Anything He wants

When I hear Coach Nick arrive back at the apartment, I quickly hang up the call with my family and listen for his footsteps. I realize that it’s been several hours, and it’s now dark outside, although the city continues to glow like dense stars in the darkness.

I hear Coach walking across the apartment and the soft jangle of keys. I hop up off my bed and hurry out into the hall to intercept him as he comes toward the bedrooms.

Not only am I eager to hear what the corporate sponsor had to say, but I can’t stay away from Nick. Even though he wasn’t gone too long, and I only just met him anyway, I can’t deny that I missed his presence.

It’s hard not to get attached, especially when he’s my only known contact out here in the big city.

He looks somewhat surprised to see me, and I’m delighted to see him. He’s dressed sharply like earlier, only now his tie is loosened and swept over one shoulder and his jacket is folded over his arm.

His black undershirt barely conceals the powerful, muscular chest and arms underneath.

There’s a rugged edge to his charm right now, and it’s doing dirty things to my body. I fold my arms over my chest and shrink in on myself a little, suddenly feeling exposed even though I’m wearing a modest set of print pajamas.

Like he can read my X-rated thoughts when I look at him. Like he knows I’m wet between the thighs for him.

What is wrong with me? He’s not supposed to be my lover. He’s my coach! He’s a father figure, not boyfriend potential. I’m a young, innocent virgin with career ambitions– what am I doing falling all over myself for a guy a decade and a half older than me?

“Oh, you’re still awake. I thought you might be asleep by now after a long day of travel,” he greets me warmly.

“I didn’t want to miss you,” I admit.Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

He smiles. “You don’t have to stay up past your bedtime for me.”

I blush deeply. “I’m nineteen. I’m more of an adult than you think,” I blurt out.

Coach raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer, looking intensely at me. His eyes burn right through to my very core. Like he can see every part of me. Unclothed, unhidden.

“You’re right. You’re certainly not a child,” he agrees softly.

There’s that same tension between us again. We’re both holding back.

Just barely.

He clears his throat. “Anyway. Tomorrow will be a full day of work.” “Practice?” I ask.

“Eventually. But first, you need to settle in and decompress. Get used to the city, find your bearings. I can help you with that. But for tonight, just get some rest,” he insists.

“Okay. See you in the morning?” I pipe up.

He reaches out and touches my shoulder with one large hand. I feel his body heat like a shock of electricity. I’m tingly and hot all over from that one light touch.

“Goodnight, Carly,” he says.

“Night, Coach,” I reply.

He gives me a nod and disappears into his bedroom. I watch the door close. Then I slip back into my own room and climb into bed, pressing my ear against the wall. I can hear him moving around in his room. Footsteps, kicking off his shoes, humming under his breath. I smile when I note that he actually has a very pleasant voice. And then it dawns on me that he’s taking his clothes off. I hear the faint jingle of a belt buckle, then the whip of a zipper. I picture him getting naked, putting visuals to the sounds I catch through the wall. I imagine his brawny chest and sculpted arms. I want to run my fingers along the ridges of his abs. I want him to fold me up tight in his powerful embrace. I reply the moment of our hug in the airport. The way he took me into his arms so instinctively. He sensed that I needed a hug and he leaned in. I remember his heart thumping under my cheek. The first time I inhaled his masculine scent that drives me wild.

Through the wall, I hear him get into bed. The mattress squeaks faintly and I hear the soft rustle of bedsheets, then the flick of a lamp turning on. I sink down into my pillows with my cheek still turned to the wall. My hand trails down the front of my pajama pants. I cup my tingly, aching mound in my palm and stifle a moan as I listen to Coach in bed. I picture him listening to me the same way, both of us silently fantasizing about the other. We’re a world away, and there are canyons of professional boundaries between us, but at the same time… he’s right there. Just on the other side of the wall. If I were to go one door further down the hall, we would be together. Maybe together in his bed. So close, yet so far.

But what I can’t see, I can imagine. I picture him sliding his hand inside his boxers, stroking his magnificent cock. I lick my lips at the idea of tasting him. I wish I knew how it feels to choke on his rod, feel him push down my throat and come all over my pretty face. My fingers circle my overstimulated clit while my mind runs wild. I hear a rhythmic rustling of bedsheets– like he really is touching himself while I do the same.

Just a wall away.

I caress my full breasts, I insert one dainty finger inside my dripping cunny. I rut against my own hand while I listen to Coach’s soft breaths and sighs. I let out a little moan of pleasure when I gush come all over my fingers, and I barely try to conceal it. In fact, I hope he hears me moan.

In this moment, I’m so fiery with desire, I don’t care who knows– I’m hopelessly attracted to my new father figure, and I wish he would march into this bedroom and take my virginity. I drift off to sleep with my hand still tucked into my pajama pants, and my dreams take the shape of Coach Nick and me, alone together on a stage again. This time, we get a little closer.

In the morning, I awaken to the smell of coffee and omelettes after a restful night. I peel myself out of bed and into some cozy workout clothes, then head down to the kitchen.

My jaw drops when I turn the corner to find Coach Nick cooking breakfast in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, his silverstreaked hair still damp from a morning shower. He turns to smile at me and I force myself to look normal.

“Morning. Sleep well?” he greets me.

I slide onto a stool at the eat-in counter and he sets a plate of food in front of me.

“Mhm. Wow, that smells incredible,” I reply. My stomach yowls in agreement.

“Egg white omelette with spinach, veggies, and pesto. You drink coffee?” he asks.

“I would get it in an IV drip if I could,” I answer.

He chuckles. “Likewise.”

He slides a steaming mug of fragrant, high-quality coffee next to my plate.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask between bites. “Balance beam? Pilates?”

“How about a luxury shopping trip and a French restaurant?” he suggests.

My eyes go round with wonder. “Wait. Really?” I breathe.

Coach nods, looking pleased with my reaction. “Just a day to decompress. Get used to the city. Plus, you’ll need new, top of the line gear, not to mention formal outfits for events. How’s that sound?” he asks.

I’m positively brimming with excitement. “Oh my god. Heavenly.”

We quickly finish breakfast, get cleaned up, and dressed for a lovely day out in the city. I’m still in shock as Louis drives Coach and I all over Manhattan.

We hit up every designer shop on each block. We buy formal gowns, leotards, upscale skincare and makeup, new acro shoes, a plethora of glittery costumes, handbags, perfumes, even a pair of sleek heels that cost more than my whole wardrobe combined. Everywhere we go, people know Nick Thomson.

He’s a VIP in every club, it seems. His list of connections is endless. And when I’m beside him, people treat me with more respect than I’ve ever felt. I stand up straighter.

I feel taller, stronger, more confident with every moment I spend by his side. Just before we head to the restaurant for our reservation, we dip into one last boutique.

I look around at all the lacy, naughty lingerie on display. Crotchless panties. Bondage sets. Roleplay ensembles that make me blush.

“Anything you want is yours,” Coach says.

I’ve never picked out expensive lingerie before, but with my newfound self esteem, I manage to pick out a few sets that really show off my curves. I look at myself in the gilded mirror of the dressing room and feel a swell of self-love.

I look like a dream. I look like a girl who’s good enough to stick any landing, and land any hottie.