Stretched

I force my gaze away from his hard cock as a plan starts to form in my mind.

My heart feels like it’s beating outside of my chest, thundering with a force that jars me. God, when did it get so hot? A cold, clammy sweat pops out over my body, one that has nothing to do with my stretching and warm ups.

“Lily?” he asks again, worry thick in his voice. “Hey, you still with me?”

My blood is rushing through my veins, the sound echoing in my ears.

“I feel funny,” I tell him. I can barely hear my own voice.

Am I whispering?

“Lily?” he asks, the panic in his voice clear.

My knees begin to buckle. But before I fall, Coach Big catches me, his arm going under my knees, his other around my body as he lifts me up easily and carries me off the track.

I lay my head against him, wishing I could stay in his arms forever.

Chapter Three

Coach Big

I’m going to hell for the shit I think about concerning Lily. And as I carry her into the locker rooms, my cock still hard, the knowledge that she sure as fuck saw what I was sporting, worries the hell out of me. I just don’t want her to think I’m some fucking pervert after a student. That’s not what this is about.

It’s wrong to want her, yes. But she’s more than just a desire for me.

I see her as mine.

Heading to the locker rooms, I make my way into one of the back offices where there’s a small twin-size bed. It’s for athletes and students who injure themselves or aren’t feeling well during practice, and at that moment I’m really fucking glad it’s available.

I lay her down and prop her head up with a pillow. She’s awake, but she has her hand on her head as if she’s dizzy.

“Have you drunk any water today?”

“A little.”

The weather’s hot, kind of humid. Most likely she’s dehydrated. I go toward the small fridge and pull out a bottle of water, twist off the top and hand it to her.

I help her sit up so she can drink. I watch her, see the way her throat moves as she swallows, check the color of her skin, notice she’s a little perspired, this clamminess covering her face. She’s pale, and my worry climbs.

She hands me back the bottle and leans against the wall. I’ve turned on a small fan beside the bed, the air blowing tendrils of her hair around her face from her ponytail.

“How are you feeling?” I’m still uncomfortably aroused, but I shift so at least it’s not as noticeable. And I see the way she glances down at my crotch, as if she wants to see if I’m still hard.

I clear my throat, desire pounding through me at the most inappropriate time. Hell, it’s inappropriate anytime to desire her, given that she is barely legal and I’m her coach, but that didn’t—doesn’t—stop me.

“It’s hot and muggy outside, and if you haven’t been drinking adequately, chances are you are just dehydrated.” I hand her the bottle back. “Drink the rest of this,” I say in a demanding tone, not meaning to be so harsh, but wanting to let her know that in this moment I’m the one who will take care of everything.

I’ll take care of her.

I watch as she finishes off the bottle, the color in her face returning. The tightness I feel in my chest grows stronger at the memory of her looking ill, of feeling her in my arms as she rested her head against my chest.

I’m protective of Lily, so protective that I feel this intense proprietary consumption fill me at the very thought of her being hurt, of her being unsafe, even from herself.

For the next twenty minutes I watch her, check her vitals, make sure she’s okay. “We should probably call your family.” I put away the blood pressure machine and turn to face her. My arousal dims as I worry about her well-being. Lily is all that matters.

She has to be okay.

I watch as she shakes her head, sitting up fully and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

“No, I’m fine. I feel like myself again.” She’s gripping the edge of the bed tightly, her knuckles white.

Now that she’s getting better, I feel my desire for her begin to rise up again. I stare at her as she sits there, her sleek, toned legs hanging over the side, her flesh golden, smooth and perfect. Her shorts have ridden up so they’re obscenely high, the material wedged between her thighs, the outline of a V visible.

God, I bet she’d taste incredible between her legs, sweet and wet, like velvet over my tongue.

And her shirt, form fitting and white, slightly transparent, makes me starved for her. Her breasts are pressed against the material, her nipples hard.