Neither of us moves. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, can see the war playing out behind his eyes—want and restraint, desire and denial.
"Sloane—" His voice is gravel and smoke, and hearing my name in that tone makes me want to combust.
"Can we get tacos tonight, Uncle Ike?!" Riley asks, walking up.
Ike releases my leg and straightens up in record speed. He clears his throat, and just like that, the mask of Uncle Ike slides back into place.
I exhale slowly, trying to get my heartbeat under control. My leg still tingles where his hands were.
"Sure thing." His voice is almost normal. Almost. "Tacos sound good."
She cheers, oblivious to anything she might’ve interrupted. “I’ll check Insta to see where theMariposa Taqueriais parkedright now." She looks at me. "Coach Sloane, you should totally come! These tacos are likesooogood.”
"Coach Sloane needs to rest her knee tonight," Ike cuts in smoothly. He looks at me, and there's something in his eyes I can't read. "Ice it. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. And stay off your feet."
It's not a suggestion. It's a command.
And my insides melt at being told what to do. "Yes, Captain," I say softly, holding his gaze.
His eyes darken for just a second before he turns away. "Come on, Riley. Let's go."
"Bye, Coach Sloane! Hope your knee feels better soon!"
"Thanks, kid." But I'm not looking at her. I'm looking at him—at the rigid set of his shoulders as he walks away, the controlled movements.
Whatever this thing is between us, he felt it.
Iknowit.
I stay on the bleacher until his truck disappears down the road, my knee throbbing and my whole body buzzing with want.
By the time I limp into my cabin, the adrenaline has faded and the ache in my knee is competing with the ache between my thighs.
I drop my bag by the door and head straight for the bathroom.
Hot bath. I’m following his orders.
I crank the faucet and strip out of my sweaty clothes while the tub fills. The mirror shows my flushed cheeks, bright eyes, lips I've been biting all afternoon. I look like a woman who's been thoroughly wound up and left wanting.
Because I am.
I settle into the bath, the hot water enveloping my aching muscles. My knee throbs for a moment, then eases up as the heat seeps in.
I slide my hand down my stomach beneath the water, trailing my fingers over my hip, my thigh. I remember the heat of Ike’s palms through my leggings, the way his fingers touched my leg.
What would it feel like if he touched me for real? If he slid those hands up my bare thighs?
My fingers find my center, and I gasp at how on edge I already am.
I stroke pussy slowly, the way I imagine he would. Patiently and thoroughly. Making me wait for it becausehe'sthe one in control.
"That's it,"I whisper to myself, his voice playing in my head, low and husky."Just like that. Let me see how much you want me."
I circle my clit, teasing, and my hips roll up against my hand. The water sloshes against the sides of the tub, but I barely notice. I'm too lost in the fantasy.
He's kneeling between my legs, those gray eyes dark with want, watching me get more and more needy. His hands are on my thighs, holding them open, and his voice is a growl against my skin.
"You've been such a good girl, letting Daddy know what you need."
