My Coach, My Stalker by Jessa Kane
Chapter 4
Margot
Diving is not going well this morning.
I’m hot…everywhere.
As I climb the ladder of the high dive, I have to clamp my back teeth together to keep them from chattering. Very slightly, the skin of my knee grazes one of the steps and sensation rushes through my middle, my intimate muscles clamping down on nothing, making me gasp. I’m wet from the pool, but the moisture is noticeably warmer between my thighs. And it takes all of my willpower to keep climbing with my legs shaking so hard. It takes every ounce of my focus not to look down at Everett where he stands at the pool’s edge with a clipboard in his hand, shiny silver whistle around his neck.
You call me Daddy while that little-ass cunt is clenching around my knuckle, understand?
Those words have been echoing in my head since last night. Every time I go back to that moment and think of my coach’s big, blunt finger pushing up inside of me, those harsh words growled into my hair, my heart starts to pound in an uncontrollable way. My nipples tingle and turn into painful peaks that are extremely noticeable in my bathing suit. I’m not at home in my skin. I’m restless and agitated and burning up. If I didn’t know better, I would think I’m sick.
But that’s not it. I’m just hovering right on the edge of something…consuming. Relieving. My mind tells me I could have reached that summit last night. In the darkness of the club with the vibrations coursing through my sensitive flesh, that wild, intangible feeling bubbling to the surface, I was almost free. The break I’ve been chasing for two years without success could have been mine…but Everett wouldn’t have been.
Yes, he admitted an attraction to me, but his touch last night—in the therapy room and in the club—was all about priming his athlete. Grooming me for greatness. That’s all it was. That’s all it ever is. He doesn’t share my feelings. Doesn’t love me in the way that I love him. He probably thinks of me as too young, too inexperienced, too immature.
There’s only one way to get experience, though.
And I’m not getting it with anyone but Everett.
I reach the high dive and walk to the very edge, my toes curling over the edge of the board. Unerringly, my gaze falls to my coach and finds him staring a hole in me, his jaw brittle as dry bark. If I’d let myself take that orgasm last night, he wouldn’t be looking at me the way he’s looking at me right now. Like he’s two seconds away from snapping the clipboard in half.
If he’s aching half as badly as me, he’s being burned alive.
I have to push him.
Push him until he gives in and gives my body what it needs—the right way. The only way that can bring us closer. Not just as an athlete and coach, but as a man and a woman. If he lets go of his reservations and stops thinking of me as someone’s daughter, but rather an adult female, maybe…maybe there’s a chance for more. The possibility of being with the man I’ve loved to the point of agony for two years.
I take a deep breath and prepare to dive, but Everett’s hand moves in my periphery and I catch it. The way he adjusts the bulkiness that swells against the front of his pressed trousers. He does it discreetly so the hundreds of people in the Olympic facility don’t see him. Then he covers his lap casually with the clipboard. But I see him. I see him and heat blasts me from head to toe, a ticklish smoky feeling curling in my tummy. I’m panting and there’s no reason I should be out of breath. Someone shouts from the bottom of the ladder that they’re waiting to use the platform for practice dives and I shake myself, wetting my dry lips, trying to still the shaking of my muscles. Focus. Focus. You’re at the Olympics. This is your dream.
A gold medal isn’t my only dream, however. The man waiting for me at the bottom of this dive has been occupying so much space in my head for so long and I’ll never shake him. Can’t he see how badly I need him on top of me, taking me, giving me what my body needs? Mine satisfying his in return, solving the mysteries about sex that have been plaguing me?
God, I want that. I need it. Nothing but the full measure of him is going to satisfy my heart, though. Is he close to giving in?
Forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand. A back one and a half somersault pike. Not the most difficult maneuver. Just a warmup. I’m sure the fact that my legs are the consistency of pudding won’t make a bit of difference.
Right.
Squaring my shoulders, I bend my knees and spring up, suspending myself in the air high above the pool, tightening my stomach muscles and lifting my legs up, over, flipping me back into a somersault—and quickly I realize I’m not going to make the half one, as well. I’m going to hit the water way too early at a bad angle. A very bad one. This is going to hurt.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace for the slapping sting of the water, but no amount of preparation stops it from hurting. I hurtle down several more feet than usual, the breath sucked out of my lungs, my skin smarting where it broke the surface. Dang it. I’m too distracted. My body refuses to do what it’s supposed to and at this rate, I won’t even take bronze.
I wince over a fresh wave of soreness on my way up to the surface, my legs not kicking as fast as they should—and that’s when I hear someone jumping into the pool above me.
No. Not someone.
Everett.
His big body cuts through the water in my direction, his eyes open and wild as he reaches me, wrapping an arm around my lower back and kicking back toward the surface with me in tow. We come up for air at the same time and we’re face to face, laboring to breathe, Everett’s hand coming up to rip off my swim cap, cradling my cheek, his gaze running laps around my face. “You took too long to come up,” he growls. “You hit the water backwards and I thought…Jesus, sweetheart. I thought you were hurt.”
Divers and coaches have gathered together close by, whispering about what happened. Agog over my coach jumping into the water to save me and his very, very apparent concern. But I barely see them. Or hear them. Because that same concern is spreading joy throughout my limbs and all I want to do is crawl inside of it. To live there.
Everett, apparently unaware of the bystanders, hauls me up against his body in the pool and I automatically wrap my legs around his waist, my soft cheek rubbing against his stubbled one, sending my pulse into a sprint. “I’m okay.”
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he says raggedly, his open mouth grazing my ear.
“I’m sorry.”
Everett lets out a low curse and I notice for the first time that he’s shaking. “You’re going to get yourself killed like this. Your body isn’t going to perform without relief first.” Beneath the water, his hand cups my right butt cheek and tugs me toward his lap, grinding my core softly against his bulge. “I could see your hard nipples all the way down here.”
“Take me somewhere,” I whisper, twisting my fingers in the front of his drenched gray polo shirt. “Fix me, Daddy.”
His shocked groan causes flutters everywhere. My pulse points, my bloodstream. “I don’t see a choice. Your concentration is all over the map. You’re going to get hurt. You’re going to lose this chance you’ve worked so hard for.” His forehead rolls side to side against mine. “I can’t let that happen.”
“Is that all it’s about?” I whisper, searching his strained features. “Diving?”
A long pause ensues. And then he says, “No,” through his teeth.
My heart wings its way up into my throat and I snuggle close to Everett, burrowing my face into his wet, warm neck. We’re going to have sex. He’s giving in. And afterward, he’ll no longer see me as just as his pupil. I’ll be so much more to him. More than a teenager—
“I’ll need to speak to your parents about it.”
“What?” I squeak, rearing back and looking him in the eye. “You…can’t. You can’t—”
“Calming your body down is a training matter. Bringing you to climax will help you win.” It’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. Trying to convince himself that he’s taking me to bed for the right, noble reasons. Why can’t it just be about the two of us celebrating our attraction? Celebrating this close relationship that I have with no one else? That I don’t want with anyone else? “Get out of the pool and shower up. We’ll go explain the situation to them.”
“No, Everett. We don’t have to tell them.”
“Yes, we do,” he grits out. “I won’t sneak around behind closed doors fucking my diver. We’re going to do this the right way. God knows I do too much the wrong way already.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Everett stares into my eyes for long moments, then curses, shaking his head. “Get out of the pool, warm yourself up and head to the training room.” He blows out a breath that smells like spearmint and cinnamon. How can I want to kiss him and rage at him at the same time? “I’ll ask your parents to meet us there.”
* * *
Everett
I can’t believeI’m doing this.
This morning, I woke up with my cock stiff as a board. Covered in sweat. Needing Margot’s spread legs wrapped around my hips. Craving her like the world’s most addictive drug, even though I’ve never been inside of her before.
Yet.
That’s all about to change, isn’t it? I’m a sick motherfucker to do this. But I know her parents—they’ll do anything to help her win. And I mean anything. Even let a man twice her age fuck her into a better performance.
It’s not unheard of for athletes to build up so much steam and stamina that they grow desperate for sex. Especially among Olympians who hook up constantly during the Games, working out their restless energy in every dark corner of the village. This won’t be a completely foreign concept to Margot’s parents, but no amount of knowledge is going to dull the shock.
This is how it has to be done.
Above board.
Officially.
If I simply start sleeping with Margot behind the scenes without some formal parameters, we’ll never make it to the pool again. And I will go off the fucking deep end. I’m already halfway there. I almost shoved my cock inside of her in front of everyone ten minutes ago, needing to feel her. Needing to know she wasn’t hurt. Goddammit, the dangerous way she hit the water…I’m going to replay it every time I close my eyes for the rest of my life.
Margot walks into the training room in a thin robe, her blonde hair in loose waves around her shoulders. She’s wide eyed and nervous. Of course she is. Because her father is right behind her, entering the therapy room for the first time, visibly curious as to why we would ask to meet him there. His wife isn’t with him.
It takes me a moment so commence the meeting. All I can think about is the shameful fact that I stalk this man’s daughter. I follow her everywhere, watch her sleep, steal her clothing so I can take the garments home and wrap them around my pillow, kissing it with an open mouth, shoving it between my legs and rutting, pretending it’s her. My house is an homage to Margot. She’s everywhere. If not her name carved into the walls, then it’s pictures. So many pictures or her in various states of undress. Or simply eating an apple, texting on her phone, unlocking her car. She owns me, body and soul. But the way I’ve handled my obsession is wrong and illegal and I can’t lose sight of that.
I can’t slip those final remaining feet into the abyss.
Which is why I’m making her need for sex about training. Diving.
If I allow myself to wonder if she’s even remotely infatuated with me, too—and that’s why she’s hot between her legs—I’m not sure what I’ll do. Explode. Chain her up in my basement. Allow myself to turn full freak and murder any man who looks in her direction. Obsess about her full time. Commandeer her life, her existence. If she has feelings for me, she shouldn’t. She can’t know what she’d be getting into.
And she never will.
We will have sex today and get her the orgasm she needs. Then I’ll go back to keeping my distance. I’ll find a way to keep my beast caged for Margot’s well-being.
“My wife is taking a nap,” Mr. Summers explains, sitting down across from me and Margot. “What’s up?”
“Mr. Summers…” I exhale slowly. “Margot is having some difficulty concentrating.”
He leans back and crosses his arms, nodding. “I saw that bad dive in practice. And Coach…helping you recover.” He stumbles over that last part, as if still confused by seeing us touch each other so intimately in the water. “You have to be more focused, honey.”
“That’s the thing,” I say, before Margot can respond. “She can’t. Focus, that is.”
Her father splits a look between us. “Why not?”
Margot looks down at her lap, face flaming, and I can’t stop myself from reaching over, finding her bare thigh and squeezing it in my hand. “Margot is an adult now. Eighteen. You’ve hired me to make her the best diver she can be—and I have. She’s extraordinary. But all the training, combined with her becoming a woman, has given her a lot of…excess energy.” I look him straight in the eye. “There’s only one way she’s going to burn through it. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Mr. Summers?”
The other man’s brow is burrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I do.”
I grit my molars, ordering myself to say the rest. As soon as this meeting concludes, I’ll finally get to bury my cock in Margot and I’m growing more and more impatient by the second, my balls hard as rocks where they rest on the plastic chair.
“She needs a man. Now. Or I don’t think she’ll be able to compete successfully.” My touch drifts higher on Margot’s thigh, close enough to brush her pussy with my pinkie finger. Mine, whispers the possessive beast inside of me. This man across from us is her father, but he’s not her Daddy. I am. And I can’t help letting him know it, even if I can never fully play that role. Not without spinning both of our lives out of control. The words rasp out of me unbidden nonetheless. “We’ve tried to ease her frustration manually, but it isn’t working. She needs…full intercourse.” My abdomen knits up tight and I have to work to keep my breathing even, images of naked Margot rifling through my mind. “She needs to be lathered into a sweat. She needs to be roughed up until she’s screaming in pleasure. And I’m the one who’s going to do it to her.”
Mr. Summers is sputtering, unable to look at either of us. “I don’t know about this. Maybe we should practice harder. See how she does—”
“You’ve hired me to get the best performance out of her, Mr. Summers. This is the only way to do it.” My cock thickens more and more in my pants. Preparing. “I’m going to bring her back to my room and give her the only training that’s going to help at this point.”
He’s not ready to relent and I can’t really blame him, can I? His sweet, little daughter is about to get railed by a man who is criminally obsessed with her. Right under his nose. Does he sense that I’m one finger snap away from turning into her kidnapper, instead of her coach? “Isn’t there someone else?” Mr. Summers asks. “Someone closer to her age…”
“No,” I snap, gripping Margot’s cunt through her panties. My hand is out of view, but I get the feeling he knows exactly where it is. “There isn’t someone else.”
Chains rattle in my ears.
There will never be someone else.
Her father opens his mouth and closes it, raking a hand through his thinning hair. “I-I don’t think we should tell her mother about this.”
“That’s your choice.” I remove my hand from between Margot’s thighs so I can adjust my erection, wedging it up against my stomach. Then I stand, offering my hand to Margot. She takes it automatically and never takes her eyes off me as I lead her from the room, my blood pumping with the animalistic need to satisfy her. To claim her.
Finally.
