teammates shake from the brute strength it took to hold this form. But Kova didn’t move, he didn’t shake. His arms were as steady as the rest of his body. There was no blowing like a leaf, as he once said I had on beam. It was beyond remarkable my coach could still do a skill of this capacity.
With incredible accuracy and control, he rotated his arms just a fraction so they were turned out. From his sculpted shoulders to the veins that snaked around his arms, he didn’t waver in his hold. It was utterly fascinating. His body exuded raw power and strength, and it was beautifully captivating. Remarkable. I’ve tried so hard not to associate Kova with anything other than him being my gymnastics coach. But seeing his determination and fight to make me a better gymnast on a daily basis compelled me to think of him in more ways than I should. And now, with how he was conveying control without anyone around, it was hard to see him as just my coach.
