Chapter 2

2

IRIS

W hen we were told we were getting a new coach, I never imagined someone like Coach Thomson. And by that I mean someone so fucking hot. Seriously, this man is cover-model attractive, boasting the kind of rough and rugged appearance that I can't help but drool over.

He's tall, over six foot for sure, and as fit as if he's the player here. I can see his stomach muscles flexing through the t-shirt he wears, and when he crosses his arms, his biceps bulge. He's wearing sweatpants but I know without a doubt his legs have to be as toned as the rest of him. Combine the perfect physique with a sharp-as-hell jawline, bright blue eyes, short brown hair, and a hint of stubble and he's practically my dream man.

Despite the attitude and clear dislike he has for me, I'm no less attracted to him for it. In fact, winding him up is my new favorite game. He's obviously a hard ass and holds high standards, but if he expects me to fall in line and bow to his power, then he's got another thing coming. I grin at the thought, feeling his eyes on me as we run through the drills he's barking at us. He might question my abilities to be the captain because of the fact I was a few measly minutes late, but I'm going to prove him wrong. I care about this team more than I care about anything else, and I'm going to make him see that.

By the time we're finished running drills, we're all sweaty and panting, but I plaster a grin on my face as we line back up in front of the coach as though none of this bothers me. The tick of his jaw while his eyes skim over me is oh-so-satisfying.

"Everybody but Iris, you're dismissed," Coach Thomson calls out, and with a few pitying pats on the back, the team jogs off the field to the locker rooms.

I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning my weight on my left foot. I raise one brow at him, feeling a hit of anticipation swirl through me. Will he verbally spar with me again? How many more of his buttons can I push? My grin widens.

"Just can't get enough of me, huh, Coach?" I tease.

He scoffs, pinning me with a glare that sends adrenaline through my veins. "Don't flatter yourself," he snaps. "You need to learn some respect."

"You need to earn my respect, then," I answer easily, loving the way frustration hardens his features. God, he's so easy to rile. "If you're gonna use my first name, then I think it's only fair I get to use yours, too. Isaac, isn't it?"

I see surprise widen his eyes. Oh yeah, I know who he is. Isaac Thomson is well known for his methods of whipping teams into shape, and though the mutterings I've heard of him have hardly been flattering, it's undeniable that he gets results.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you to watch your mouth?" he asks darkly, the rumble in his voice sending a thrill through me.

"All the time," I answer happily. "Though nobody's ever managed to get me to do it."

He recognizes that for the challenge it is, taking a step closer to me. My breath hitches at the closeness. For a long second, we just stare at each other, tension rising hot and fast between us until it's nearly unbearable.

He has to feel the tug of this attraction, too, right? Because it's overwhelming my brain, running along my skin, settling between my legs. My mind conjures up all the ways I could tease him, all the ways I could spar with him until we're both panting and mindless. I shuffle on my feet, squeezing my thighs together. His gaze drops, noticing the move. His eyes darken when he raises them back to meet my stare.

For a heavy second, I think he might kiss me. But instead, he steps back and orders me to run through all the drills I've already done again. I raise my chin, refusing to show an ounce of weakness, and jog away, determined to prove myself to him.

Half an hour later, there's a hint of respect in his gaze, and through the tiredness weighing me down thanks to all the exertion, I feel an edge of satisfaction.

Isaac follows me over to the entrance to the locker rooms, prowling towards me. I pause outside, waiting for him until he gets close enough to talk to.

With my hands on my hips, I grin at him. "Well? Have I done enough to prove myself yet?"

The corner of his mouth turns up for a split second, a crack in his armor that I can't help but smirk at. "Maybe," he answers, voice low and dark.

Despite the tiredness from all the drills, my body lights up at his tone. I laugh, shaking my head at him. "If that wasn't enough, what the hell do I have to do to make it to you for being late then? Suck your dick?"

The words are out of my mouth before my brain even realizes what I'm saying, but I stand by them. Isaac's attitude draws mine out to play, and there's no way I can keep my sass in check. For a split second, I wonder if I've pushed it too far. A dark look crosses Coach's face, and he takes a step closer. Reflexively, I step back, pressing myself up against the locker room door. There's barely an inch of space between us.

"That would be a start," he growls.

Like his words electrocute me, all my nerve endings come to life. Logically, this should not be turning me on. He's my goddamn coach, for God's sake! And since we met, just a couple of hours or so ago, he's done nothing but punish and annoy me. But that's why I'm so attracted to him.

The verbal sparring gives me an adrenaline rush akin to a game win. It's intoxicating. We're two sides of the same coin, him a dark force to be reckoned with, and me full of rogue rebellion that nobody's been able to tame yet. I get the strangest sense that if anyone could, it's Isaac Thomson. And God, do I want to find out if I'm right.

So instead of trying to defuse the heat between us like any sensible, logical woman would, I stoke it higher. My hand comes up between us, fingers trailing over his chest, feeling the structured muscles of his pecs and abs as I run my touch south. I hold his gaze and hook two fingers in the waistband of his sweats, my touch teasing. A dare. Is he all bark, or will he bite?

He doesn't disappoint.

Isaac leans forward, hand braced on the door behind me, pushing it open. I stumble backward as the locker room door swings open and he and I tumble through. Thankfully, it's been so long since the others were dismissed that the locker room is empty and quiet.

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.

"Your little slut," I moan. The words feel right. Right now, with him between my legs and the taste of him still coating my tongue, I am his. I want to be his. This draw we have to each other is irresistible and neither of us wants to fight it.

"Good fucking girl," he growls, sending sparks of bliss through me.

In reward, he dips his head again, taking my clit between his lips and sucking. I shout his name, unable to keep quiet, uncaring if anyone hears me because nothing else exists in this moment except him. My orgasm rips through me, a rush of relief and bliss, and Isaac keeps his head between my legs, sucking and licking until I'm whimpering with overstimulation.

Isaac pulls away, and I watch as he licks the shine of my release off his mouth, my heart beating so fast I can hear my blood rush round my body. Gently, he helps me back into my underwear and shorts, offering his hand to help me stand. I sway a little on my feet, rolling my eyes at him when he chuckles at me.

"I meant what I said, Iris," he murmurs, voice quiet but dark as ever. He reaches for me, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding me captive with his gaze. "You're mine."

"At least I know I'm not the only one feeling this…pull," I say with a snort, smiling. "If I'm yours, that means you're mine, too."

Isaac's mouth twitches up at one side in a smirk. His thumb sweeps over my bottom lip, and I nip it between my teeth, grinning. He tuts.

"My little brat," he says, shaking his head. "Don't think this means you'll get special treatment on the field."

I pull a face at him. "I wouldn't dream of it, Coach ."

He growls at that, and I smirk. I'm going to have so much fun teasing him.

"Give me your phone," he says, and I head to my locker to find it. He puts his number in before handing it back. "Just in case you need any more extra drills," he teases, letting his gaze roam over my body. I shudder under his attention, my body coming back to life as if he hasn't already wrecked me with an orgasm.

"See you soon," I call out, grabbing my stuff from my locker, needing to get changed and rush to whatever class I was definitely supposed to be in a while ago. I'm beyond late, but I don't care. Worth it.

"See you soon, little brat," he mumbles, giving me one last heated look before he turns and slips out of the locker room.