Page 10 of Pucking Christmas Triplets Surprise

“If you can’t handle a little pressure, Josie, you’ll never survive out there.” His voice is calm and condescending, and it only makes me angrier.

“I can handle pressure,” I hiss, stepping closer to him, “but I can’t handle you breathing down my neck every second!”

For a moment, we stare at each other, tension crackling between us. His gorgeous blue eyes darken, and something flashes in them—something heated, almost dangerous.

“That’s what you think this is? Me breathing down your neck?” His voice drops lower, a quiet intensity taking over.

I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close we are, the heat rolling off of him in waves. But I refuse to back down. Not now.

“Yes,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re always watching me, always pushing–"

"That's my job, princess."

"No, you're winding me up. I feel tight. I feel fucking tension." I grunt, running my fingers through my hair and yanking on the knots steadily forming. " I need to be loose, and if we're going to do this, I have to be loose."

He leans in closer, and the ice from my glide spraying over him dances on his eyelashes. "Where do you feel tense?"

"What?" I scoff, turning away from him, but he laces his fingers around my elbow and pulls me closer.

I can smell the firewood scent radiating off of him again. The heat of his touch burns like the fucking sun,and I want to pull him into me. To see if I can harness the fire for myself. His grip on my elbow tightens just enough to send a jolt of awareness through my body. The cold from the rink seeps into my skin, but his heat—his touch—overpowers it, and I’m stuck between two extremes. I meet his gaze, glaring, but my breath catches when I see the intensity burning in his eyes.

I yank my arm away, crossing my arms tightly over my chest, trying to create some kind of barrier between us. But he’s not backing off, not even close. He steps closer, invading my space like always, forcing me to acknowledge him, forcing me to acknowledge what he’s doing to me.

“I said, where do you feel tense? You said it’s because of me, right?” He tries to catch my eyes again, but I avoid him, looking down at the slowly shrinking space between us.

“You think I don’t know, Josie?” His voice is low, a dangerous murmur that sends a shiver down my spine. “I can see it every time you’re on that ice. You’re so wound up, so damn tight that you can’t move the way you’re supposed to.”

"I thought you wanted me to be tight." I bite back.

His chuckle rolls over my skin, and every hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. He balls his left hand into a fist and places the knuckles against my abdomen. "Your core is supposed to be tight."

Heat under his touch shoots right to the space between my legs, and I have to swallow hard not to have my voice tremble.

"Is that the only thing that is supposed to be tight?"

"Josie." He warns, and the way he sings my name is a warning, which makes my center pool with heat.

"Coach Jackson," I gasp as he pushes his fist harder against my core, and I flex against his weight. "It's a simple question."

"Answer mine first, naughty girl." His hand spreads across my stomach and curves around my hip. "Where do you feel tension?"

His fingers trail down my hip, leaving a glittering trail of heat in his wake. Coach Jackson's breath flutters over my ear. "Do you feel it here?"

I don't respond; I just lightly shake my head. No.

"Use your words, Josie." His hand moves around to my ass, and he grips me tightly. "Do you feel it here?"

"N-no." I stutter, my breath catching in my throat. This is unlike me. Coach Jackson is just fucking that— my coach. I can't do this. I have to…

"Don't think what you're thinking." His voice is smooth like molasses and deep like the ocean. It whispers in my ear, and I feel drunk off the sensation.

"Coach, I–" I start as he pulls me in closer.

"Christopher, or Chris." He corrects, his other hand trailing a knuckle down the center of my chest, right between my breasts. My nipples pebble at the sensation. "When my hands are about to find out what else about you is tight, you call me by my name, or if you want to be a polite girl, you call me sir, understand?"

My body tingles with desire, and before I can think, I nod my head. "Yes, sir."

Christopher groans out his approval as his other hand trails back up the center of my chest, thecolumn of my neck, and up to cradle my face. "Let me find where your tension is so you can do this trick."

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