Page 1 of Stalked By the Coach

CHAPTERONE

Burke

The whistle piercesthe humid air, a shrill blast that cuts through the grunts and pounding footsteps on the track. My voice booms out next, gruff and commanding.

"Faster! Dig deep!"

They respond, my athletes, faces contorted in effort as they push their bodies to the limit. I feel the familiar swell of pride in my chest as I watch them strive and suffer under my guidance. This is why I coach, to mold these young minds and bodies into something greater.

My hands rest on my hips, feet planted firmly on the turf. I know I cut an imposing figure, years of training having honed my body into a solid mass of muscle and sinew. My white t-shirt clings to my chest, damp with sweat. Wisps of dark hair poke out from under my cap. My skin is tanned and weathered, my jaw square. I look every bit the rugged coach.

The whistle screeches again, signaling the end of the drill. Chests heave and muscles tremble as the team circles up for a quick debrief. I join them, my keen eyes assessing each athlete in turn. They've worked hard today, pushed themselves to new limits under my strict tutelage. I nod, satisfied.

"Hit the showers. I'll see you all tomorrow, six o’clock sharp."

As they shuffle off, one figure catches my eye. My chest tightens. A lithe blonde ponytail swings behind a petite, feminine frame. She's new. I watch as she grabs her gear, admiring the leonine grace with which she moves. A curious feeling stirs inside me, one I quickly suppress.

No, I remind myself.I'm her coach, nothing more. With a grunt, I turn and stride back across the emptying field, my mind already leaping ahead to tomorrow's practice.

I turn back to glance at the blonde once more before she disappears into the women's locker room. Something about her pulls at me, awakening an unfamiliar longing. Shaking my head, I try to redirect my thoughts to the task at hand—preparing for tomorrow's training session.

My passion for coaching runs deep. I pour my entire being into shaping and motivating these young athletes, instilling in them the grit, determination and mental toughness required to excel. My methods may be tough, but they get results. And the kids respond to me. They respect my authority, trust in my guidance. I push them hard, but they know I care.

As I gather up stray equipment, I catch my reflection in a puddle—rugged and imposing as always, but with warm, kind eyes that reassure and connect. Eyes that tell my athletes, "I believe in you, I'm here for you, we're in this together." Eyes that build bonds of loyalty and trust not easily broken.

I feel a swell of pride in the program I've built. Tomorrow will be another chance to share my passion with a new generation of talent, to mold them into champions. My thoughts drift back to the blonde and the raw potential I sense in her. I'm eager to unlock it, to see her transform under my tutelage. My mind instantly goes to all the other things I could school her in, and I close my eyes in shame. Fuck, what this girl does to me is disgusting. I’m at least twice her age.

I shake my head. I need to focus on preparations for my team. Shouldering the heavy bag of gear, I stride purposefully toward the equipment shed, mind racing with ideas for tomorrow's session. My work is never done, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

The sun beats down relentlessly as I pace the track, stopwatch in hand. Sweat drips from the brows of my athletes as they push themselves to the limit under my watchful eye. "C'mon, pick up the pace! You call that a sprint?" I bark. Beside me, that lithe blonde ponytail that drives me crazy bobs up and down as its owner laps the others with ease.

It's the new girl.Lydia Hartman. I can't take my eyes off her. I've never seen technique like that before, a natural grace combined with fierce determination. As she passes me again, I get a closer look at her face—young but serious, with a competitive fire burning behind those cerulean eyes.

"Alright, take five!" I call out, blowing my whistle. The others gratefully collapse onto the grass while the blonde jogs lightly in place, barely winded. I approach her.

“Great form, Lydia.”

She beams under my praise, and my chest tightens at the jolt of electricity that shoots through me at her full smile beaming atme. Up close she's even more striking—long limbs, perfect form.

“Thanks, Coach.” How the fuck does her sweet voice have my cock pressing against my zipper like a panting dog begging for attention?

I clear my throat and try to think of anything other than what those sweet lips would feel like wrapped around my aching length.

Lydia heads back to the track as I turn my attention to the other students.

"Alright everyone, gather round! We're gonna work on starts today."

The group assembles around me, some still breathing hard from the workout. I make eye contact with each one, giving encouragement and feedback tailored to their needs.

"Ethan, you've got those long legs. Really drive off the blocks and get some power behind your stride."

He nods, hanging on my every word.

"Amy, you're looking strong. Just remember to stay low coming out of the blocks—you'll shave time off your starts."

Amy beams at the praise. I know just how to motivate each of them.

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