Her Filthy Coach - Page 3

It’s like the taut thread of tension between us has snapped. As the door swings closed behind us with an echoey bang, our lips meet in a greedy, demanding kiss that steals every particle of air from my lungs. All the frustration we’ve felt for each other over the last two hours is poured into the press of our mouths, the tangle of tongues and nipping teeth.

Isaac’s fingers thread through my ponytail, twisting the hair in his grip. My scalp stings a little as he tugs, and I gasp, heat rushing through me at his rough, strong handling. He pulls back, pupils blown as his gaze holds mine.

“Don’t make threats you won’t follow through on, Iris,” Isaac says, making me shiver.

It takes my brain a minute to catch on to what he means, so fried from the kiss that my usual quick comebacks fail to rise in answer. The memory of my own taunts fills my brain.

What the hell do I have to do to make it to you for being late then? Suck your dick?

I grin at him, leaning into the hold he has on my hair, relishing it. “I don’t,” I answer him, watching the way surprise widens his eyes ever so slightly.

Wanting to push him and this further, I keep my eyes locked on his and sink to my knees. The tiled floor is cold and hard beneath my knees as I settle into position. Isaac hasn’t loosened his grip on me and I hope he doesn’t. I want him to lose control, to give into this the way I can sense he wants to. I’ve never felt anything like this before, like somehow being on my knees in the locker room for my new coach is just…right.

“Fuck, Iris,” Isaac grits out, and I shiver at the way he says my name. He must see the determination in my eyes because he shudders out a sigh before that familiar strict, controlling mask slips back over his face. He tugs on me a little, pulling me closer so my face is level with the bulge in his pants. “Take my cock out.”

The command is as intoxicating as our conversation, and I do as he says without a fight. Perhaps, for anyone else, I’d have snapped back at the demand, but here? Here, I want to prove that I’m a woman of my word. I want to show him exactly why he shouldn’t underestimate me. I want to wreck him.

I tug his pants down and gasp as I take him in for the first time. Long and thick, his cock is as ridiculously perfect as the rest of him.

Isaac’s free hand cups my chin, his thumb running over my bottom lip. “Open,” he orders, and I do, letting my jaw drop open wide.

Slowly, like he’s savoring this as much as I am, he pushes his cock between my lips, filling my mouth until he hits the back of my throat. I swallow around him, inhaling through my nose so I don’t gag.

“Now suck,” he growls.

If it’s possible to smirk with my mouth so full, I would’ve. Instead, I just follow his instructions.

A ragged groan falls from Isaac’s mouth as I wrap my lips around him and hollow my cheeks, leaning further forward to take him right to the base. In seconds, I find my rhythm, bobbing my head, helped by his hold on my hair.

“God, Iris, your mouth really was made for sin,” my coach groans as I keep up my pace, trailing my tongue along the base of him as I pull back, just to take him down my throat yet again. “Fuck, you’re going to make me come.”

I hum around him in encouragement, absolutely on board with that plan. The ragged edge in his voice shoots heat right through me, a needy throb settling between my thighs. His strict control is disappearing under my touch, and I love it.

He warns me with another order before he shatters fully. “Swallow it, Iris,” he growls out, the words more of a moan than a steely demand.

I glance up at him through my lashes, molten heat working through my body as I see the utter desire in his features. He stares down at me with something like awe in his eyes, and even though I’m on my knees for him, I’ve never felt more powerful.

I moan and take his cock as deep as I can, hearing him groan as his hand tightens in my hair. He comes in a hot rush, down my throat and coating my tongue. I swallow as he pulls out, making sure to get every drop.

We’re both panting as we look at each other.

“I fucking knew that bratty mouth of yours would feel like heaven,” he groans, reaching for me. He pulls me to my feet, but before I can get my balance, he spins us, lowering me down onto the bench behind him. “Now it’s my turn. Tell me, my pretty little slut, are you wet from sucking my cock, huh?”

Nobody’s ever called me that before, and though I flush with embarrassment at the term, my whole body lights up with pleasure. It’s degrading, but I like it. He says it with lust dripping from the words.

He yanks me to the edge of the bench, so my legs hang over the edge. Isaac hooks his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and panties but pauses, holding my eyes. I give him a small nod, agreeing to whatever the hell he wants to do to me. I’m so out of my mind with lust that I don’t even care that we’re in a locker room where anyone could walk in and catch us, or that I’m doing this with my coach. If anything, that only makes it hotter.

In seconds, he has me naked from the waist down, hands cupping my thighs and spreading me wide for him. I can feel how wet I am for him, and I know he must be able to see it, too.

“God, Iris, you’re going to be the death of me,” Isaac groans, kneeling at the end of the bench and leaning forward to kiss my thigh. I shudder, desperate for him to touch me. “Though dying between your pretty thighs is a good way to go.”

I gasp as he licks me, tongue dipping inside me hungrily, lapping and tasting and devouring me.

“You taste like mine,” Isaac moans, and I arch off the bench, uncaring that the wooden slats dig into my back. I can barely feel anything except the euphoria of Isaac’s mouth on me. “Say it, Iris.”

“Yours,” I pant, happy to answer him as long as he doesn’t stop circling my clit with his tongue.

“My what?” he pushes, drawing back so his breath ghosts over my needy clit. I’m so close. I need to come. I need him to make me.