Page 29 of The Coach

“Anything,” he answers absentmindedly, his attention wholly on what he’s doing to my body right now, and I lose every word in my brain when he picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist.

I laugh as he grasps my ass in his hands, and he grins up at me, his eyes homing in on mine and holding my gaze.

Slowly, so slowly that I’m surprised his muscles aren’t straining under my legs, he lowers me to the couch, climbing on top of me and settling between my legs, his clothes are still on, but I’m so focused on his gaze, on the way he’s looking at me that I don’t really care.

“You’re beautiful, Mick. You know that, right?” His tone is so earnest, so sure, that I feel a blush rising on my cheeks in response to his words. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone say that like he has. It was always “hot” or “sexy,” which, don’t get me wrong, has its place.

But somehow his words create an intimacy between us that I’m not used to, that I don’t want to grow used to in case it gets pulled out from under my feet.

“I’m glad you think so,” I tell him, then roll my eyes playfully, placing a hand on my chest. “I mean, I also think so, but I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

His grin widens, and he lets out a chuckle. “Definitely on the same page.”

The longer he stares at me, the more comfortable I feel. I reach my hand up, run it over his head and pull him down to me, taking his mouth for my own.

He reaches a hand under me, making me arch my back, lifting so he can unclasp my bra and slip it down my arms, tossing it on the floor. I take his shirt off of his torso in one quick sweep and start on the button of his pants.

Quickly, he stands, shucking off his pants and boxers before reaching for mine, sliding them down my legs so fast I’m barely able to keep up before he’s lying back over me, my naked body pressing further into the leather couch. I wrap my legs around him, watching him watch me and taking his time doing so.

One of his hands runs down the length of my body, almost like he’s memorizing every curve and crevice, every freckle and sunspot. I try to calm my rapidly racing heart.

Despite the fact that we have waited weeks for this, despite the fear that held us back and the lust that sparked whenever he was near, we took our time now. I watch as he finds a condom on the coffee table and slips it on, giving me a look that melts my insides as he lines up with me.

I grasp his shoulders, pulling him forward as best I can and kissing him again as he slides into me. We both moan at the feeling between us. The fire, the lust, the admiration, and respect, and whatever else it is between us that I haven’t quite identified yet.

All I know is that this feels right.

It feels like my body was made for him, but more than that, something deep in my chest tells me that this is where I was meant to be.

He moves again, and our bodies respond in kind, our skin slickening with sweat and my hair no doubt tangling as it gets mussed from the couch, Tanner moving in and out of my body as we rock together.

I feel the base of my spine tingle, and I chase that feeling, not ashamed in the least that I haven’t felt like this in years. That one night with him, that one night where he turned my life upside down, even if only for a few hours, had changed me in some way.

Maybe it was silly to put so much emphasis on our sexual connection, but dammit, it was important, too.

Though our emotional connection, the way we could laugh and chat like old friends, was almost as important.

Perhaps it was a combination of the two. Maybe that’s why it is so foreign to me because I surely have never felt this way with any of my boyfriends or sexual partners before.

Maybe it was because it was him. Maybe it was always supposed to be him.

I banish these scary thoughts as I find my release, and Tanner turns it up a notch, raising from me after a quick kiss on the lips and lifting my legs over his shoulders, thrusting back and forth at rapid speed, and making me moan his name, over and over as he takes me for everything that I am.

I sense him coming close to release seconds before he tenses and lets himself go, gently releasing my legs down with a rub to each one and collapsing lightly on top of me.

I wrap my arms around him, relishing in the feeling of his body on mine, and he moves slightly, finding my lips and kissing me senseless once more.

“So what happened?” I laugh as he sits on the couch next to me, leaning against the back while I lean against the armrest, my legs draped over his lap where he rubs my foot.

We’d been on this couch for hours, only taking breaks to clean up and grab the food that he ordered in for us.

He laughs, and I smile at the small crow's feet near his eyes. “He went out and did a couple of laps, waving his hands around like a punk and then waited on the ice by himself for the rest of the team to come out.”

“That’s so mean.” I chuckle, thinking of a poor rookie getting pranked at his first game. Apparently, it’s a tradition to do this to some rookies, letting him think he’s leading the team out, but instead, he goes out by himself and is standing on the ice alone.

“It’s just how it goes,” he replies, moving to my other foot. “So.” He clears his throat. “A woman like you who knows her hockey… I assume you played when you were younger?”

I sit up a little taller and brace my elbow on the back of the couch, resting my cheek in my hand. “I did. My mom wanted me in figure skating, which I did for a long time, but then my brother got bigger, and my mom put him into hockey. When we were at his games, I watched with envy.” I remember going there, watching my tiny little brother zoom around the rink, working with teammates to get the puck to the goal. They were all so cute and serious about it. “I wanted to try, and they had girls on his team, so I begged my mom to let me try out for the older team.”

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