Coach Love(13)

“Hey, baby,” Kent called out. “What’s taking so long?”

She put the brush in her mouth and moved it, robot-like, mind fuzzing over making her wonder how she could fake this with him today. After spitting into the antique sink, she raised her head and flinched at the sight of him in the mirror, right behind her, naked already and grinning like a cat with a belly full of canary.

He turned her, cupping the back of her neck, covering her lips at the same time. She tried to resist, tried not to resist, and finally molded to him, repeating her mantra of this man is good, this is the man you want. He lifted her scrub shirt over her head, tangling her in it.

“I’ve got it.” Shoving him away, she ignored the problem on eye level with her as she got out of her work pants and unhooked her bra. With a hopeful smile, she reached down for his flaccid penis.

“Nope, not today,” he said, scooping her up and dropping her onto the squeaky bed. He dropped over her breasts, sucking and tugging at her nipples, making her squirmy and breathless.

“Please.... I need....” She threaded her fingers in his hair as he went to work between her legs, drawing not one but two luscious, shuddery orgasms from her. She focused on the ceiling, wishing he’d get it—that she’d rather he stop—but unable to make him, knowing he needed to do it in order to get and stay aroused.

Finally, as she was getting a little raw around the edges, embarrassed by the puddle of fluid that had collected under her butt, she touched his sweaty shoulder. “Hon? You...ready yet?”

When he rose to his knees, his lips were slick, his face pensive. Cara’s chest constricted at the sight of his amazing, cut torso that he took such pride in—the six pack, the biceps, the trim waist. The sight of his impressive erection made her smile.

The memory of her first time with him—a down-and-dirty quickie—hit the front of her brain as the sickening irony of what she’d done the night before passed across her consciousness.

I am some kinda drunk slut, for certain.

She’d been in Louisville for a continuing-education-session weekend. They’d met at a bar and, after flirting like mad over a couple of gin and tonics, they’d shared an expensive bottle of wine he’d insisted on buying. He’d been the most amazing specimen of man who’d ever noticed her, much less paid her so much attention in her adult life.

Watching him from her prone position, legs sprawled, raw from his relentless licking and sucking, she conjured memories of their more successful lovemaking sessions.

He remained on his knees, never breaking eye contact. She’d let him take her in a bathroom stall that first night, the memory causing her to flush even now. He’d been rough, pulling her hair, biting her shoulder, pounding into her from behind after fingering her to a quick climax. It had been the wildest thing she’d done since dumping Kieran nearly six years prior.

The series of events that had led her from that smelly, sweaty, drunk encounter to the present, engaged to the most successful, caretaking man in six counties who had a hard time getting it up, boggled her mind. Observing him now, as if he were a stranger, a bizarre, gooey feeling filled her chest. Love, she supposed, exhaling when he entered her body.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into her neck. She held him close and forced similar words of response from her lips.





Chapter Seven





Kieran groaned when the sunlight whammed him right in the eyes. Tugging the towel over his face he attempted to resume his floating, half-sleeping state, knowing that he had no real choice if he wanted to get past the hangover—and the guilt.

Cara.

Goddamn me to hell, did I really get drunk and screw the one woman I’ve spent the last six years obsessing over?

Yep.

Sure enough I did.

He had the headache, queasy stomach, and a sticky cock to prove it. But he didn’t really remember much past the fifth—or maybe sixth—glass of wine. He didn’t even recall how they got to her place, but he did remember how kissing her had felt like the most natural act in the known universe. Drifting away from what had to be done today, now that the weekend had come and gone and he had to face Melinda with the facts, he tried to pry the memory of the actual act from his memory banks.

The sun warmed his limbs and torso as he floated along to thoughts of his teenager self, with the world spread out before him like the biggest, richest smorgasbord available. Sure he had to work out every day, rising many mornings at 4 a.m. to fit it in around school and his chores. Sure his body hurt every day from running, lifting, playing games, doing yard work, and hauling kegs around. But he’d been king shit of turd mountain, so he could take the physical discomfort. The thought made him chuckle under the towel, which brought a wince of pain when his head pounded again.