Coach Me

by Shanora Williams

  It's sad, really, but I’m proud of Amber and how far she’s come. She once hated it here. Now she’s fitting in, blossoming, and she deserves it.

  I haven’t been able to kiss her for weeks—not since the night at Vito’s. She’s been practicing and having races, and she also had exams, so it hasn’t been the best time for her to see me.

  There are moments when I want to steal her away, hide somewhere on campus, and congratulate her my way, but I have to remember the rules. No fooling around on campus. We can’t break that rule, no matter how bad we want to.

  Before I know it, spring break has arrived and the team has the week off, but are to return Thursday for practice.

  On Wednesday, I get a text from Amber.

  Amber: Your place clean yet?

  I laugh at the message, then look around my apartment. It’s mostly clean. A few dishes in the sink, but not many.

  Me: Clean enough.

  Amber: Send me your address. I want to see you.

  I don’t hesitate. I send her the address immediately. I assume she didn’t go back home for spring break.

  I get up and wash the dishes and then take a quick shower. By the time I’m dressed in basketball shorts, I hear a knock at the door.

  I hurry to open it and there she is.

  Her hair is pulled into a wavy bun and she’s wearing gold hoops. She put on makeup too, but I have to say I like it better when she doesn’t wear it. She doesn’t need it. She’s sexy as hell without it.

  Her eyes drop to my chest as she starts to say something, but the words are caught in her throat.

  Then her eyes dart back up to mine and I can’t help myself. I reel her in by the wrist, reach for her face, and kiss her.

  The door slams as I shut it and I pick her up in my arms, stumbling toward the sofa. Her back lands on the cushions and it’s impossible for either of us to take a moment to breathe. We’ve been wanting this—needing this—for weeks. We’d committed to our promise, now it was time for the reward.

  She tugs her shirt over her head and I lean up to push my shorts down. I help her get her leggings off and once they’ve been discarded along with her pink panties, I go back to where we were at, my mouth on hers, tasting her like I’ve wanted to for the past five weeks.

  Shit. It’s been five weeks since Vito’s. Five weeks too long since I last touched her.

  “Are we really doing this?” she asks, breaths ragged.

  I look down at her. “Only if you want to.”

  She nods eagerly. “I do.”

  I reach down to fist my cock, her eagerness setting me on fire. I’m throbbing like a motherfucker. It’s been so long since I’ve fucked. “Are you protected?” I ask.

  “Yes. Have been since high school.”

  “Good.” I stroke my cock, looking into her eyes. “I want you raw. Need it.”

  She looks down at the hardness in my fist and then back up at me.

  “Take me then,” she pleads, and that’s all she needs to say. I dive back down and kiss her throat, my fist still around my cock as I angle it at the opening of her pussy. I slide the head of my cock up and down her warm slit. Fuck, she’s so wet already.

  I can’t hold back any longer. Every part of me is screaming to thrust my way inside her pussy and fuck her. Another part of me is telling me to take it easy on her, since it’s our first time and all, but I don’t think I can. I’ve wanted this since the night in the hotel in Raleigh—to be buried balls-deep inside her, hear how she moans, feel her warm, brown skin on mine.

  I thrust my hips forward and her pussy takes me in inch by inch. She’s wet and tight, and fuck me, she feels so goddamn good. She moans when she feels me all there and that moan is what I’ve been needing. Sweet and innocent and all mine.

  “Shit, Amber,” I groan in her ear. “I won’t be able to go easy,” I warn her.

  “Then don’t.” She hooks an arm around the back of my neck and leans her upper body up to mine. “Fuck me the same way you coach me.”

  Damn.

  That one sentence is about to turn me into a manic. It’s the fuel I need—the words I never knew I craved—and I’m about to make her mine in every way.

  Hell, at least I warned her.

  FORTY

  As soon as Torres opened that door, shirtless and with his shorts low on his hips, revealing a delicious V that I had never really paid attention to before now, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold back from him.

  It was every bit of my intention to come here and finally have sex with him, and now? Now he’s between my legs and inside me. My arm is hooked around him to hold me steady and, no, I don’t want him to hold back.

  I’ve had fantasies and dreams about what it would be like if Torres and I finally had sex. None of those fantasies ever revealed anything soft or sweet because Torres is not soft and sweet. He’s commanding and brutal and firm, and I want every bit of that, even right now.

  Torres works his way deeper inside me. I gasp and moan, feeling him when he’s deep and aching for him when his strokes are shallow. The whole time, he’s looking into my eyes and I can feel his cock swelling inside me, growing harder and harder, and I moan my pleasure.

  He buries his face in the crook of my neck. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, and that growl is enough to set me on fire.

  There is no slowing this moment down. It’s been building up between us for months and now that it’s happening, it’s impossible for us to stop.

  He thrusts harder, faster, his hand pressed to my upper back. Then he pulls out of me, and I’m dazed and confused as he stands up.

  “Not here.” He picks me up in his arms and marches across his apartment to get to a door. He pushes the door open, revealing a bedroom with a queen-sized bed and black headboard. The floors are wooden, just like the living room, and there’s a dresser by the window, scattered with colognes, men’s lotions and a few papers.

  He places me down on the bed, and in an instant our mouths are connected again. He slides his lower body between my thighs, and just as I did before, I gasp as he enters me.

  “Should I take it slow for you?” he asks as I push up on one elbow.

  “Hell no,” I moan, and I hold one side of his face, his stubble grazing my palm as he thrusts until he’s in deep.

  “Shit, Amber. I’ve been waiting so long for this,” he groans.

  “Me too.” I wrap my free arm around him, remaining steady on my elbow. He brings a hand up to wrap it around my throat. His grip is not tight or loose, it’s perfect and I don’t know why, but it really gets me going.

  His eyes flicker down to mine. “How long have you been waiting for this moment? Waiting for me to be inside you?”

  “Ever since I met you,” I admit, and it’s the truth. The moment I saw Torres walk across that field the first day I met him, I wondered what he would be like in bed. Now I’m experiencing it and it doesn’t feel real at all. I feel like I’ve crossed another dimension, one where my body is actually worthy of having Torres all to myself.

  He pulls himself away and turns me onto my stomach with a grunt. I suck in a breath as he hovers over me and then strokes into me without warning. Gripping a handful of my hair, he brings his face down next to mine and his hips thrust in a gradual rhythm.

  “Oh my God,” I pant as he continues clutching my hair. His mouth falls to the bend of my neck, his lips caressing the sensitive skin there, and I can’t take it. It’s too much—having his cock inside me and his mouth on me. His body on top of mine, claiming and dominating.

  “I’ve always wanted to know what it would feel like to pull your hair and fuck you from the back,” he growls. He leans back and grips my hip, still tugging on my hair. I feel his fingers digging into my flesh as he thrusts forward while I push my hips back to meet him. “Fuck, Amber. Yes, right there,” he groans. “You’re gonna make me come hard in your pussy if you keep doing that.”

  Holy. Shit.

  His voice is nothing but orgasmic. Deep
, guttural, and sexy as hell. I keep doing what I’m doing, throwing my ass back and meeting him thrust for thrust.

  His groans are louder and I breathe raggedly as I press my cheek to the bed, feeling him reach an area inside me that is triggering my body in ways I’ve never felt before.

  “I feel you getting tighter, preciosa,” he murmurs. “Can you feel my cock getting harder for you? Can you feel me about to explode in your pussy, babe? Fuck, you’re so damn wet.”

  The guttural sound of his voice brings me to a dangerous level. I curse beneath my breath and then bite into my bottom lip because I feel it. That same feeling I had when his tongue played tricks with my pussy in the hotel is exactly what I’m feeling now. I’m building up second by second, on the verge of climax.

  “Oh, yeah, baby,” he growls. “I feel you getting tighter. Come for me.”

  I grip his sheets, squeeze my eyes shut, and before I know it, I’m crying out his name. His real name.

  Joaquin. Joaquin!

  It spills from my lips repeatedly as he meets me thrust for thrust, and as I let go, my body vibrating and vulnerable and sensitive to him, he grips either side of my hips with his hands and slams into me.

  Pound after pound after pound. Our skin claps together and he lets out a deep, hoarse groan until his whole body becomes still and his cock is throbbing inside me.

  “Oh, fuck, Amber!” His voice is louder than I’ve ever heard it—raw and desperate, as if he’s needed to come like this with me for ages. I can’t fight my smile as I feel him throbbing inside me, and thank goodness I’m on my pills because I can’t imagine how much cum he’s just unloaded. It seems like he hasn’t come like this in months.

  Torres pulls out, but not without another satisfied groan, and then he flops down on his back, panting wildly.

  Oh, my gosh. I just had sex with Torres…and it was incredible. Holy shit.

  “Damn,” he sighs.

  I lay flat on my belly beside him, panting too. “Damn is right,” I say with a laugh.

  “What were we waiting for to do that?” He looks over at me with a smirk.

  “I have no idea, but that was amazing.”

  A deep laugh rumbles its way out of him. I turn onto my back to stare up at the ceiling with him, both of us catching our breaths.

  “You got anywhere to be tonight?” he asks after a while.

  “Nope.”

  “Good. You can hang out here a while. I’ll order us a pizza.” He sits up and I sit up with him. “But first, I think I’m going to need another round of you.”

  I can’t even help myself. I bust out laughing as he climbs on top of me again, laughing deep and then stealing a kiss from me.

  What he doesn’t realize is that I need more of him too because that? That was incredible, but it wasn’t nearly enough to keep me satisfied.

  FORTY-ONE

  Torres and I binge on pepperoni and cheese pizza while watching a movie on Netflix. He never struck me as the Netflix and Chill kind of guy, but I have to admit, this is nice.

  Sitting next to him, sipping on cream soda and pizza, and watching a movie? It’s nice. It’s weird to say, but it feels like I’m enjoying an overdue night alone with a boyfriend. Dirty sex (three times) and then pizza and movies? What more could a girl ask for?

  Before I know it, it’s nearing ten at night and Torres is yawning. I rest my head on his chest as the end credits of our second movie rolls across the screen.

  “I probably need to get out of here, huh?” I pick my head up to look at him just as he lowers his to look at me.

  “I’m in no rush for you to leave. It’s not like you have classes tomorrow.” He sighs and wraps an arm around me. “Besides, this feels good. Chilling on the couch with you.”

  “For real?”

  “For real, Lakes.”

  A warmth courses through me and my heart beats faster. “Okay, then I can hang out a while longer.” I smile.

  He gives my body a small squeeze, like he’s happy with my decision.

  “So, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask.” I sit up and turn my body more so I’m facing him. “Have you ever been engaged or married?”

  He cracks a smile. “What makes you ask that?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “Just curious.”

  “No, I’ve never been engaged or married before. What about you?” He wiggles his brows and I laugh.

  “Never. How long was your longest relationship?”

  “A month,” he answers earnestly. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even call it a relationship. It was long distance. I only saw her twice during that whole month.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. And I found out she cheated on me, so it was a wrap after that.”

  I gasp. “What woman in her right mind would cheat on you?”

  “To be fair, I can be a bit of a dick. I guess she got fed up with my ways.”

  “Well, yeah, that is true. You can be a dick.”

  He knuckles my cheek playfully.

  “I’m going to use the bathroom,” I tell him, pushing off the sofa.

  He nods. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

  I walk into his bedroom to use his bathroom, wash my hands, and then walk out, all with a goofy smile on my face.

  The lamp on the nightstand is on as I exit and there is a picture there that I didn’t notice before. I glance at the door before stepping toward the nightstand to pick up the picture.

  It’s a photo of a young Torres, his mom, and a man who is slightly taller than him. Torres is a spitting image of the man and I do a double take because they look nearly identical. This photo appears to have been taken when Torres was a teenager. Maybe seventeen or eighteen?

  There’s another photo on the nightstand. It’s a picture of him with his mother. It looks like a more recent photo. He has the same stubble on his face and his mom has gray streaks of hair. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders as they sit at what looks like a dinner table, smiling into the camera.

  I switch gazes between the photo of both his parents and the photo of just him and his mom and it’s crazy to see how much their eyes have changed.

  In the photo with both parents, Torres has a light in his eyes and looks like he’s ready to take on the world, and his mom looks thrilled, like it’s the best day of her life.

  In the recent photo of Torres and his mom, the light in their eyes has dimmed. I can see a pain in his eyes in this new photo that isn’t in the older one.

  “What are you looking for, Lakes?”

  I gasp and turn around with the photos in my hand, finding Torres who is already staring back at me with his arms folded over his chest by the door.

  “Oh—I uh…” I replace the photos on the nightstand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

  He sighs and steps into the room, dropping his arms and looking at the pictures in the silver frames. For a while he just stares at the photos, and I don’t know what to do. Should I walk out? Leave him to think? I feel like I’ve intruded on something personal and I feel awful about it.

  “You know why I took immediate action with Hamilton after Howard tripped you?” he asks, and his voice is soft. Careful. I’ve never heard it like this before.

  “No,” I whisper. “Why?”

  “Because Howard was vindictive and wrong, and she deserved to pay for what she’d done.” His eyes lift to mine. “She would have gotten away with it if I hadn’t spoken to Hamilton. From the moment she saw you, she stereotyped and discriminated against you—a lot of those girls did—and I didn’t like it. Hell, even Foster did, and I took action with her too because if there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s when people like you and me are judged for the color of our skin. We bleed red just like everyone else. We work hard, we’re talented, and we know we’re worthy of great things, but this country has made it so hard for us to have it. And when we do have it, we are shown that we won’t ever fit in because of people like Howard and Foster, and are
made to feel like we don’t deserve it.”

  His jaw ticks and he sits on the edge of his bed, shaking his head. I sit with him and reach for his hand to hold it. We’re quiet for a while—so quiet I can hear a new movie playing in his living room, and hear the people upstairs padding across their floor.

  “What happened to your dad, Joaquin?” My voice is just as soft and careful as his was when he came into the room.

  All he can do is shake his head, as if the memory of what happened to his father is so painful that he can’t speak. He squeezes my hand and shuts his eyes, his lashes nearly touching his cheekbones. He then draws in a breath and looks up at me.

  “He was shot and killed by a cop,” he finally says.

  I let the words digest, unable to think—to breathe. “W-why?” I whisper, my voice cracking.

  He drops his head. Squeezes my hand even more. “I was twenty when it happened. I was in college but on summer break. I had track practice over the summer and my father was helping out with delivering water bottles, oranges, snacks—stuff like that.” He works hard to swallow.

  “There was one night when he was driving me home. He drove a white Impala, and apparently there was an APB out on an Impala. The cops were looking for a Hispanic male around my father’s age. He fit the description of the assailant, so he was pulled over. Pops did everything by the book. He handed the cop his license, said ‘Yes sir and no sir’ but…it wasn’t enough. The cop told him to get out of the car and I panicked. Pops told me everything was going to be fine as he got out of the car. I looked out of the back window and saw the cop talking into his walkie. He seemed nervous—almost agitated, and he had his hand on his gun. The person on the walkie said something and the next thing I know, the cop pointed his gun at my dad. My dad only wanted to know what had happened. His hands were in the air, but he was concerned and he had every right to be. He had no idea what was going on and wanted answers. My dad…he had a temper problem, I will say that, but he…he was a good man.” His voice cracks and I feel an ache in my chest. “The gun went off,” he continues. “The cop shot him three times in the chest.”