by Madison Faye
Yeah, not a random guy. The man who was going to take my virginity last night was Coach Kirby.
Sasha whistles lowly, breaking my thoughts again.
“I bet he’s fucking huge.”
Brynn giggles. “Dude, you need to schedule a Charlie visit. This thirsty look is not good on you.”
Sasha laughs. “I know.” She glances at me, still bent over on my knees with my back arched, trying to stretch the tightness in my hips.
“What do you think?”
“About?”
She rolls her eyes. “About Coach Kirby?”
“What about him?”
She sighs. “How have you not been listening. We’re talking about how big his dick probably is.”
“Um, we, nothing,” Brynn says primly, gesturing with her brows at Sasha.
“So?” My brunette friend grins at me. “What do you think?”
“I think I don’t spend my time thinking about Coach Kirby’s… dick.”
She makes a face. “Please. Every girl on the team, and probably in the whole fucking school, has thought about Camden Kirby’s dick.”
“Well, not me,” I lie, because the pictures still saved on the password protected privacy app on my phone have a different story to tell.
“Just admit it!”
“Nope!”
“Oh c’mon!” Sasha laughs. “You little liar! Just freaking admit that you—”
“Okay fine!” I blurt out with a nervous laugh, rolling my eyes. “Fine! Okay? Yes. Are you happy? Yes, I’ve thought about Coach Kirby’s big, thick, fat cock, okay?!”
The two of them are silent, and when I realize they’re not looking at me, they’re looking past me, my heart jumps into my throat and my stomach drops.
Please no. Fucking PLEASE no.
“Ms. Owens.”
He growls my name, and a shiver of heat teases through my core and down my spine, even as I absolutely cringe. Because as much as I want to hope that he did not just hear all of that, the looks on my friend’s faces say otherwise.
I swallow, trembling, my face beet red as I slowly, sit up, and turn. I look up at Coach Kirby, and when our eyes lock, a spark of something wild blazes through me as my face just burns.
“I—I mean—”
“Please see me in my office after practice, Ms. Owens,” he growls quietly, his eyes never leaving mine. The muscles of his bare chest and abs clench and ripple, and I swallow as I quickly nod.
“I—yeah. Okay,” I mumble.
He lets his eyes lock with mine for another five seconds, just looking at me—into me—and setting my entire core on fire as the heat pools between my legs.
“Laps, ladies,” he mutters to Brynn and Sasha. “Let’s show some hustle today.”
He turns before he stops, glancing back as his eyes burn right into me.
“My office, Ms. Owens,” he growls quietly, his eyes blazing. “Don’t forget.”
He turns and calmly walks away, leaving me to sink into a freaking puddle on the floor as Sasha whistles.
“Someone’s in trouble.”
Except she has no idea.
2
Camden
I want to look away, and I tell myself to, repeatedly. But it doesn’t fucking work. Or at least, I’ve stopped listening to myself. I try and mask it by berating Tyler Powell from the boys’ team over the dumbest shit it—something I’d feel bad about if the kid wasn’t a spoiled little shithead.
I do math in my head.
I repeat the alphabet, backwards.
I think of horrible, dark shit—anything to get the memory of last night out of my head, or to stop myself from glancing over at her.
…Fucking none of it helps. And neither does it help that when I do cave and glance over to where she’s stretching out on the other side of the pool, she’s fucking bent over—that drum-tight, gorgeous little ass in the air clad only in a black one-piece suit that clings to every goddamn inch and curve of her. Long, toned legs from years in the pool. Perfectly flared hips. Perky little tits to die for.
I growl, stopping myself and yanking my eyes away.
The fuck is wrong with you?
It doesn’t matter that she’s hotter than sin. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been jerking my cock to filthy pictures of her for a week. It doesn’t matter that last night, I waltzed right over to her in that bar and fucking kissed her, claiming her mouth like it was mine to claim until I pulled back and my whole fucking world went upside down.
None of that fucking matters, because Waverly Owens is a fucking student at Winchester Academy, the private boarding school where I’m coaching the swim team. Forbidden? Off-limits? Jailbait? Yeah, none of those even begin to scratch the surface on how fucking untouchable Waverly Owens is.
Oh, and it gets even better. See, if having spent the last week telling my fucking eighteen-year-old star swimmer how much I want to fill her pussy with cum, or tie her arms behind her back and make her my little fuck toy, or how I’m going to bend her over and fuck her with my tongue wasn’t bad enough? If having spent the last week sending her pictures of my rock-hard cock—hard from the pictures she sent of her tight, gorgeous, waxed little pink pussy and her pert little mouthwatering tits, and her cock-achingly perfect ass wasn’t bad enough either? If having kissed her last night wasn’t enough?
Trust me, it gets worse.
Because Waverly Owens is the daughter of Natasha Owens, a.k.a., the Vice Principle of Winchester Academy.
A.k.a., my boss.
The word you’re looking for is “fucked.”
So that’s why I’m distracting myself, and yelling at shithead Tyler, and doing everything in my power not to look over at her bent over and stretching in that skin-tight swimsuit. Because I should not be thinking about Waverly Owens anywhere near the way I’ve been thinking about her—without knowing it was her, but still—for the last week. I shouldn’t be looking at her the way I want to. Or replaying that kiss on repeat, thinking about the way her pouty lips tasted.
And I abso-fucking-lutely should not have all the nude pictures “MermaidChick01” has been sending me over the last week still on my phone.
…I probably shouldn’t have gone home and stroked my cock to them last night either, after realizing who exactly she was after I ran out of that bar.
I keep stealing glances over there, my eyes burning into her, until finally, she turns, and our eyes lock. I groan inside, my jaw tightening, and when the fire sparks from her big baby blues into mine, the beast inside of me almost tears free completely.
But eventually, me not even going anywhere near that side of the pool where the girls’ team—which I also coach—is warming up is getting odd. So, I tighten my jaw and head over. That’s of course when I walk right up behind her and hear the words that about make my cock throb and pulse right through my swimsuit.
“Fine! Okay? Yes. Are you happy? Yes, I’ve thought about Coach Kirby’s big, thick, fat cock, okay?!”
At just like that, the last my self-control snaps. Well, it hangs on by enough of a thread that I don’t bend her over, yank her suit to the side, and plunge my cock into that sweet little cunt right here and right now on the side of the pool. But it’s barely hanging on.
Barely.
* * *
A grueling hour later where I somehow hold my shit together, I’m finally back in my office. My pulse roars in my ears, my cock is fucking hard as rock, and my teeth grind together.
And then comes the knock at the door, and the thunder inside of me booms in crescendo.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and there she is. She’s out of her suit now, and back in her Winchester uniform with the pleated knee-length plaid skirt, the high socks, the flats, and the white blouse tucked in.
Fucking hell.
She was tempting before. She was sinful out there in a fucking swimsuit. Now? Now she’s the schoolgirl jailbait personified, all plaid, innocence, and forbidden desire.
“Coach—�
�
“Close the door,” I growl quietly. She blushes, her eyes wild as she swallows. She half-turns and shuts the door behind her before her eyes swivel back to mine.
“Coach, I—”
“What the fuck was that?!” I hiss, lunging to my feet, my muscles clenched tight.
She swallows nervously. “Okay, first, what you heard out there was out of context—”
“Christ, Waverly,” I grunt. “You know I’m not talking about that. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
She scowls. “Excuse me?”
“Last night?” I snap. “What the hell were you doing there?”
Her lips purse. “Pretty sure we had that covered,” she says quietly in a way that both infuriates me and gets my balls swelling with cum.
“I mean, fuck, are you even old enough to be on Sparkr?”
She is, and I know that she knows I know. I know she turned eighteen two weeks ago, just like I’ve always known that allowing my eyes to linger on my star swimmer has been a serious problem, and way fucking wrong.
Two weeks ago. I groan, doing the math in my head of when I started talking to MermaidChick01—a.k.a., the tempting little tease standing in front of me. Shit, I was dirty texting her a whopping twenty-four hours after she turned eighteen.
“What was that, Waverly,” I growl. “I mean what the hell were you even doing on that app?”
“What were you doing on that app,” she mutters back.
“I think we’ve covered that.”
Her face turns a shade of pink at my words, but she shrugs it away.
“What. I’m allowed to have dates, you know.”
“With men almost twice your age?!” I snap.
Her lips purse.
“You know what? It’s really none of your business—”
“No, uh-uh,” I mutter, shaking my head. “No, it damn well became my fucking business, didn’t it?”
She swallows again, and for a moment I see a flicker of uncertainty, and maybe even fear. But then, her eyes narrow, and this fierceness comes over her. It’s the same feistiness I’ve seen out in the pool during practices and competitions alike, and it’s one of the big reasons she’s such a fucking incredible swimmer.
…It’s also the reason my cock is so hard right now.
“Oh please. I didn’t force you to go to that bar. I didn’t force you to text me all sorts of dirty—”
“Enough,” I hiss. “And yeah, you didn’t force me. You just fucking lied to me. Some might call that cat-fishing, you know.”
Her lips purse. “And some might call sending your eighteen-year-old student pictures of your…” she blushes, that sassiness flickering for a second.
“Well, some might just call that predatory, wouldn’t they?”
My eyes narrow, my pulse thundering and my cock aching at the front of the pants I’ve changed into.
“That a threat?”
“Should it be?” she tosses back.
“I think you’re in way over your head here is what I think,” I growl back. “Lying about shit like this is serious, Waverly.”
Her lips purse again into this—admittedly adorable—little pout.
“Oh, what, are you a victim here, Coach? Poor you got strung along by the big bad eighteen-year-old who dragged you out of your house last night and forced you to come to that bar—that bar where you grabbed me and kissed—”
“Stop it,” I grunt. “Your profile said you were twenty-two and that you lived in Rivington.”
“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, looking away.
Suddenly, something strikes me.
“Why the lies, Waverly.”
She shrugs. “What do you mean? I’m perfectly allowed to use an app to find date—”
“Yeah? Then why all the bullshit, huh?” I growl. “You’re right. Eighteen is old enough to use an online hookup app. So why say you’re twenty-two.”
She swallows.
“Why say you live in a different town.”
She shrugs. “Safety?”
“Oh, safety, is that it? The same kind of safety as heading to a sketchy bar dressed the way you were last night, alone, to meet a stranger so that he could fuck you against a bathroom stall door? That kind of safe thinking?”
She glares at me.
“Uh-uh, Waverly,” I growl, my mind whirling as the pieces come together. “No, I’m not buying it. How many—”
Suddenly, I freeze. My mind wanders back to that first night, where I spotted her picture on the app and swiped left only to find she’d already done the same with me, which lets the app make the connection and put two people in touch. I remember looking at her profile and letting my eyes feast on the array of sexy bikini and lingerie pictures shot from the lips down that she’d put up on her profile. And specifically, I remember thinking what a score it was that I’d matched with her since the app said she’d just joined Sparkr barely half an hour before.
Hold up.
“How many matches, Waverly,” I growl quietly. Her blushing face and that way her eyes get so wide tells me the thread I’m pulling on isn’t just crazy thoughts.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean how many guys did you match with.”
She swallows, shrugging. “Lots.”
“I bet,” I growl. “Now tell me the truth.”
Waverly chews at her lip, looking away. “I have no idea; I’d have to check.”
“Great, let’s do that.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “Wh-what?”
“Let’s see how many other guys besides me you swiped on to, to see how many matches you had. Give me your phone.”
She blushes. “What? No!”
“Then pull it up yourself and tell me.”
She swallows. “I don’t even know how to check that.”
“I do,” I growl, crooking my finger at her. “Let me see your phone.”
“No,” she mutters back.
Our eyes lock, and suddenly, the words are just tumbling out.
“You only matched with me, didn’t you?”
She blushes fiercely, and any lingering doubts I had wash away as my pulse races and my hands close to fists at my sides.
Oh shit.
“How’d you find me, Waverly,” I growl quietly.
She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. “I dunno, you just came up on my list of potential—”
“No, I didn’t,” I groan. “I have nothing connected on Sparkr in terms of address or social media.”
Waverly looks away. “I dunno. It’s location based. I guess you just—”
“Yeah, me and the million other men who live in the general Rockland County area who are also on Sparkr. And the one guy who pops up for you happens to be me, huh?”
Her eyes dart nervously. “Sure looks that way.”
I don’t say a word, and slowly, her eyes slide back to mine.
“You knew my screen name, didn’t you?”
Her eyes go wide, and instantly, I know damn well I’m right. I also know damn well I should not be this hard about that fact.
“I’m curious,” I growl.
“About what,” she tosses back.
“About how your mother would react to knowing you’re on a hookup app trolling your swim coach.”
She smirks. “Really? That’s your play?”
I scowl.
“You’re curious about what my mom would think? You know, while we’re at it let’s ask her thoughts on you sending me pictures of your….” She blushes. “You know. Let’s see how she feels about you sending that to her eighteen-year-old daughter, huh?”
“You’re playing with fucking fire here, Waverly,” I hiss. “And on top of that, you’re being a little brat.”
She stiffens, her brow narrowing.
“Oh, am I?” she throws back. “Well then you know what? Maybe we should go talk to my mom. Maybe I should just go tell this whole school about how you lured me to a bar after sending me very inappropriate pictures.”
Waverley’s lips tighten.
“Well maybe I do!” She reaches back, one hand on the doorknob to my office. “Maybe I feel so bad about the way you’re yelling at me right now that I just decide to go tell the whole school about—”
“The fuck you will.”
I growl the words as she starts to turn the knob, and I lunge right at her. Waverly gasps, trembling as I grab her wrists in my hand and push her back, pinning her to the office door. My pulse thunders, and I can feel hers racing in the veins of her wrists. The whole room around us seem to throb and pulse. And when I move right against her, fire blazing trough my sins, we lock eyes—panting, both of our hearts racing.
“Or what,” Waverly snaps, her big blue eyes darting over mine.
Fuck, I can smell the lavender of her shampoo. I can feel the softness of her skin under my fingers. I can feel the way her tight little body rocks against mine, her breath catching sharply in her chest.
I growl lowly. “Did I piss you off? That what this shit is? You’re just mad I made you do laps or something? Pissed that I’m pushing you to be a better—”
“I’m pissed that you’re still talking to me like I’m a little girl!” She yells.
“Then stop fucking acting like one!”
The room seems to throb around us, and suddenly my big hands are dropping from hers. I back away, my jaw tight as my eyes burn into hers. Her chest rises and falls with her breath, her teeth still chewing at her bottom lip before those big baby blues narrow at me. She whirls angrily and yanks the door open before she storms away, long auburn hair billowing behind her.
…And I watch that tight little ass of hers in that skirt every fucking step.
And by the time she’s out of sight, I know I’m trouble. Because there I am, pulse racing and my cock hard enough to cut diamonds, wanting nothing more than to run after her and grab her. Oh, and with a phone full of naked pictures of her in my hand.