Page 3 of Pleasure Lessons

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RHETT

I feelher before I even see her.

It’s just something in the air, like a shift in the pressure. Like the moment before lightning cracks from the stormy sky. Static charge prickles across my skin, pulsing with intensity as I walk up the path from where I left my truck. And then she appears–like a heavenly angel from a fever dream.

Jesus Christ.

The sight of her nearly knocks the wind out of me. She’s barefoot, wearing a short tennis skirt–pink, not white like yesterday’s–and a baby blue polo. The breeze lifts the hem of her skirt like it has its own obsession with her, giving me a glimpse at her perfect thighs. So smooth. So young.

Her hips sway as she shifts her weight, causing my cock to pulse instantly, almost violently, with fierce attraction. Her hair is down, long and wavy and spilling across her shoulders, bouncing with each step she takes. Of course, that’s not the only thing that’s bouncing. I can see the sway of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her polo. Large Cs or maybe even Ds, perky and plump on her thin, delicate frame.

Her hair…goddamn. It’s messy today, like she just got out of bed, which instantly makes me picture her twisted up in hersheets, her cheeks glowing pink, those innocent eyes staring up at me as I lower myself on top of her. Cassandra is pure sex and desire, and she doesn’t even know it.

And that’s what makes this worse. She’s not doing any of this on purpose. Nottryingto drive me out of my mind with my desire for her–she’s just doing it by existing. She walks like she’s never had a care in the world. Like no one has ever looked at her and wanted to ravage her.

I want to drop to my knees, lift her skirt, and cover her pussy with my mouth. Lick her until her eyes roll back in her head and she passes out from pleasure. I want to fuck the innocence right out of her, mark her so deep with my cock that no other man will ever be able to get near her without smelling my scent on her skin.

I know she’s a virgin. Her father told me how he raised her–kept her away from the world. But she’s also engaged to Arthur, one of the richest and most powerful men in the country. I can’t even imagine the resources he has. If he chose to destroy my life, I have no doubt he could do it.

All I can do is pray that I can somehow get through these coaching lessons without doing something that completely ruins my life. And that’s going to be one hell of a challenge.

I drag my palm over my mouth and force myself to look away, down at the grass by the court. This was just supposed to be another job. Another way for a regular guy like me to make money. I thought I’d just be coaching another spoiled brat who was always on her phone and distracted half the time. I had no idea I’d be coaching an absolute goddess.

“Hello!” she calls out, her voice like honey in my ears. She’s barely even legal. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts for her when I’m almost twice her age. I’m a bad man, but at least I know it.

“Hello,” she says, stepping up to me. I can smell a slight hint of perfume on her that wasn’t there yesterday. Is she trying to make this harder on me?

“Aren’t tennis coaches supposed to wear polos?” she asks, eyeing my tank top. “Then we’d be matching.”

She eyes me casually as she slightly twists her hips, causing her skirt to spin. Is she doing that on purpose? She hums to herself as she moves, but her eyes trail across my shoulders, then my chest, then my forearms. My eyes meet hers and she immediately looks at the ground.

I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to go change and come back with one?”

She looks up at me innocently, then shrugs.

Goddamn.

I look away before she can see my jaw tighten. I don’t think she even knows that she’s flirting. That’s what makes her so dangerous.

“We should get started,” I mutter, handing her a racquet as I walk past her toward the court. She takes it and walks off in front of me, giving me a perfect view of her ass that sends a surge of blood to my cock.

Cassandra is not good at tennis. She wasn’t lying when she said she had zero training. But she does try, and she is a fast learner. Of all the things I could be teaching her, how to perfect a serve would not be on the top of my list.

We rally a bit, then pause for a water break. She keeps glancing over at me like she’s looking for something. Approval? Attention? If she were any other girl, I’d think she was trying to tell me something. But Cassandra has grown up so sheltered that she has no idea she’s giving me total fuck-me eyes.

The lesson continues, and I swear that the longer I’m around her, the more primal I become. I’ve trained girls who went on to become professionals. I’ve coached Olympic hopefuls,celebrities. Even supermodels who wanted to pick up the sport for fun. None of them have ever made my knees go weak like this girl does.

I wind up for a serve, but Cassandra stands up straight. She takes a deep breath, her eyes on the ground just in front of her. “Rhett…can I ask you something?”

This comes from completely out of nowhere. I want to tell her no and get back to the drills–keep my distance and get out of here. But I’m powerless. “Okay.” I nod. “What is it?”

She bites her lower lip, sending her cuteness skyrocketing. My eyes drop to her breasts, the two gumdrop-sized bumps in her shirt. Her nipples are hard, and so is my cock. Again, she twists side to side like she’s nervous, dragging my eyes down to her perfect thighs.

“What…what do men want in a wife?”

Her question is like a splash of cold water to the face. “Excuse me?”

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