Page 6 of The Coach

I close my eyes, concentrating on what Brad is doing to me, the circular motion sending thrills through my whole body as he rubs my most sensitive spot with his skilled fingers. The sensation is almost too much to take. I get the familiar tell sweep over me, and my body convulses around his cock, waves of pleasure throbbing through me. Again, I scream into his hand, unable to control myself.

When I'm done quivering, he pulls his hand away from my mouth, bending me over farther. I don't even care what he does right now, I'm having an out-of-body experience. This is all so hot, so much more than I could have envisioned when I agreed to come back here tonight.

Grabbing me with both hands around my hips, his fingertips bite into my flesh as he really lets me have it, pumping me hard a few times before I feel his body tense and he slams into me one last time, filling me. I whimper out a cry, but I loved every last bit of it.

"Fuck, that was hot." He stills, pulling out of me, and I turn around and drop my head to his chest, searching for words.

"Oh my God," I pant, trying to catch my breath. That was so…

He scoops me up in his muscular arms and carries me inside to the bed where he lays me down carefully. His passionate gaze hasn't lost its intensity. I pull the comforter back and climb into bed. He's right there with me, rolling on top of me, his lips back on mine.

I can't stop kissing him. I don't want to. I feel this crazy amount of attraction to him, one that can't be satisfied with just one round. That scene on the balcony was insane, and I get the impression we're far from done here tonight. I want so much more and so does he.

I have just met my match on the soccer field and in the bedroom. It's almost a shame I only get to have him for one night. I could definitely get used to this.

I wakein the early hours of the morning, the sky just lightening in pale pinks and oranges. The view is just as stunning at this hour. I stretch a little, trying not to wake up the gorgeous man next to me. My body aches, but it's a delicious pain, one of being more satisfied than I think I have ever been.

Last night was something else. Brad convinced me to stay the night with a promise of buffet breakfast this morning, and how could I resist? I love my food. And I wouldn't mind taking that massive jet tub for a spin before we get out of here as well.

Not to mention that, for the first time in a really long time, I didn't feel like running straight from the room after we finished fucking. I wanted to stay and have his arms wrapped around me as I slept. He is someone entirely different from who I thought he would be, and I liked whatever it was we shared.

I know he'll go back to England today and I will never see him again, but having that night together was amazing and something I will cherish forever. Because honestly, I've never experienced that level of connection with another human before. It was something else.

I tiptoe to the bathroom, and on the way back, I grab my phone from my bag. There are two missed calls and a text from Jasmine, all from last night. I flick open the message and feel the color drain from my face. My euphoric buzz is gone instantly as I read her words.

Jasmine:Abort mission, the asshole is married!!

My hands tremble. Brad's married? My actual worst-case scenario with a one-night stand. What the actual fuck.

Why didn't I look at my phone last night? I don't remember ever hearing about him getting married in the tabloids, but I suppose it could be more recent, when he dropped off their radar.

I glance over to where he's sleeping. He is fucking perfect, of course he's married. I cover my mouth so I don't cry out loud and wake him. I need to get the hell out of here before he wakes up and I kill him. Angry tears prick at my eyes. If there is one thing I hate in this world, it's fucking cheaters. And to think this guy has had hero status in my mind for years. That two-timing piece of shit. Oh God, his poor wife. I'm the worst person in the world.

Shit, shit, shit, I need to get out of here.

I scoop up my clothes from the bedroom floor and take them to the bathroom, rushing to pull them on. I grab a lipstick from my bag and leave a note on the bathroom mirror for the adulterating dickhead. Because I can't help myself. I don't want to face him, but I fucking want him to know why I'm taking off. He won't get away with this completely.

When I'm done, I rush back into the room, grabbing my boots and slamming the door as I go. I hope it wakes him with a fright. My hands are shaking I'm so mad with him, with myself.

How did I let this happen? I just spent the night with someone else's husband. I know I'm not perfect. I sleep around a lot but never with someone else's man. I feel dirty, cheap, and used. I try to think back to last night. I definitely didn't see a wedding band on his hand. He must have planned to do the dirty on his wife while he was out of town and took it off.

I storm down the hall of the hotel, not caring who I wake up at the early hour, and decide to take the stairs. I don't need to relive the memory of the elevator. He's lucky I don't know where his car is or I would mess it up and go all Carrie Underwood on it.

His line from last night comes back to me:I promise you won't regret it. My fucking ass! I have never regretted anything more in my life. I let him use me, and what's worse, he got under my skin in more ways than just physically. I felt something for someone for the first time in forever, and that makes me the biggest idiot ever, because I fucking know better.

Chapter Three

Brad

It's4pm when I arrive at the main soccer training field for the Angels, Los Angeles's professional women's team. It's been a month since I was here last for my interview with the club's general manager, about a job at the time I wasn't even sure I wanted.

This wasn't the plan for my career. My entire life had been set up to play soccer at the highest level until I could retire, then I would work out the rest. And that's exactly what I did for ten years. I played for Chelsea as the striker, one of the best players in the league. I still hold the record for the highest goals scored in a year. But I was forced into early retirement two years ago when I was injured playing the season final. I was taken out completely with an illegal kick to the back of my knee. The blow shattered my kneecap and any hope of me ever playing again. My team went on to win the final with the penalty goal kick they got because of it, but that was it for me. Even after reconstructive surgery. I can walk on it fine, but I won't ever play again—not at the level I would like to, anyway.

I was completely devastated. Soccer was my life, and I couldn't see what my next move should be, so I took two years off to concentrate on the life I was building with my then girlfriend Madeline.

I'd been in limbo since, until a good friend of mine and the assistant coach here, Ava, told me about the coach position opening up for one of the top women's teams in the National Women's Soccer League of America. So I jumped on a plane to find out more. Turns out they thought I was a perfect match, and here I am, relocated across the world for a second time and starting all over again.

I seek out the current coach and move to stand with him, where he's making calls from the sidelines. "Hi, Mitch."

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