Page 48 of Sunflower Persona
Don’t I know it. My cock has been half hard from the moment she walked through the door.
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t attached to your phone.”
“I take offense to that,” she snaps, placing her hands on her hips for extra emphasis.
Her sass does nothing to help the situation in my pants. If anything, I think I like her feistyalmostas much as I like it when she calls me coach. The breathy way she says those words goes straight to my dick every time, and it plays on repeat in my head whenever I let my mind wander. Hell, I’ve heard it in my fucking dreams.
Goddamnit, this is not the time for that. I’m not even into the whole submissive thing, but something about those words coming fromherlips inthatvoice makes me question that. I should not be questioning that, though. Not here. Not with her.
“Do you really think you can pigeonhole me in with everyone else my age? I’m wired too wrong for that.” She continues on, unaware of my internal battle.
“No, you’re right. You are something special.”
“Are we going to do this self-defense thing or what?” she grumbles, looking anywhere but at me.
“If that’s what you want. Go ahead and give me five laps around the mat.” The words come out harsher than I mean them too.
She follows my orders without complaint—not even a grumble under her breath—even though I know I sound like an ass. There’s a difference between authoritative and angry, and I’m blurring the line. She doesn’t deserve that from me; she isn’t the one who’s done anything wrong. I’m the one I’m frustrated at. I’m the coach, and I should be able to control my reactions to her better. These thoughts and this setting don’t mix.
I use the warm-up time to get my body back in control. Thankfully, my dick stops acting like an asshole when I refocus on the task at hand. By the end of the ten-minute warm-up routine we normally run the fundamentals classes through, Kori is panting and drenched in sweat.
“Okay, I take that back. Go back to making fun of me for being a kid. That was way less torturous than this.” She braces her hands on her thighs, but this time, she doesn’t end up on the floor.
We take improvement where we can get it.
“That was good.”
“It didn’t feel like it.”
“Grab some water, and we can get started for real.”
“What’s on the agenda today,Coach?”
She looks my body over with heat sparkling in her eyes. I get this type of look from both women and men alike when I’m at Cutter’s, and normally the brazenly lusty gazes do nothing more than make the skin on the back of my neck crawl. From Yellow, though, the look sets my skin alight in a different way.
My body shouldn’t be reacting to her like this; it’s wrong. She’s trusting me to be her coach, goddamnit, and I’m taking that trust, chewing it up, and spitting it in her face by thinking of her like that. I’m the authority here; it’s my responsibility to enforce these lines. This isn’t the first time a student has expressed interest in me. But itisthe first time I feel something in return.
It’s the first time I’ve felt anything in a long time.
As much as I hate to admit it, Kori is a beautiful woman. This goes beyond that, though. There are millions of beautiful women in the world, and they don’t all get my cock hard with only a few breathy words. Yellow is different. I want to get to know her beyond that, and that alone is enough for me to know I need to keep my distance. She doesn’t need someone like me in her life—not when she has so much potential ahead of her. All I would do is hold her back.
She bites on the inside of her lip in a way that should be criminal as her eyes continue to climb toward my face. I don’t flinch when her gaze meets mine; Kori does, though. Her brows jump almost comically on her forehead, and those wide eyes of hers drop to the mat.
“That’s up to you.” I cough to clear away the raspy edge clinging to my words. “We can keep practicing assertiveness or move on to something more physical. I know you don’t like to be touched, so the choice is yours.”
“We can get physical,” she says, and starts to sing off-key as she dances around the mat.
“Was that an ’80s music reference?” I ask, still caught off guard by her display.
She stills, her face going completely blank.
“I figured it would be easier if I spoke in terms from your era,” she says with a solemn nod.
It takes a moment for the teasing to register. Her sincere mask is too good. It’s only when a smile turns the corner of her lips, breaking the facade, that it hits me.
“I’m old, but I’m not that old,” I say with a bark of laughter. “But that was probably deserved.”
“Probably,” she scoffs with a playful eye roll.
