Coach's Daughter

“I…” Her eyes start to glaze over, but she visibly shakes herself and focuses. “What? What k-kind of bet?”

“I make you enjoy basketball and you wear my jersey at the next game.”

Her snort makes me want to bend the girl over my knee. “Deal.” She shakes her blonde hair back. “Because it’s never going to happen.”

“Never say never, little girl.” I swat one of her buns and she whines a little in her throat, that vulnerability catching hold and lingering, slowly eclipsing her brat act and leaving her with big, obedient eyes and parted lips.

There’s a chance I could have her now. Right this second.

More than a chance.

She’s all but pressing her juicy little ass into my hands, mewling sounds growing louder and louder in her throat, but there are few things I’ve wanted in this life more than to see Greta wear my jersey, so I toss her over my shoulder and head downstairs to the indoor basketball court, already forming a game plan.

Greta sputters, poking me in the back. “I’ve only been inside your house for two minutes and you’ve already manhandled me twice.”

I trail my fingertips side to side in the crease behind her knee. “Should I keep my man hands to myself?”

“I didn’t say that,” she grumbles.

“You can womanhandle me, you know.” I slide my palm up the back of her thigh, massaging as I go. “Any time you like. No objections.”

“Of course I can. You’re a dude. All men want in life is a woman to stoke their egos and their, er…”

I chuckle. Damn, I’m having fun with this girl. I knew she had a good sense of humor and a quick wit, but now that we’re getting more comfortable with each other, she’s getting even better. That doesn’t bode well for me trying to get a handle on my growing obsession. As if I could. “Their what?”

“You know what I mean! That thing that men want stroked.” She pokes me in the back again. “Women don’t like being manhandled quite so much because we don’t have a choice. Men do. You can use your strength against me.”

I frown at the gymnasium doors ahead, considering her words. And I realize she’s right. As badly as I want Greta, if I was the kind of man who didn’t wait for permission, I could still take what I wanted. I’m over a foot taller than her and more than double her strength. “God, Greta. That makes you pretty brave for going anywhere alone with me. Or coming here at all.” I tug her down from my shoulder, gratified when her legs wrap around my waist. “Especially considering I tried to strong arm you into marrying me.”

She doesn’t know the half of it.

Fuck. It hurts to look her in the eye and know I’m not being one hundred percent truthful. I’m going to tell her everything right now. Except, then she plants an innocent, little kiss on my lips and snuggles closer. “Want to know one of my favorite things about you, Eric?”

“Yes,” I say gruffly, pressing my lips to her forehead.

“You listen when I say something. You really think about it.” Her thighs tighten almost imperceptibly around my waist, but my dick takes notice and thickens about two hundred percent. “I really like that.”

“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?”