Coach's Daughter

by Jessa Kane

  “I’m all ears when it comes to you, angel.” I slow to a stop when she looks up at me through her eyelashes, a little dazed, possibly from the feel of my erection. Suddenly it’s a crime that I haven’t laid the universe at her feet yet. I want to give her everything this world has to offer. Most of all, I want to make up for the fact that I haven’t been completely honest with her. The truth would be the best option, but she’s just got finished telling me I did something right. Do I want to screw myself so soon by telling her I signed a false name today on the contract?

  Still. I can give her something.

  I think back to what she just said to me. About being manhandled. How men can so easily press their advantage. God knows I’ve been aggressive in every way since we met. What sets me apart from the asshole that tried to drug her drink? Reflecting on that with no small amount of shame gives me an idea.

  “Tonight is your first time.”

  Swallowing hard, she nods. “Uh-huh.”

  I stroke a hand up her silken thigh, engaging her in a long, drawn-out kiss. By the time we finish, we’re both a little dazed, her legs beginning to tremble around me. “You’re in charge. I’ll talk you through it, but my hands can be tied. Literally.” I kiss her cheek, her ear. “If that’s what you want.”

  She blinks, softens like icing on a warm cake. “You’d…tie your hands for me?”

  “I’d do anything for you, Greta.”

  “Even skip the basketball lesson?”

  I stride for the gymnasium door. “Sorry, anything but that.”

  Her burst of laughter is like a shot of wonder to my soul. And I know I’ll stop at nothing to hear that sound every single day of my life.

  Chapter Six

  Greta

  I could get used to this womanhandling thing.

  Me and Eric stand at half court of his giant underground basketball court, the fact that we’re completely alone amplified by the sheer magnitude of space. And we’re…flirting. There’s no other word for it. He tickles me and I giggle. I run my hands up beneath his loose gray T-shirt and he hisses a curse. He whispers secrets in my ear about nonsense, just for an excuse to slide his hand up the back of my skirt and I retaliate by taking a hard nibble of his neck.

  My nude thong is soaked, stuck to my skin.

  Honestly, I can’t remember a single other time I’ve flirted with a man without doing it ironically or being sarcastic the whole time. This is pure, unadulterated enjoyment for both of us. It’s foreplay. At least, I assume so, since I’ve never done it before. Eric gently fondles my breasts through the soft material of my tank top, groaning into my neck, letting me just feel the ridge of his erection every so often…all of it combines to weave a sensual spell.

  At first, putting my hands anywhere I feel like putting them on Eric’s hard body feels like a violation, but his flesh is so hot and welcoming under my fingertips. When I use my fingernails on his abdomen, he hisses, tugs me closer by the buns. When I trail a finger down his belly, stopping just short of his bulge, he lets me stare at the heavy-looking sex tenting his red sweatpants. And I can’t stop myself from thinking what it would be like to touch him freely with no interference.

  With his hands tied.

  His offer to restrain himself during my first time was a surprise. Why can I never predict which direction this man is going to go? I came here determined to hold back. To get through the night without letting him past my emotional defenses. But then he opened the door and flashed me those dimples, he surprises me at every turn, constantly keeping me on my toes. Somehow, though, I never feel less than completely safe. Wanted. Needed. And it really makes me realize how long I’ve gone without that feeling of being important to someone.

  He asked me to choose him of my own free will.

  I never expected to consider it, but I felt the instant connection between us last night in the club and it’s getting stronger by the second.

  Now, Eric kisses my neck one more time and backs away, not taking his attention from me once as he retrieves a basketball from the rack on the sideline.

  Oh my.

  I’m not supposed to be attracted to basketball players. I’m not even supposed to like this sport, but the sight of him dribbling toward me, like the ball is an extension of his body, that cocky smirk on his face, is doing it for me. Why can’t I just disregard him the way I do with the rest of the planet’s men?

  “All right, angel, come here.”

  I shake my head no and study my nails, making him chuckle.

  “I’ll come to you, then,” he drawls, dribbling in a half circle behind me. “Have you ever dunked before?”

  “What?” I gesture at my shrimpy body. “Is that even a question?”

  “Height isn’t an issue on my court. It has magical powers.” Clearly enjoying himself, he jerks his chin at the closest rim. “Even the shortest person can dunk on that basket.”

  I narrow skeptical eyes at him, but I’m half-smiling.

  He passes me the ball. “Go on. Give it a try.”

  “I barely manage to keep my balance on the treadmill,” I point out, carrying the ball to the foul line and squaring my shoulders. “I’m going to embarrass myself.”

  Obviously, he’s got something up his sleeve, so when I get a running start in the direction of the basket and suddenly there are two extra-large hands lifting me up, up, from around the waist, I am half-expecting it. But accelerating upward so quickly, my hair blown back by the speed, is exciting nonetheless and I squeal, throwing the ball down through the net. A second later I’m dropping and landing with my back to Eric’s chest, exhilaration tickling my veins, and I can’t seem to stop laughing in a breathless way I’ve never heard before. Not from myself.

  “Told you,” he says in my ear. “Magic.”

  “It was,” I breathe, being honest.

  “Does that mean you love basketball now?”

  “Don’t push it.”

  We laugh quietly, but it turns into sighs. I’m not sure if it’s the adrenaline, Eric’s charisma, the arousal he kindled at half court or all of the above, but I’m suddenly ravenous for the taste of him. My pulse is pounding a thousand miles an hour and I want his mouth on mine. Now now now. I twist around in his arms and find his lips with mine, slinging my thighs high around his waist and clinging, seeking his tongue eagerly and finding it. Finding it because he gives it to me just as hungrily, plowing his fingers into my hair, raking and slanting his mouth over mine, our groans filling the air between us.

  His kneading hands are rough and punishing on my backside, separating my cheeks, lifting them. “Are you telling me it’s time to start fucking, little girl?”

  “Yes,” I say, my head spinning. “Yes, Daddy.”

  Both of us pause.

  Eric pulls back to study what can only be my red face, because what did I just say? Did I really just call this twenty-nine year-old man Daddy?

  “I’m sorry—”

  “I’m not. I loved it,” he interrupts quickly, carrying me from the court, back into the hallway leading to the stairs, his thickly muscled chest heaving. “I’m going to make you say it again when I’m balls deep.”

  Turned on in the extreme by his bluntness, I tuck my face into his neck and moan, absorbing his crushed mint and male scent. Never in my wildest imagination did I think this moment with Eric would feel so absolutely right. To be carried to his room, the urgency almost blinding in its intensity, to feel like I might die if he doesn’t make love to me.

  Searching for something to ground me, I look around the house as he carries me through, taking note of the bookcases, the lack of flash. “Where is your nine-million-gallon fish tank and your stripper pole?” I murmur into his shoulder.

  He chokes a laugh. “I’m sorry?”

  “Most athletes go for a slightly more ostentatious look.”

  “Ah. Yeah, you’re right about that.” Shaking his head, he carries me up a curved staircase leading to the second floor. “I don’t drink. Don’t party
. I’ve always thought…there’s no reason to make my house over-the-top impressive when I’m the only one who’s going to see it.” He kisses the side of my neck. “Guess I’ll have to rethink that. You’ll be here now.”

  I suppress my lovesick sigh. “Will I? Don’t get cocky, Bentley.”

  His laughter booms loudly off the walls.

  We enter his bedroom a moment later and I smile into his shoulder at the overtly male space. It’s gray and black, no nonsense, made for sleeping and getting dressed, period. Blackout curtains and a leather bench, cushy carpets, a bed that could fit a giant. Or one seriously yoked basketball player and me.

  Nerves begin to flutter in my throat over what’s to come, so when he drops down onto the edge of the bed, rocking me in his arms, I’m grateful he’s not rushing. But I search for a distraction, nonetheless. “Why don’t you drink or party?” When he stiffens a little, I lift my head to search his face. “Eric?”

  He clears his throat. “Just something that happened in college. I don’t…I haven’t talked about it much since it happened.”

  I reach up to cradle his jaw, stroking the day’s growth of dark hair. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  For long moments, he looks into my eyes. “I think I want to.”

  Nodding, I wait, continuing to run my fingers down the side of his face.

  “I was in a fraternity in college. Specifically for athletes. It wasn’t really my thing, I’m more comfortable being alone, but my best friend, Wade…he wanted to be part of that scene so badly. The parties, the camaraderie, the constant activity. I was already making a name for myself our freshman year, taking the first-string point guard spot. Sports analysts were plugging me as the next big thing. Wade knew he’d get into the frat if I joined and made us a package deal.”

  He grows silent.

  Following instinct, I wrap my arms around his neck. Hold him.

  After a moment, he continues. “I was young…but I wasn’t stupid. Or reckless. I just gave in to the constant pressure one night during rush week. One time. I kept getting passed drinks and everything turned into a blur. I lost track of Wade and I woke up in a strange bed with someone I didn’t know. It was noon when I woke up and he…Wade was already gone. They’d hazed him, given him too much to drink and they lost him in the hospital.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I was supposed to be looking out for him.”

  “Oh, Eric.” My throat constricts. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that happened and you lost your best friend. That’s not fair.”

  “I haven’t drunk a drop of alcohol or been with a woman since then, Greta.”

  “You’ve been punishing yourself?” I shake my head. “It wasn’t your fault, Eric. You can’t blame yourself for behaving like an eighteen-year-old. You never could have known what was going to happen.”

  It’s clear he’s not willing to relinquish responsibility for this. It’s right there in the stubborn set to his jaw. “Maybe I’ve been punishing myself a little by denying myself alcohol and sex.” His breath grows hot on my neck, his hand twisting in the rear hem of my skirt. “Or maybe I was just waiting for someone to feel right. No one has ever fucking felt right but you. If I’ve been coming on strong, Greta, it’s because I’m scared you’ll slip through my fingers.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper against his mouth—and in this moment, I mean it. I can’t imagine myself without this man, every inch of his hard body contouring to mine, his naked honesty making my eyes burn. Pressing a kiss to his jawline, I reach down and gather the hem of his gray T-shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it back over my shoulder. My womanhood responds to the sight of his packed, swarthy muscle, clenching between my thighs, coating my flesh in moisture.

  Next, I strip off my tank top and unsnap my strapless bra, letting it fall, arching my back slightly to offer him the sight of my breasts. The knowledge that this internationally renowned athlete hasn’t given in to the ample temptation surrounding him in eleven years? It makes me bolder. Arouses me to a fever pitch. Makes me want to reward him. And I find myself writhing on his lap, dragging my core up and back on the thickening steel in his sweatpants, listening to his choked breaths, watching his white teeth sink hard into his bottom lip, his hands twisting in the bed comforter. “Say it again,” he rasps. “Say you’re not going anywhere.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I breathe, parting my lips over his in a long, moaning kiss, my hips beginning to rock faster. The wet battle of lips and tongue gets out of control almost immediately, but before I can unzip my skirt, Eric is breaking away, his breathing harsh.

  “I didn’t forget, Greta. About putting you in charge of your first time. Tying up my hands so I won’t manhandle you—”

  “I don’t need you to do that,” I gasp, rubbing myself against him shamelessly.

  “When I make a promise to you, I keep it.” Blue eyes glittering, he nips at my mouth. “Go get a necktie from my top drawer.”

  My legs are shaking so violently, they barely hold me up, but I manage to make it the short distance to his dresser, pulling open the top drawer and removing a red tie with shaky fingers, returning to Eric. I watch, aching, from the foot of his bed as he positions himself at the slatted headboard, his big, broad shoulders nestling into the pillows. Studying me from beneath hooded eyelids, he crooks a finger and I go, without thinking, crawling on hands and knees in his direction, panting and bare breasted, the tie clutched in my hand.

  “Fuck.” He crams the side of his fist against his mouth. “I must be crazy offering to keep my hands off you.”

  “Still time to change your mind,” I purr, rising to my knees and slowly lowering the side zipper of my skirt and letting it fall little by little, down my thighs, eventually revealing my nude thong. “You can hold me down and make me beg for mercy…”

  I say it teasingly, but he doesn’t join in with my light laughter. “Don’t worry. I’ll be making plenty of time for that, Greta.”

  The dark promise in his voice sends a hot shiver passing through me. “Suit yourself,” I murmur shakily, advancing closer, struggling to catch my breath as Eric rolls to one side and presents me his wrists behind his back. I loop the silk tie around them several times, running the material between his wrists and eventually tying it. Tightly. And when he turns over again, back propped against the pillows, I can’t help but take a moment to ogle him, this muscle-bound sports god who is allowing me to rule him for the night.

  His blue eyes are already unfocused, hair tousled, his thickly defined abdomen muscles flexed in anticipation. I don’t get intimidated easily, but I am now, my heart leaping up into my throat at the possibility I’ll do this wrong. That it’ll hurt. That—

  “Greta,” Eric says, breaking into my thoughts. “Angel. All you have to do is kiss me and everything is going to be okay.”

  After a second, I nod and straddle his hips. By no means does my heart rate slow down. I’m not sure it ever will again. He’s right, though, as soon as I lean in and interlock our lips, both of us letting out eager groans, I forget my worries. There’s only room for Eric and the warm skin, the heaving planes of his chest and that wicked tongue in my mouth, mating mine with purpose, turning my thighs restless on either side of his hips until I’m rubbing my breasts against his chest sinuously, whining into the kiss.

  Eric’s mouth lets mine go with a pop, his head falling back, his breath coming in short bursts. “Much more of that and you’re going to make me come in my pants again.” He visibly tries to rein himself in. “What do you know about sex, Greta?”

  “I know you’ll be inside me. That you’ll…push. In and out.”

  “Yes.” He bares his teeth. “Most of them time I’ll have your knees pinned open and I’ll be bucking on top of you like a beast. This time you’re on top, though, angel. That means you’ll have to ride me in and out of that pussy. Show me how you’ll do it. Give me a practice fuck.”

  Biting my lip, I look down between our bodies, at the large column o
f flesh straining the lap of his sweatpants. I settle my sex on top of his slowly, easing down until he hisses a vile curse and I do what I’m told. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and mimic intercourse with my hips, grinding sensually, whimpering when his lower body begins rolling in an upward rhythm to meet mine.

  “We need to talk about something important before we take out my cock,” Eric rasps, licking at my mouth.

  “Protection?”

  “No, little girl. You never need to be protected from me. I’m talking about your clit. Are you rubbing it against me?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “That’s a no. Tilt your hips, press down until the top of your little slit is riding me—” Following his instructions causes me to cry out, fall forward onto his chest, my hips writhing anxiously, sensation pluming like a geyser inside of me, making my nerve endings dance. “Oh God, oh God…”

  “Good girl,” he growls. “Above all else, we take care of that sweet little clit, understand?”

  “Yes,” I pant.

  “That’s what’s going to make you come. That’s what’s going to keep you wet and horny and climbing Daddy for more.”

  When he calls himself that title, an uncontrollable burn begins inside of me, the tingle of arousal building into a pyre. I can barely see him through the golden haze that clouds my vision, the orgasm looming closer, closer, my hips galloping on top of him, but when the storm clouds are just beginning to break, Eric sinks his teeth into the side of my neck, making me cry out at the unexpected pleasure/pain.

  “Panties off, Greta. Get me into that pussy. Now.”

  I’m whimpering and my hands won’t seem to work properly, they’re shaking with so much pent-up need, but somehow I manage to reach back and strip down my thong until it’s wrapped around my knees, using my big toe to drag it off the remaining distance.

  “Get my dick out and sit on it, little girl,” he grates directly against my lips. “If my hands were free, I’d be plowing you into a screaming fit right now, so help me God, you sweet, horny brat.”