Page 26 of Filled

I do not touch her. My hands stay on the wall. My chest hovers an inch from hers. My mouth is right there, close enough to feel her exhale on my lips, and I don’t close the gap.

“Say that again.”

It’s a warning. It’s supposed to be a warning. It comes out like a dare.

Her eyes widen, pupils swallowing the hazel. Her tongue darts out again and this time it almost touches my chin.

“Daddy.”

I press forward. Not my mouth. My hips. Just enough that she feels the hard, unmistakable line of me against the soft give of her belly through her shorts. Her whole body shudders.

“Oh.” Her head tips back against the wall. Her throat is right there. Pulse hammering. “Oh,fuck, Coach…”

“This is what you wanted?”

“I—”

“To have me acknowledge that you can make me lose my mind?”

“I didn’t?—”

“Yes, you did.” I press a fraction harder. Her fingers fly up and fist in the front of my shirt and she does not pull me closer and she does not push me away. She just holds on. “Look at you. You’re shaking.”

“You’re shaking too.”

I am. I can feel it in my forearms, the fine tremor running through me from holding myself off her. Every inch of my body is screaming at me to drop my mouth to hers, to slide my palm between her legs, to find out if she’s as wet as I think she is.

I don’t.

“This isn’t happening, Fisher.”

“It’s happening right now.”

“This.” I drag my eyes down from her parted lips, to her flushed throat, to her chest heaving against the inch of air I’m keeping between us and back up again. “Goes no further. Are we clear?”

She makes a small sound. Almost a whimper. Her hips give the tiniest roll forward, seeking pressure I’m not giving her.

“Are we clear, Dakota?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Good girl.”

The words slip before I can catch them and her eyes flutter shut and her grip on my shirt goes white-knuckled. I have to step back right now or I am going to do something that ends my career and her trust in the same breath.

I step back.

The air between us rushes in cold. She stays against the wall, chest rising and falling, mouth open, looking thoroughly undone. Her thighs are pressed together and there’s a visible damp patch over her cunt.

Fuck.

“Hit the shower.” My voice has gravel in it. “A cold one.”

“Coach—”

“Go, Fisher. Now.”

She pushes off the wall. Walks past me on legs that don’t quite seem to be holding her up properly. At the edge of the mats, she pauses and looks back over her shoulder, hair half-fallen out of its knot, mouth swollen from where she kept biting her lip.