You’re a professional, a grown man. You’re the head coach of the United States Men’s National Team. Do NOT fucking get hard in the White House!
I drag my gaze back to her face, but that doesn’t fucking help. At all. All I see is high cheekbones. Full lips painted a deep berry color that makes me think about what they’d look like wrapped around my…
Stop. Fucking stop. NOW!
Her eyes are scanning the room, sharp and intelligent, missing nothing. She’s smiling her public smile, polished, practiced, but even that makes my balls ache. I wonder what her real smile looks like. The one she’d give in bed, satisfied, lazy,mine.
I’m so fucking fucked.
The next twenty minutes are the longest of my life. Lina works the room, greeting players, asking questions. I watch her like a goddamn creep, tracking her every movement. The way she tilts her head when she listens. How she laughs, warm and real, at something one of my guys says. And, of course, her laugh goes straight to my dick.
This is insane. You’re being fucking insane, Levi.
But then she’s moving toward the coaching staff. Toward me. My pulse kicks up. I roll my shoulders and plant my feet.
It’s just a handshake. Don’t be weird. Don’t stare at her tits. Don’t say anything stupid.
First, she greets Danny. And I use those seconds to pull myself together. Breathe. Focus.
Fuck, she smells incredible. Something warm and expensive that cuts through everything else in the room and goes straight to my hindbrain. I want to bury my face between her breasts and inhale, lick, bite, fucking taste…
Then she’s in front of me.
“Coach Hendricks.” Her voice is even sexier up close. Low and smooth, with warmth under the formality. It slides over my skin like a touch. “Thank you for being here. The country is proud of what you and the team have accomplished.”
She extends her hand, and I take it. Her palm is soft against mine, her grip firm. My fingers and palm swallow hers completely, delicate against my rough. I feel the cool press of herrings, the warmth of her skin. So, of course, I hold on too long. I know I do. Can’t bring myself to fucking care.
“The pleasure is all mine, Madam President.” My voice comes out rough. Low. I watch her pupils dilate, just barely…
Fuck, she feels it too.
“I’ve followed your career,” Lina says, and my heart fucking stumbles. “The program you built in Europe. Impressive work.”
She knows my work? She fucking looked me up?!
It was probably just briefing materials. Doesn’t mean anything. But my idiot heart doesn’t care about logic.
“I’m a fan of yours too,” I say.
I let the words land exactly how I mean them. NotI voted for you.NotI support your policies.
I’m a fan. Of you.
Her lips part. I watch her throat move as she swallows. And there it is, barely visible against her dark skin, heat rising at her neck, spreading to her cheeks.
Yeah. She definitely felt that.
“My friends call me Levi,” I add. Still holding her hand.
Her composure cracks. Just a little more. Her eyes widen, her breath catches, and for one perfect second, she’s not the President of the United States. She’s just a woman, looking at me like she’s trying to figure out what the hell is happening.
Same, sweetheart. Same.
“Well,” Lina recovers, slipping her hand from mine. But her smile is different now. Softer. Real. “Good luck in the tournament, Coach Hendricks.”
She moves to the next person.
I stand there, heart pounding, the ghost of her hand still warm on my palm.
