Page 30 of Filled

She rises on shaky legs and sits on the narrow wooden bench bolted to the wall. I drop to my knees in front of her and yank her shorts and underwear off in one pull, tossing them somewhere behind me.

“Look at this.”

She’s drenched. Glistening. Her thighs tremble when I press them apart.

“Cruz, God, this is so?—”

“So what?”

“So fucked.”

“Yeah.” I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Real fucked.”

I drag her tank up over her sports bra and shove the bra above her tits, and they bounce free andfuck, she’s perfect. Small handfuls, pink nipples already tight. I lean up and take one in my mouth, suck hard, and her back arches off the wall.

“Ohgod.”

I focus on one then the other, biting just enough to make her hips buck up off the bench searching for me. My hand slidesbetween her legs and one finger dips through her slit and she’s so wet it slides in without resistance.

“Tell me Coach made you this wet.”

“Cruz…”

“Tell me.”

Her hips buck against my hand and her head tips back against the stall wall with a soft thud. “He… God, he?—”

I curl my finger inside her and her whole body jolts. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“He pinned me. Against the wall.”

Everything in me goes still for half a second. Then it goes the opposite of still. “Say that again.”

“After the drill.” Her chest heaves, that pink flush blooming down her throat to her tits. “I called him the wrong name and he ran me till I couldn’t breathe and then I baited him at the water fountain.”

I add a second finger. Slow drag in, slower drag out. “What name, Fisher?”

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head.

“Uh uh. You came in here looking like that, you tell me the whole thing.” I crook my fingers up against that spot inside her and she keens, hips chasing my hand. “What name?”

“Daddy.”

The word knocks the air out of me.

“Fuck.” A laugh rips out of my chest and I drop my forehead to her thigh, grinning like an idiot. “You called CoachDaddy?”

“It slipped,” she defends.

“Bullshit it slipped.”

“Cruz,” she whines.

“What’d he do?” I lift my head, work my fingers in slow filthy circles. Her thighs are quaking against my shoulders. “When you said it. What’d that man do?”

“He went so still…”

“Yeah.”