Fable’s eyes tighten playfully. “Oh, heck yeah.”
“Betcha can’t,” I taunt, crossing my arms to goad her.
Her tongue presses into her cheek. She nudges the ball a few inches, positioning herself.
“Nuh-uh.” I wave toward the middle of the field. “You have to kick from back there, Coach.”
With a cocky grin, Fable leans over and whispers something to the girls. They squeal and giggle as Fable walks to centerfield.
Once she’s lined herself up, the Unicorns start chanting.Coach Fable. Coach Fable.And I’m not going to lie—my nerves ratchet up a few notches. She shimmies her shoulders to the beat of their chant, and I don’t even have time to realize she’s pulling her leg back before the ball is flying forward and whooshing into the tiny goal behind me. Idove too low and didn’t even touch it.
By the time I look up, the girls are tackling her to the ground, everyone whooping and hollering with delight.
It’s the morale boost everyone needed, because for the rest of practice, the girls are full steam ahead on trying to get the ball past me, and even if someone misses, they cheer enthusiastically.
When our hour ends and the girls are on their way home—mud-stained and exhausted—Fable helps me pack up. We’re the only people left at the soccer fields, and the misty rain is amping up a few notches as we carry the gear bags to the storage room behind the concession stand.
“You didn’t even see that soccer ball coming,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into me.
“Psh. Iletthat ball go through,” I lie, unlocking the door and flicking on the dim overhead light. “Didn’t want you to embarrass yourself.”
She laughs, dropping the bag of soccer balls in the corner. “You never stood a chance.”
“Rematch next time?” I ask, turning to find her waiting by the door. She’s in baggy shorts and dirty sneakers. Little stray pieces of blond hair have fallen out of her ponytail and are curling around her cheeks. There’s a splatter of mud on the side of her neck and a green tinge on her shirt from when she got tackled to the grass.
She’s messy and happy and so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“You’re doing thatlookagain,” she points out, licking her lips.
“What look?” I ask, even though I know. It’s the look of a man who’s slowly becoming obsessed with the woman he’s only temporarily allowed to have. I’m playing with borrowed time at this point but fuck if I know how to stop it.
“Like you want something,” she replies.
I let out a low hum, stepping closer. “Oh, Iwantall right.” Her breath hitches. “I want to slide my hand down these shorts. Feel that lace you teased me with.” I bring my lips to her ear. “That picture got me so damn hard I should punish you for it.”
She shivers. “I... that sounds... nice.” She steps back, her shoulders bumping against the door to shut it.
“Nice? I don’t know ifniceis the right word to describe what I want.”
Her eyes spark with flames as she reaches for the waistband of my shorts, tucking the tips of her fingers inside to pull me closer. “That’s okay. Ican handle not nice.”
I follow the tug, my hands curving around her waist, my head dipping to her neck. Idon’t think I’ll ever be over knowing her like this. The exact curve of her hip. How her pillowy soft lips feel against mine. That breathy sound of pleasure she makes. All the tiny intimate details of Fable are going to be tattooed on my brain permanently.
“Can I touch you, Theo?” she whispers, andthat—that will also be tattooed there.
“Yes.” I move my hand under the hem of her shirt to feel her soft skin against my palm. “Can I touch you?”
“Please,” she begs. Her teeth graze my throat, biting lightly, and I. Lose. My. Damn. Mind.
I lean to the side so I can slide my hand against her stomach and into her shorts. “Is this the same set you had on in that picture?”
“It is,” she says, a whimper chasing the words as I tease her through the lace.
“Oh, sweetheart.” I groan when I reach the soaked fabric. “You need it, don’t you?”
A breathyyesdrifts from her lips, and she fumbles with the button on my shorts. Ipull back in a daze, watching her work. The zipper buzzes and she tugs the fly open and when she palms me through my briefs, heat curls down my spine.
I reward her by pulling the lace to the side and sliding two fingers into her center. She cries out, clenching around me as I pump them and move my thumb over her clit. The rain picks up on the other side of the door, providing a low, drumming soundtrack to complement the sounds of pleasure rolling through the closet.
