My Coach, My Stalker by Jessa Kane
Chapter 3
Everett
My temples are pounding. I can’t swallow past the knot in my throat.
Margot is not in her room.
Where the fuck is she?
Her phone must be off, because my tracker isn’t working.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know exactly where she was. The last two years since she’s been in my life are all that exist for me. When she was still in school, I tracked her phone from mine, watching her move between classes. When she takes a day off from diving, I follow the blue dot to wherever she goes. The movies. Shopping. To the library. She is always within my reach even if she doesn’t know I’m there. Even if I can’t touch her.
I broke that rule tonight.
God, I broke it so hard, putting my thirty-six-year-old hands on her supple eighteen-year-old tits, molding them like clay, teasing her innocent nipples into little points until she was flushed and squirming and restless. I should be taken out into the street and shot for what I’ve done. Where are my ethics? My principles? I’ve allowed the stalking to carry on with the caveat that I didn’t defile her virginal body, but Jesus, I came close tonight. Came dangerously close to removing the towel from between her legs and replacing it with my lap.
Making her hump my hard cock instead.
How would she look riding me? Working that sweet body up and down, whining over the buildup of lust and the burning need for relief. Fuck, I’d probably come before I ever got inside of her. I’d hold her down and jerk come onto every inch of her perfect skin.
And wow, somewhere, her parents are sleeping in their beds, secure in the fact that their little girl is in good hands. I should be ashamed of myself. I am. This obsession with Margot is out of control. I don’t know where she has gone and I want to slam my head into a wall. The possibility that she is upset and preparing to act out has my blood racing, running hot to cold.
Dancing.
She’s gone dancing.
And she’s horny. Unsatisfied.
I don’t know what happened, but she couldn’t reach her peak, even though she was so close. There is an inkling in the back of my head telling me she would have come if I’d unzipped my pants and planted my cock in her tight-ass cunt, but no. No. I won’t allow that. I won’t consider that. I’m in charge of her. I’m paid to coach her. It would be an unforgiveable violation of trust and she would hate me for it one day. Once she got older and realized how I took advantage of the coach-pupil relationship, she’d never speak to me again. And if that happened, I’d no longer have a reason to exist.
I exist for Margot.
I’m standing outside of her housing in Olympic Village now, once again checking my phone for the reassuring blue dot. Nothing. Grinding my back teeth together, I place a call to one of the other diving coaches I met during trials, asking if he knows where the athletes have gone dancing.
“Yeah…” He yawns, telling me I’ve woken him up. So be it. “Some place called Club Camelot, I think. A bunch of them were heading there. Might as well give them one last hurrah before competition starts in two days.”
“Right, thanks for the info. Good luck.”
I’m already walking, hailing a taxi as soon as I get to the street. Ten minutes later, we’re driving through the brightly lit streets of downtown Tokyo, people zigzagging in all directions—and I break into a cold sweat thinking about every bad thing that could happen to Margot in a foreign city. She could be robbed. Kidnapped. Things I can’t even consider without wanting to tear the roof off the top of this taxi.
My throat has closed up to the size of a straw by the time we pull to a stop outside of Club Camelot. I hand payment to the driver and climb out, intending to stride right into the club and carry Margot out over my shoulder. Fuck subtlety. I’m not in the mood for it. I’m not able to pretend right now that I’m not worried as hell and possessive of what’s mine.
Before I can approach the bouncer standing behind the red velvet rope, my eye is drawn to the establishment next door. A sex shop. There are toys in the window. Fetish gear. Advertisements for pornography. I’m interested in none of it. But they must sell vibrators inside. A towel might not have done the trick for Margot. A vibrator would, though. And if I don’t have some way to bring her to climax, I’m going to end up fucking her.
I know it as well as I know my own name.
With a curse, I change directions and enter the shop, striding down the empty aisles until I find what I’m looking for. At the counter, I gesture to the clerk to unwrap my purchase and I install the batteries, shoving the device into my pocket and once again leaving the store.
The inside of Club Camelot is something straight out of my nightmares, because I don’t want Margot in a place like this. Not for a split second. It’s dark. It’s anonymous. So dark that it invites bad behavior without the threat of consequences. The only lights come from a flashing strobe light above and the DJ booth, which is outlined in purple neon.
A vein throbs in my temple as I weave my way through the throngs of giddy—and in some cases, drunk—twenty-somethings. It’s a noticeably diverse crowd because most of them are athletes or spectators who’ve flown to Tokyo from their respective countries for the Olympic Games. From Sweden and Chile and South Africa. Young people grind on each other, visibly eager to get laid, hands groping body parts out in the open for everyone to witness. It’s an orgy waiting to happen and I swear to Christ, if any of these motherfuckers have laid a finger on Margot, I’m going to wreak utter havoc on this sweaty meat market.
She’s horny.
She’s in this place and she needs relief.
That reality is like nails dragging down the chalkboard of my mind.
What do I plan to do when I find her?
I’m not entirely sure, but it’s going to cross a line. I can’t seem to stop myself. I can’t seem to think of anything but her hips pumping on the therapy table, those eager little whimpers she made in her throat while the table legs bumped on the floor. She was aroused beyond belief and yet she couldn’t reach completion. Why? The fact that she was left unsatisfied is a knife constantly twisting in my gut. I need to fix it. Need to fix it now.
My footsteps falter when I spy Margot.
She’s dancing in a group of other divers.
So beautiful that my lungs cease to function.
She’s in a dove-gray spaghetti-strap dress that barely brushes the tops of her thighs. And the way her hands are thrown up over her blonde head, her panties flash to the crowd every few seconds. Oh, and the men have fucking noticed. They’re circling the dance floor like sharks preying on a seal. She’s facing the other direction now, popping her hips right and left, and the hem of her dress flips up briefly, showing off two tight, tan ass cheeks, separated by the white strip of her thong.
A few of the spectators groan, adjusting themselves. Putting their heads together to confer over which one of them is going to approach her. She’s the shiniest apple of the bunch in this place. They all want her. And the words she’s mine burn in my throat. She’s been mine since the afternoon we met at her local pool and she gave me that shy smile. I’ve been lost since then. I’m an absolute sicko. A pervert. A stalker. But there’s no curing me. If someone cut my chest open and tried to remove the obsession, they could never get it all. It has spread to every corner of my body. It rules me. She does.
Even now, my cock is at full mast. My mouth is dry, pulse rapping against my ear drums, palms sweating. I’m caught between rage that she’s putting herself on display and the painful need to fuck her. To ride her. To watch her eyes go wide when she orgasms.
My opportunity to approach her presents itself. Just a sliver of time when the other divers have their backs turned. I have to move now, because the men have chosen the winner who will approach her and shoot their shot. Not even when hell freezes over.
With a growl lodged in my throat, I shove through the dancing crowd toward Margot. She sees me and blinks, her mouth dropping open. Then she gets pissed. Really pissed. Maybe she has every right to be. I don’t know. She’s old enough to go dancing if she chooses. She’s earned a little freedom. And I can’t let her have it. I can’t risk someone touching or taking what’s mine.
When I reach her, I don’t stop walking. I simply wrap an arm around her hips, lift her feet off the dance floor and keep going. At first, she’s stunned, but after about five steps, she begins to struggle against me, shoving my shoulders and twisting to get free.
“What are you doing? I’m dancing! I’m allowed to go out!”
“Not without telling anyone where you’ve gone,” I snap, giving in to the urge to smell her neck, my cock throbbing in response to her roses and honey scent. “What if something happened to you and we had no idea where to start looking?”
“Why bother telling you where I’m going when you’re watching my every move?”
I don’t expect her to make that whispered statement. She can’t know. She can’t know I’ve been tracking her location since we’ve been together as coach and pupil. Otherwise she would have told her parents. Been terrified to be alone with me. Right?
“What are you talking about?” I rasp, continuing deeper into the back of the club. Past the revelers to the darkest recesses of the room where I set her down against the wall, pinning her there with my body when she tries to get away. “Answer me,” I breathe against her ear, grasping her hips in my hands. Squeezing. Holding her in place. “Now, Margot.”
I listen to her take a trembling breath. “I…I’m not sure. I just feel you everywhere I go. You want me to be a gold medal diver and that means twenty-four-hour surveillance, apparently. My parents probably pay you extra to babysit me, because God forbid I think about anything but diving for five minutes.”
“Is that why you think I watch you? Because your parents ask me to?” A laugh barks out of me. She has no idea. No idea that I’m so beyond obsessed that I’ve carved her name into the walls of my living room with the tip of a steak knife. That I beat off to old voicemail messages she’s left me. That I tail her everywhere she goes, my heart trapped behind my Adam’s apple, my sanity balancing on a razor’s edge.
“Why else would you keep such close tabs on me?” she asks, perplexed. “It’s all about diving. Everything in my life is about diving.”
I have no choice but to let her believe this lie.
What would I tell her instead?
That if she stopped diving, if she never competed again, I would still haunt the shadows wherever she goes for the next eighty years? If I revealed myself, she would be scared. She would think I’m disgusting for panting after a girl young enough to be my daughter. She would be outraged at the steps I’ve taken to ensure she never makes a move without me knowing.
“Margot,” I say, as steadily as I’m able when her hips are cradled in my hands. “I’m here because you need something. Don’t you?”
Blue eyes shoot to mine, twin spots of pink appearing on her cheeks. “I…I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” I say, stooping down slightly to capture her gaze. “You came out to this dance club because you’re still aching and wet between your legs.” My right hand slides up beneath her dress, fingers hooking in the side of her thong to drag it down slowly, slowly. “You’re confused by how you’re feeling, thanks to what happened after practice. And when young girls are achy and confused, they make bad decisions and regret them later.” Her panties fall to her knees and she sucks in a breath, her glazed-over eyes fastened on my mouth. “As your coach, I can’t allow that.”
A heavy beat passes, the music swelling around us, the dark keeping us cocooned.
“As my coach? Or as a man?” she asks, biting her lip and searching my face. “The things you said to me when I was…rubbing myself on the towel. I remember them. And the way you wait to end practice when the massage therapist has already gone home…” Her chest rises and falls quickly. “At the very least, y-you’re attracted to me. Aren’t you?”
My erection is pressed to her stomach as we speak.
I’m hard as fucking nails for this girl.
Lying about being attracted isn’t an option.
“Yes,” I rasp, crowding her tight to the wall, circling my hands around from her hips to clutch her bare bottom, watching shock transform her face. Shock and excitement. “I’m attracted to you. You make my dick stiff and angry. Your beautiful tits almost made me come in my pants tonight. Is that what you want to hear?”
She nods, face flushed.
Still searching my expression with inquisitive blue eyes. “Is it just…” She wets her lips. “Is it just attraction or…or…more?”
We’re heading into dangerous territory. My throat aches with the need to tell Margot that I’ve pictured her in a wedding dress more times than I can count. I’ve thought of us on our honeymoon, naked and poolside at some secluded, tropical retreat, me trying my hardest to get her pregnant before we leave to go home. But Jesus…I have to keep this last remnant of restraint. Have to hold on to it. Because if I let this obsession with Margot out of its cage completely, she won’t understand. She’s so young, so sweet, so innocent and idealistic. I’m not about to unleash a monster on her. I have to keep myself under control. The background of her life is the closest I can allow myself to get. Watching. Hungering. Dreaming.
“You have the biggest competition of your life in two days,” I say, hating myself for not telling her that I love her. That I’ve loved her far longer than is appropriate and would die in a heartbeat in exchange for her happiness. Instead, I avoid answering altogether by taking the vibrator out of my pocket and press the button to turn it on. “We need to take care of this little wet cunt so you can focus.”
She makes a sound of frustration. “Stop making it about the competit—”
I shove the vibrator up between her legs, angling the tip of the curve so it’s delivering pulsations directly to her clit. And maybe I should have anticipated her screaming, but I didn’t. I have no choice but to stamp my mouth down over the top of hers and absorb her taste into my bloodstream. Fuck oh fuck. I’m kissing Margot. I’m so immediately consumed by the mint and alcohol taste of her mouth that I growl like a broken beast and give her my tongue, desperate for more, my hand between her thighs working the vibrator up and back. Sliding it through the dripping wet folds of her sex, stopping each time at the apex of her slit to massage that slick, swollen bundle of nerves.
“Everett,” she moans when I break the kiss to let her breathe. “More. More. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”
That confession is like jumper cables being plugged into my heart and turned onto the highest setting. She’s wanted me to kiss her? Holy shit. At the very least, the attraction goes both ways. On the heels of that elation, though, I force myself to calm down. Calm the fuck down. She wanted to be kissed. Meanwhile I want to dominate every aspect of her life. I want to feed her and bathe her and have her call me…
Daddy.
I want to be Margot’s Daddy so bad, I can no longer locate where the need ends and I begin. It’s quite simply a part of me. My fantasies have escalated lately to include pigtails and nightgowns and that coveted pop of her cherry. Giggling and secrets and teasing. I’ve never even thought about this kind of shit before. Never in my life. It’s her. She’s done this to me.
And she’s been dreaming of kisses. Probably has a little crush on her coach.
We’re on totally different pages.
I’ll ruin our relationship if I rip off my lid and show her the predator lurking underneath.
“Be a good girl and come on the vibrator.” For Daddy. “For coach.”
I start to kiss her again, because God, I can’t help it. But she rears back a little bit to avoid my mouth, scrutinizing me. And then she takes a deep breath and says, “No.”
“What do you mean, no?” I growl, grinding the device against her clit, making her whimper and writhe between me and the wall. “I bought it for you. I need you to get relief or I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Let me satisfy this pussy. Now.”
“No,” she says choppily, her lithe thighs dancing around my hand. “I refuse. I refuse to g-get relief. N-not unless you’re inside of me.”
“Margot,” I roar into her neck. “That can’t happen. I’m your coach. You’re too young. There’s a list of reasons I can’t…ah, sweetheart…why I can’t just push your legs apart and sink in up to my balls. No matter how bad I fucking want to.”
She pants against my throat, her hands now actively trying to push the vibrator away. “I won’t do it. I won’t!”
I bare my teeth against her ear. “Why?”
“Because you’re in denial about what this is. Or you’re holding back. Or something.” Her neck loses power and she moans, dropping her head back, giving me no choice but to take my tongue up the smooth column of her throat. “B-but you won’t be able to lie when you’re inside me. I don’t know how I know that, I just do.”
She’s right.
Jesus, she’s right.
If I was inside of Margot, there would be no tempering the storm inside of me. She’d know exactly how deep this obsession runs. And by that time, even if she was scared, it would be too late for me to stop. I would violate the trust we’ve worked so hard to build, every day for the last two years. “Stop holding back.” I work the vibrator at a new angle, making her hiss a breath, shoot up on her toes. “I can’t fuck you. I can’t.”
“I won’t tell my parents,” she gasps.
Christ, I almost spill my seed at that. It’s so tempting. To take her somewhere and set my lust free. Ride her every which way until the sun comes up. To harbor a secret between just us, the freedom to explore our unique bond without consequences. But she’s worth more than a relationship where she has to sneak around behind closed doors. Behind her parents’ backs. She’s worth everything this world has to offer and more. My Margot deserves to be acknowledged and treated with care and respect.
“No,” I rasp, pressing a button on the vibrator to increase the speed.
Her knees give out and I have to hold her up, my left arm secure around the small of her back, my right hand rocking the vibrator right where she needs it. “Yes,” she whispers shakily.
We’re arguing about sex. Me being inside of her.
She is actually holding out on her orgasm in protest.
Refusing to come unless it’s around my dick.
Panicked by what I’m tempted to do, I drop my forehead against the wall above her shoulder. “You need this, Margot. Take it.”
“I need you more,” she says so quietly, I wonder if I heard her incorrectly.
My heart booms in my chest, dangerous declarations wanting to spill out of my mouth. I love you. I love you. I fucking burn day and night for you. I’m on thin ice, so close to confessing my sick obsession it’s not even funny. Jesus, I could unzip my pants and have my cock inside her tight channel within seconds. She’s asking me for it. I’m insane to pass up this chance to bang her tight, little body against this wall with no repercussions. We’re in our own world here. In the dark, in this club, in this city so far from Austin. It would be like a naughty dream. But the beast would be loose after that and I’d ruin her life. The stalker she’s created would be out of the background and in her face all day. All night. She’d hate me. Resent me.
“Take your orgasm, Margot,” I grit through my teeth.
She looks me in the eye, her expression dazed. Aroused beyond belief. It must be costing her a hell of an effort to hold back. “Not until you’re inside me,” she pants.
My fingers act of their own accord. I’m desperate now to give her what she needs, that’s why. Wild in my eagerness for her to climax. She needs it. I give her what she needs, goddammit. So I keep the vibrator humming against her clit with my left hand. And I push the middle finger of my right hand up inside her snug pussy, kissing her sweet mouth while I work the digit in and out. “I’m inside you now, sweetheart. Make my fingers drip.”
“Th-this isn’t what I meant.” Her teeth are beginning to chatter, her pussy giving off tiny pulsations. She’s on the edge. “Oh! Everett.”
Something comes over me. Something dark that’s been boiling just beneath my surface. She’s so tight and perfect around my finger that my control slips. “You call me Daddy while that little-ass cunt is clenching around my knuckle, understand?”
Her gasp drags me out of the darkness.
I find Margot blinking up at me, confused and curious and…horrified?
I can’t tell. She should be horrified. Did I really just say that out loud.
Before I can find a way to smooth over my mistake, she’s pushing away my hand. Stumbling out from between me and the wall. “I want to go home,” she says, breathing hard, her cheeks painted red. “N-now, please.”
What choice do I have?
This is why I’ve kept my distance.
This exact reaction. Whatever bond was between us has been tarnished and it’s one hundred percent my fault. I should have stayed in the shadows. I knew my sickness would turn her off. Send her packing. Head throbbing with the agony of upsetting my sweet girl, I shove the vibrator into my pocket, turn and escort her out of the club. If I can’t do anything else right, I’ll make sure she gets home safely. Back underneath my watchful eye where, unfortunately for her, she will remain for the rest of her life, whether she wants it or not.
There’s no soil on earth deep enough to bury this infatuation.
Or to keep it from flourishing now that it’s been given water and sunlight in the form of Margot’s kiss. Margot’s body. Margot’s voice and touch and taste.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
