Page 18 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

My eyes narrow even though my stomach flips at his words. I stretch my arms above my head, cracking my neck. I don’t miss how his eyes follow the hem of my shirt as it rises, or how his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow.

I grin, my hands going to my hips. “Put me in, Coach.”

“I seem to remember that gigantic head of yours going on about HORSE. Let’s see what ya got, big talker.” He tosses the basketball toward my chest, making my breath whoosh out of me when I catch it.

And so we play.

I throw from about two feet away and squeal when it goes in.

He easily mimics the move.

He shoots from the free-throw line, jogging backward after he makes it. “Nothin’ but net, baby.”

“Kobe!” I yell, attempting the same shot. The ball bounces off the rim and rolls to Eli’s feet. He’s keeled over laughing as he picks it up. I flip him off.

He does some fancy move where he runs up to the rim and jumps, twisting his body to toss the ball through the net with one hand.

I scoff. “Hardly fair. I barely know how to shoot. You’re just showin’ off now.”

He chuckles and swaggers over, placing the ball in my hands and walking around until he’s behind me. He’s so close I feel the tingles of electricity radiating off his body as they snap at my back. I grip the ball tighter.

“First...” His fingers thread through my curls as he angles my face toward the rim. “You need to eye the target.” He pulls slightly before releasing the strands, causing a shiver to race dow

n my spine. His rough hands ghost over my sides, goose bumps sprouting as his fingers grip my hips. He adjusts me, squeezing once, and continues his trek.

My legs tremble and I bite my lip to keep from moaning at his touch.

“Next, you need to have an open stance.” He kneels behind me, his palms sliding along the inside of my thighs until he reaches my knees, pushing them open. The light caress of his fingertips on my bare skin sends a tendril of arousal spiraling through my body, heating me from the inside and making my cheeks flush.

“Point your feet toward the left side of the basket.”

I angle them. “Like this?” I ask, breathlessly.

He raises back up, his breath blowing on my neck as he leans in close. “Perfect.” His voice is raspy and low. I suck in a breath.

His palms glide over my shoulders and down my arms until his big hands dwarf my small ones. I’m transfixed at the sight of them contrasting against the basketball’s leather.

“Now this part is the most important. Are you payin’ attention?”

His accent slips through, making my stomach tighten. I nod, the back of my head rubbing against his slick chest.

“Move the ball into the shot pocket.” He moves our arms until the ball is situated several inches above my waist and aiming directly at the basket. I’m panting, my breasts heaving from the inability to catch my breath.

His fingers weave through mine, manipulating them until they’re positioned the way he wants. He lifts our arms until they’re raised level to my head. “Hand positioning is important.”

His palms disappear and my fingers twitch at the loss. But soon enough they’re back, one pressing into my stomach, while the other rests on my right arm. “Make sure you use your legs, core, and arm strength to shoot.” He pushes into me and propels us forward. The heat of his body wraps around me and my ass pushes into his very prominent, stiff erection.

Oh my God.

I blow out a heavy breath, afraid that if I move an inch—a fucking centimeter—that my control will snap and I’ll maul him right here in the middle of the court.

His hand leaves my stomach, moving up my body until it rests on my left arm.

“Now shoot.” His whisper tickles my ear, shockwaves rippling through me. My body obeys his command before my mind can even process what he said. I let the ball fly and it swooshes through the net.

I don’t even care. I twist my upper body in his arms, my eyes clashing with baby blues.

It’s a second...

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