Page 4 of Stalked By the Coach

I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a deep breath.You can do this, I tell myself.

When I open my eyes, I've made my choice. I ignore the throbbing between my legs and push my coach out of my mind as I climb into bed.

But, still, I dream of him.

* * *

The next morning, I drag myself out of bed and into my gear, muscles protesting after yesterday's brutal workout. But the ache in my body is nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest, and I welcome the pain. It's a reminder of my resolve, a penance for my weakness.

When I enter the track, Coach Thompson is waiting. His expression is blank, giving nothing away, but his eyes light up a the sight of me. My heart flutters, but I try to tamp down my excitement at the sight of him. Guilt stabs at me, and I have to look away as he approaches, unable to meet his gaze.

"Lydia," he says, voice rough. I clench my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. "How's my star athlete this morning?"

He trails off and I risk a glance up, startled by the vulnerability on his face. Then it's gone, hidden behind a polite mask as he continues. "Are you okay?"

I force a smile and nod, throat tight, and follow him onto the track. We launch into the usual drills and I lose myself in the routine, trying to ignore the ache inside. But I can feel Coach Thompson’s eyes on me the entire time, his gaze like a physical touch I can't escape.

When practice ends, I grab my bag and turn to leave—only to find Coach Thompson blocking my path. I stop short, pulse racing as he steps closer, crowding me against the wall.

"Lydia, you're exceptional," he says softly, and then my breath catches as his hand raises ever so slowly. I stare up at him wide-eyed as he slowly brushes a stray hair back from my face. His fingers linger for a heartbeat, and I close my eyes to savor the sensation of his touch.

But when I open my eyes, he's gone, leaving me trembling in his wake.

* * *

That night, I lie awake for hours, restless and aching. I can't stop thinking about Coach Thompson, remembering the heat in his eyes and the roughness of his voice. My body thrums with need, sensations pooling low in my belly until I'm squirming beneath the sheets.

With a gasp, I give in and slide my hand between my legs. I'm already slick and sensitive, imagining it's Coach Thompson—Burke—touching me instead. I flush at the thought of calling him by his first name. Would he be gentle? Or would he pin me in place, grip my hips and drive into me without mercy?

A broken moan escapes me as I circle my clit, pleasure building fast and sharp. I'm close, so close—I think? Hell, I don't know. I've never had an orgasm before. Never felt the need to play with myself like this.

But something's building...something that promises to be incredible.

I imagine Coach Thompson growling in my ear, a look of possession in his eyes as he thrusts into me.

And then I'm coming with a cry, back arching off the bed as I shatter into bliss. For a few moments, there's only mindless sensation and relief.

When I come back to myself, guilt hits me like a punch to the gut. I shouldn't have done that. I can't keep indulging these twisted fantasies, no matter how good they make me feel.

Tomorrow, I'll find a way to stop thinking about my coach inappropriately. I have to stay focused on my training, on the future I've always dreamed of. I won't let anything distract me again.

With that resolution in mind, I finally drift off to sleep—and dream of warm brown eyes that see into my soul.

CHAPTERTHREE

Burke

My eyes followLydia as she sprints down the track, her lithe body moving with the grace of a gazelle. She's poetry in motion, each step igniting a fire in my veins.

Heat rises in my cheeks, my pulse quickening. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to reach for her. My thoughts swirl in a maelstrom of desire and guilt.

This is wrong. She's my student. I'm her coach. I should not feel this way.

Lydia glances in my direction, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. A coy smile plays on her lips, and she tosses her hair, the golden strands shimmering in the sunlight.

She knows. She can see it in my face, the hunger in my gaze. And she enjoys torturing me like this, teasing me, tempting me until I can no longer restrain myself.

I turn away sharply, my jaw clenched. I can't give in. I won't.

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