My Coach, My Stalker by Jessa Kane
Epilogue
Margot
Four Years Later
The cool metal in my hand. The red, white and blue flag waving above me.
Thousands of people cheering in the stands.
It’s surreal. Like a dream.
I never imagined that I would be the flag bearer for the United States at the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games, but here I am. Four years ago, I had no clue that as my love story with Everett was unfolding, people were glued to their televisions at home, watching every heavy interaction between me and my coach, convinced they were witnessing a budding romance. They don’t know the half of it, really. Or what we did behind closed doors.
But they were still invested.
Because of the public interest in me and Everett, we’ve become minor celebrities back home—much to my husband’s irritation. When the media got wind that we’d married on a hillside in Austin on a sunny fall morning, there was a frenzy to capture our picture and we were constantly asked questions by reporters like, “Are your parents supportive of this relationship?” Or “Is the age difference an issue?”
We tried to avoid doing an interview as long as possible, until we realized they would continue hounding us until we laid all our cards on the table. It took a lot of convincing for Everett to go on Good Morning America to tell the public, yes, my parents approve and no, our age difference isn’t a problem. Everett didn’t like cameras on me for a non-sports related event—at all. So many people looking at what’s mine, he’d growled while making love to me in the green room afterwards. But thankfully, after the interview, the paparazzi died down and we’re able to train quietly and enjoy married life.
As unconventional as our married life is.
It’s simply ours.
We moved into Everett’s house for a few weeks after the Olympics, which is a nice way of saying he wouldn’t even let me leave to collect the mail. After I finally convinced him that I wasn’t going to run away, he grew more comfortable with me going out alone. Although, I’m never really alone. His headlights are always in my rearview, that intense expression visible through the windshield. Where I go, he goes, and since I crave the sight and sound and scent of him every second of the day, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Now, a cameraman walks backward in front of me, capturing me waving the flag to the roar of the crowd. Bright lights are flashing everywhere and I can barely see where I’m walking. I start to get a little overwhelmed and that’s when a big hand settles on the small of my back. Everett. As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking and feeling at any given moment. Maybe he does. We’ve been training together for six years, plus we’re married. There really are no secrets between us. Usually there is very little clothing between us, too.
Remembering what happened during the flight, I turn and smile at my husband over my shoulder, letting him see that I remember. How I straddled his lap and rode him slowly under the cover of a blanket. When a flight attendant approached us, I pretended to just be resting against his chest, half asleep and it was easy to tell why she looked so alarmed to find my thighs hugging his hips intimately. A lot of people mistake us for father and daughter—and the pigtails style I wear these days doesn’t help matters.
There are no coaches allowed during the walk around the track at opening ceremonies, but Everett wasn’t about to follow that rule. If they wanted me to carry the flag, as one of the more popular athletes, then he would be with me. End of story. And I’m so glad he’s here, his steady, watchful presence at my back. Over the last four years, his appearance has changed slightly. He’s grown a beard that is a distinguished mixture of brown and gray. He’s put on just enough weight to give him a thicker stomach and it drives me wild. He’s not just a Daddy now—he actually looks the part.
And beneath my official USA track suit, I look the part of his little girl in frilly white panties and knee-high stockings. Based on his tight jaw and dilated pupils, it’s obvious he can’t wait for this ceremony to be over so we can play. We never stop playing anymore, really. Four years ago, we would go back and forth between real and make believe, but now? Now it’s all make believe all the time. Our game doesn’t end anymore, even when we’re at a restaurant or at the pool. I’m always his sweetheart and he’s always the man in charge.
And I love it to my very bones.
An Olympic attendant runs up to me and takes the flag, signaling the end of our turn around the track. I hold out my hand and Everett’s fingers thread through mine. He comes up beside me and I’m immediately being led into the stadium, down the busy tunnel of athletes hyped up by the opening ceremony. The games to come.
I’m also excited. After all, I have the title of gold medalist to defend. But I’m also just excited to live this life. Live every single second of it.
We didn’t even bother trying to fix up Everett’s home back in Austin. He’d destroyed it with the intensity of his obsession. Instead, we moved into a ranch outside of the city where we could have complete privacy. I thought Everett would be able to calm down a little once we were married. That he would be able to stop obsessing about me, since I was his wife. Since I lived with him. But one night, I went down to the basement of our home and found it plastered in photos of me, my possessions tacked up and worn out from his hands. Holes bashed into the wall where his forehead hit out of madness. Out of a sheer abundance of love that is too much for him to handle calmly sometimes.
And he’s not calm now, either. Not by a stretch.
There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his jaw is bunched tight.
We are supposed to meet my parents for dinner tonight, but I’m starting to think that’s not going to happen. I should have known he’d be extra possessive after I spent the last twenty minutes on camera, everyone looking at me.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Instead of answering me, he pulls me into a stairwell. My sex begins to heat, thinking he’s going to make love to me here in the darkness, but he keeps guiding me forward until we reach an elevator. We take it up to the very top floor. Just when I’m preparing to question him again, we step outside onto the highest point of the arena and I gasp, finding us surrounded by string lights and candles and soft violin music. The Eiffel Tower winks in the distance, sparkling and beautiful against the dark night sky.
I’m turning in a circle with tears in my eyes, trying to take it all in when I see Everett go down on one knee, popping open a ring box. My heart leaps up into my throat. All I can do is stare, moisture coursing down my cheeks. What is he doing?
His face is serious when he says, “Four years ago, you gave yourself to a madman, Margot. And I’m still mad. Even more so.” He plucks the ring out of the box and pushes the diamond onto my finger where it clanks against my wedding band. “Please. I’m going to need reminders of this commitment. Reminders that you’re actually mine to keep. We’ll start with every four years, but it could be every year soon if you continue to make my heart feel so goddamn heavy in my chest.” He wheezes the second half of that sentence, one hand clutching at the center of his sternum. “You’re burning me alive every second of the day. Like I’m constantly dying and there’s no cure.”
Everett lunges for me then, making me stumble backward into the darkness.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pushing out my bottom lip. “I don’t mean to make you hurt so bad.”
Innocent. Contrite.
On the inside, however, my heart is thundering wildly, my blood dancing with excitement. The dark, twisted kind that has become our signature. For Everett’s part, he’s already stripping me out of the track suit, baring my mostly naked body to the night sky. When he sees what I’m wearing, he groans brokenly, delving a hand into his dress pants to masturbate himself with quick jerks of his wrist. “I can’t think straight. I can’t think of anything but you,” he grits out. “My head can’t hold the amount of thoughts I have about you every second, every hour. Not without my skull aching. Shattering.”
“Shhh,” I whisper, going up on my toes to softly kiss Everett’s mouth, my hand replacing his inside his pants. Wrapping around his huge shaft to tug him firmly, thoroughly, base to tip. “You know how to quiet all the sound, Daddy. You know how to get rid of the pressure. You have to give some of it to me.” I bite my lip and blink up at him. “I love getting it.”
“I love you,” he growls. “Love you so much I can’t fucking breathe.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper. “I love you so bad.”
I have no time to prepare before I’m spun around to face the edge of the roof and the Eiffel Tower beyond. I hold onto the concrete perimeter wall, my intimate muscles constricting with anticipation, while Everett rips my lacy panties down to my ankles.
As soon as I’m fully naked, except for my knee-high stockings, Everett’s fingers tangle in my hair, yanking it back and making me gasp. His breath is hot against my neck. “Daddy’s little girl is going to give me her ass tonight.”
“Yes,” I whine, my knees starting to tremble with eagerness. I saw this coming. It’s what he wants when he needs to possess. To claim extra badly. And so before I dressed myself tonight, I lubricated myself there in anticipation. When he discovers what I’ve done, he rasps my name in wonder, rough palms scraping up and down my butt cheeks, then back to the center. Guiding himself home one inch, two...
Then he presses me down so my cheek is resting on the cool concrete wall—and he pumps deep with a strangled sound, his hand slapping down onto mine, holding it tightly.
A firework goes off overhead just in time to mask my scream. But the explosions in the sky are nothing compared to what we generate tonight and every single day, for the rest of our lives.
THE END
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