Page 59 of The Coach

He’s already shucked his suit jacket off, his button-down partially undone. I reach up to finish the job. He continues to kiss me, pressing my back against the wall just like he did that first night, and I smile into the kiss as I get the last button undone.

“What’s that smile for?”

I take that brief interruption to strip my jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. His hands reach the hem of my sweater and yank it over my head, his eyes track down my neck and to the practically see-through tank top that lies over my lace-covered breasts.

“Just remembering,” I reply, my mind distracted. I kick off my brown leather boots and reach for the button on his pants.

“Remembering what?” he asks before his lips kiss the column of my neck, and down over my chest.

“Remembering our first night here, when you pressed me against this wall.” His pants fall, and he presses into me, his shoes coming off in the next moment and his hands going beneath my ass, lifting and pushing me against the wall, scooting my skirt up over my ass and revealing me to him.

“Something like this, yes?” he asks.

“Yes,” I pant out, taking his lips with my own again, my hands winding into his hair, giving it a little pull.

Feeling him press into my center, I grow more and more wet by the second. “I need you,” I tell him honestly, and he groans into my mouth, liking my words and feeling how needy I am for him. “I hated seeing you with her.”

He pauses at that, his eyes latching on to mine, and I see that my confession bothers him. “I hate that. I don’t need you to be jealous. I need you to be content and safe.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t think you were—”

“It doesn’t matter, Micayla. You’re mine, and I am wholeheartedly, in every way, yours.”

I feel my eyes well with tears at his declaration, and I realize I was jealous. I was through the roof, out of my mind jealous to see him with another woman out to dinner when he was mine.

I want to be the woman he takes to dinner. I want to be the woman that he shows off, that everyone knows owns his heart and they know he has mine.

“Mick,” he moans into my mouth, “I want you.”

“Then take me,” I reply, ready when he thrusts into me, making us both moan. I don’t take it for granted and let my eyes close, allowing myself to feel him move inside of me.

It doesn’t take long before the pent-up energy and urgency from the night shoves me over the edge with him right behind me.

We’re lying in his bed, our breaths evening out and our fingers tangled together between us. My leg is thrown over his, and I stare at the ceiling fan whirling above us.

“Do you think he believed you?”

I feel him shift and look over at me. “Who? Lincoln?”

“Yeah, I mean, why would we have been back in that corner?”

He chuckles lightly. “I don’t know. But it was the best I could come up with.”

“Yeah,” I reply absentmindedly. We lie there in silence for a little bit longer before I voice what I’ve been feeling since dinner. “I was jealous.”

“You were?” He responds, his voice heavy with sleep, and I realize that he may have been almost asleep before I spoke. “Why, baby?”

“Of her.” I think back to the woman who sat at that table across from him. Who had the medium-brown hair that was in flawless curls down her back. The woman who ordered her drink with confidence, who wore a beautiful black blouse and skintight jeans and had no fear wearing high-heeled boots, even in the winter.

I think about how good they would look together. How they looked like a couple.

“Of who?” he asks, not following my train of thought and almost falling asleep again.

“Of her,” I repeat. “That woman who was on a date with you tonight.” My left hand strokes softly over my bare stomach. “I was so jealous that you could take her out, show her off, that she could smile at you and flirt and not have any fear of anyone being upset about that.”

“I didn’t take her on a date,” he replies, his voice now much more alert. “Lee set that up and surprised me with it once we were there. The woman had no idea that I was seeing someone and neither did Lee.” He sits up, clearing his throat and running his hands through his hair. “I messaged you as soon as I realized what was going on because I didn’t want you to hear anything or be caught off guard if you did.”

“I’m not mad.” My voice is still soft, and I turn my head to look at him. “I’m jealous. There’s a difference.”

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