Book 1, Second Edition
The Sexy Series People Can’t Get Enough Of
COACHING RAYNA (Book 1, Second Edition)
Re-published November 8, 2020
A case of opposites attract, or fatal attraction?
He’s ten years her junior, a bad boy bodybuilder, too wild to be tamed. He knows she deserves more than the likes of him. Nonetheless, she is the object of his fascination.
She’s a divorced mother craving seduction by her brawny neighbour. She’s lonely but has too much baggage to consider acting on her infatuation. He’s worthy of an uninhibited, younger woman with a supreme body and a fierce sexual drive, none of which describes her.
One steamy summer afternoon has them unable to deny their needs. While Coach enlightens her about his savage sexual nature, Rayna teaches him that connecting on a deeper level can be more rewarding than anything he’s experienced.
But not everyone is thrilled these opposites connected. As Rayna and Coach struggle to overcome the ghosts of their pasts together, toxic exes and psychopathic admirers refuse to be pushed aside, ruthlessly taking their revenge with a pound of flesh.
Can the two survive what they’ll be forced to endure, or will their attraction end in disaster?
Below is the first 2 chapter of Coaching Rayna, book #1
Warning: This excerpt contains situations of an erotic nature containing dominance and aggressive sexual acts that may be a trigger to a more sensitive reader.
By Pebbles Lacasse
DOING THE LAUNDRY ISN’T WHAT I PLANNED TO DO ON MY FIRST Saturday off work in three weeks. Having lunch with my friends or taking the kids on an adventure would be so much more fun. But the chores have to get done. The kids are running out of clean clothes and all of my work scrubs are too dirty to wear again.
Shutting the door to the laundry room and pretending the piles of dirty clothes don’t exist would be so much easier, but I can no longer avoid this mundane chore.
Would it kill the kids to throw in a load once in a while? I’ve taught them both how to do it, so I know their laziness isn’t due to their lack of know-how. I’m a firm believer in teaching children how to do real-life tasks.
Instead of having a fun day with me, they’re shut away in their rooms. To be honest, I’d rather that than have them follow me from room to room complaining that they’re bored. Not like that’s possible; their rooms are full of interesting distractions that should keep their imaginations alive and blooming.
I’m shaken from my thoughts. Is that a lawnmower I hear?
I immediately stop sorting colours from whites and pull the button to halt the gushing water filling the washing machine. I can’t tell whether it’s the dreamboat next door mowing his lawn or the neighbour directly behind my house...
My legs can’t carry me up the stairs quick enough, even though I’m stepping two at a time. I nearly smack my head off the patio doors trying to look for him.
Yes! Damn, he’s so fucking hot! I’ve been looking forward to this show all week.
I quickly pour a glass of wine three-quarters full of the nice pinot I opened last night. I must act aloof, as though I’m not outside to watch his sweaty, tanned skin as it stretches over his bloated muscles. My pussy tightens as I slide open the glass door and take a deep breath. Without glancing his way, I step out and close it behind me.
After setting my glass on the table, I squat my ass on the cushiony deckchair and rest my feet on the chair opposite. Being the smart cookie that I am, I always keep a book at the backdoor to make him think I’m reading and not ogling him while dreaming up a naughty fantasy.
Damn, it’s hot today! I don’t mind; the glistening sweat accentuates the ripples of muscle.
I always sit facing his yard. This way, I can drink him in without being too obvious. I open the book and pretend to read with my head tipped downward.
Nearly every Saturday for the past three years, I’ve lost myself in my imagination while staring at my hunky neighbour. His muscles flex as he pushes the mower around his enormous yard while wearing nothing but shoes and a pair of shorts that fit snug on his thick, muscular thighs.
His name is Simon Brenton, but everyone calls him Coach because he owns a gym and coaches people on how to reach their peak level of physical fitness. He’s as strong as an ox; I can’t stress that enough. The man’s arms, chest, and thighs are massive, his waist tight and ripped. I imagine he can fuck like a machine. The power behind those thunderous thighs would have any woman screaming through multiple orgasms until she lost consciousness.
My fantasies have me in his arms, his thin lips on mine, pelvis rhythmically grinding against my needy vagina as he sinks himself deep into me.
I’m divorced, thankfully. I’ve had no intimate encounters in the four years since I gave the asshole the boot. My life is too busy working and raising my kids. I’m sure that’s why I love to picture myself getting sexually mauled by my hot neighbour more often than what’s probably healthy for anyone.
The best thing that happened out of the shitty marriage is two children. Kim is eleven, and Ken is thirteen. There’s never enough time in a day for us to connect other than dinner time when we sit at the table together and discuss what’s on their minds. There are days when I almost have to poke them with a stick to get them to talk.
My son is getting to the age where he thinks mom isn’t cool enough to hang out with anymore. He used to be my little shadow, clung to me wherever I’d go, but things have changed. I miss that. My daughter still enjoys my company, but I’m sure she’ll think I’m stupid soon enough, especially if she takes after me. I was rude to my mother too often during my teen years. Hopefully, she’ll be wiser than I was.
Between my job, the kids, and the household, I’m exhausted when I flop into bed at night. Doing everything myself, without a partner or an accountable ex, is sometimes overwhelming.
Sex comprises me occasionally masturbating while using my helpful aides: my fat dildo and a vibrator. I’m usually so tired at the end of the day that I only want to sleep. Sometimes, when I’ve been unusually excited—like after watching Coach mow his lawn, for instance—I’ll zip through masturbation just to ease my sexual tension enough that I can sleep.
I’ve gone weeks without having an orgasm. It’s depressing, I know. I used to be extremely sexually expressive. What happened to me?
Coach probably knows exactly why I’m out here, but he’s kind enough not to call me out. If he looks up and sees me, he’ll wave. I’ll lift my head and wave back, and he’ll continue to mow while I quietly observe his sculpted body. I’m sure he gets an ego boost from women checking him out, and I imagine it happens a lot. I’m an out of shape older woman and not his type.
Sometimes we chat over the fence, but it’s rare. We’ve had conversations over the years, ranging from politics to religion and even about our childhoods.
He’s intelligent and well-spoken, which I find to be an alluring trait in a man. The sexiest thing about him is his ability to hold eye contact and not flinch, which intimidates the hell out of me. He’s definitely an assertive man, and that excites me. He’s far more alluring than my arrogant, cheating coward of an ex- husband who has no spine to speak of.
Coach occasionally has his friends from the gym over to his place. I love those days! They’re all fit and muscular like he is. They sit outside shirtless under the heat of the sun, and I can’t stop watching their brawny chests and backs as they carry on, boasting about their wild adventures with naughty women, or telling tales of their high school football highlights.
I wonder what it would feel like to have one of their thick bodies above me, using those powerful thighs and strong backs to fuck me hard. My pussy twinges at the thought. I couldn’t pick their faces out in a line-up even if I had to, because I never stop staring at their bodies. I wish I could see what they have in their shorts that might please me.
The day after Coach moved in, three years ago, I went over to introduce myself and welcome him to the neighbourhood. I was captivated by his physical size, but his confidence attracted me most. I could barely speak. Everything I muttered sounded stupid, especially when I asked to meet his wife and kids.
There was a woman and a few children helping with the move, so I assumed they were his family. That’s when he told me that he’s never married and never plans to. The woman was his sister, and they were her children. Strangely, it pleased me to know that he was available but sad that my excuse to visit with him for arranged playdates with our kids was now void.
Coach has had many women come and go, but his present girlfriend doesn’t talk to me even if we’re both outside. Occasionally she’ll wave, but we’ve never carried on a conversation. She doesn’t seem shy. Judging by the occasional leers directed at me, she dislikes me. I don’t recall saying or doing anything to her she could have taken offensively.
I’d rather not get to know her well, anyway. It would be too hard to fantasize about her bulked-up man tearing off my clothes and ravishing me if she complains about all his nasty habits. That might turn me off, and then I’d be right back to having nothing tantalizing to stare at on these scorching summer days. This is all I have to make me feel like a sexual woman, and I need it. I don’t want to see him as an actual person with flaws. He’s the perfect sex machine—at least, in my vivid imagination.
My tummy flutters just before he bends to pick up the metal table to move it out of his way, allowing him easier access to mow the grass beneath. When he lifts, his muscles flex and his skin strains to maintain them, but he moves the heavy table with barely a struggle.
That task would take the effort of my ex-husband plus his clone if he had one. Thankfully, there aren’t two of that asshole. Just one of him is too many.
I’ve sucked back the entire glass of wine way too quickly and it’s already going to my head. Maybe I should have eaten something today before I bled this glass dry.
Coach finishes and puts the table back and the mower in the shed before starting to pick weeds out of his vegetable garden. I’ve never seen his girlfriend lift a finger to maintain the yard, even if a weed stands tall right beside her foot. I see the way he looks at her, and I don’t think she’ll be around much longer.
He’s down on his widely spread knees and bent over to reach for a well-rooted weed. He pulls, flexing his back muscles ever so slightly. The lumps on his arm shift and grow as he moves, stirring something primal inside of me. His flesh glistens under the vibrant sun.
I want to taste him. I imagine what it must feel like to lie beneath such a powerful man, my legs wrapped around him while he looks down at me, readying himself to penetrate my body with his swollen manhood.
My eyes close and I take in a deep breath, suddenly realizing that my book rests on my lap, covering my hand slid down between my thighs. I’ve been pressing on my excited clit.
I jolt back to reality, yanking my hand from my groin. My eyes shift here and there, looking to see if anyone has been watching me masturbate through my shorts while I stare at the sexy guy next door like the neighbourhood pervert. I’m relieved no one else is outside until my eyes meet Coach’s accusing glare.
He’s still on his knees, but the table has turned, so to speak. He’s been watching me. I want to run away and hide, but it’s too late. There’s no denying he saw what I was doing. I’m so embarrassed and the heat flushing through my cheeks proves it.
A smile slowly grows on his face. I try to return the gesture, but my bottom lip quivers, distorting my mouth. He probably can’t see that detail from this distance. I feel the embarrassment continuing to fill my cheeks, proving my desire for him.
He lifts his thick arm to wave at me. I tip my head down while I wave, wishing I could go back in time to redo the last ten minutes. This time, I wouldn’t have lost myself in the fantasy.
Coach tosses the weed he pulled before standing and brushing the dirt off his hands and knees. He looks up at me, still grinning like a man who has naughty intentions.
Oh shit! He’s walking toward the fence separating our yards.
Should I go to the fence or tell him that I can’t chat and then hide in the house? Damn it! I’m horribly embarrassed, but it would be rude to run away at this point. I grip the railing, fearing my trembling knees might give out, thus tumbling down the stairs in a most humiliating fashion. The way my luck is, it wouldn’t surprise me.
As I approach the fence, his deep voice greets me. “Hi. Are you enjoying the day?”
The grin on his face boasts his sinful thoughts. His lips are thin, but the well-groomed beard and mustache frame them perfectly, as if they’re a target for my lips to aim toward.
Snap out of it, damn it!
“Um, hi, Coach. It is a beautiful day.” I swallow hard. “I see you mowed your lawn.”
I sound like such an idiot. I’d have to be blind and deaf to not know he mowed it. Couldn’t I have thought of something less ridiculous to say? Why can’t I say anything brilliant to this man? I bite my lip again; I do that when I’m nervous or intimidated. At the moment, I’m both.
“So it would seem. You watched me mow my lawn.” He accentuates the word “watched.”
I can imagine what he wanted to say: “...while you were flicking your bean.”
I’m so relieved that he’s respectful enough not to comment on my masturbation, further humiliating me. I’m not even sure that’s possible at this point.
I shrug, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to be aloof by looking anywhere other than at his seductive eyes. Even still, I feel their gaze burning into me. They stare right through me and into my soul, setting it on fire.
Fuck! Timidly, yet trying to seem nonchalant, I say, “Yeah, sorry. There’s nothing else to look at that’s remotely as exciting as you mowing your lawn.”
Shit! I said he was exciting. Damn it!
“Watching me excites you?” He beams, resting his large, tattooed arms on the top of the slatted wood fence.
Each time we’ve talked in the past, he’s been an absolute gentleman. He’s insinuated nothing sexual could happen between us. Is it his intention to aim this conversation in that direction, or am I reading too much into his words?
“I don’t know how to answer that. I mean, yes, you are nice to look at, obviously, and nobody else is outside, so there really is nothing...”
My words fall away. I swallow hard, suddenly realizing that my mouth is parched. I just might cough up the wad of cotton manifesting in my throat.
He must think I’m a sex-deprived, slightly older woman with ridiculous fantasies of being with a very fit younger man who has absolutely no reason to think of her as anything but a mother. He must laugh inside his head at my idiocy, but I’m relieved that he isn’t blatantly obvious about it.
I’m not a perfectly thin or physically fit woman, but I’m not overweight. My stomach is still flat after having had two cesarean sections. I’m very proud of that. My legs are thick and strong, and my waist is small, but my butt is jigglier than I’d like and my arms are getting flabby. The best part of me is my breasts; they’re large and still somewhat rest at the same altitude they originally grew at. Gravity hasn’t had its demonic way with them yet, but I have noticed that they are not as solid as they were ten years ago.
I look up at him only to see his eyes staring at my breasts, which are barely hidden beneath my light pink halter top. I look down and discover my nipples have betrayed me. They’re pointing straight out, directly at Coach, as if trying to torpedo me toward him.
He sighs and whispers, “You have beautiful breasts. I’d like to see them without the shirt.”
Shivers ripple up my spine, prickling my skin and forming tiny bumps from head to toe. Every strand of hair on my head feels like it’s lifting. My bottom jaw once again quivers uncontrollably, so I bite my lip between my teeth but cannot hold it steady. I stare at his eyes a little too long and it feels very uncomfortable between us.
“Thank you,” I whisper with barely an audible voice. Damn it, that was a dumb thing to say! I could have said something more flirtatious than that, such as, “I would like that, too.”
My eyes follow his Adam’s apple as it slowly bobs in his throat when he swallows. I would love to wrap my lips around it while he fucks me deeply. I shake my head, hoping to clear the arousing thought, but it lingers.
“In fact, I’d like to see your entire nude body. You’re a sexy woman. You know that, right?”
“Um...” I stutter, “I-I am?” Oh please, compliment me again.
He chuckles, replying, “Sweet thing, I know you watch me, but what you don’t know is that I watch you, too. I can see straight into your kitchen from my office window.”
He turns to point to the window facing my house. My eyes look back at his in time to see his tongue lick his top lip.
He confesses, “I positioned my desk so I can catch glances of you while I work. When you’re in the kitchen at night, in that light blue nightgown, the really thin one,” he pauses, “Well, it’s my favourite. With the light behind you, I can see the silhouette of your amazing body. I fantasize about touching you over that nightgown.”
My eyes are wide, face flushed a feverish red, and my mouth hangs open in surprise.
“Do you have any idea how often I jerk off while watching you make your kids’ lunches at night?” he pauses again. “Almost every night.”
Oh my God! Did I just hear that? He finds me sexy and masturbates while watching me perform a mundane task. Holy shit! No, he must be taunting me simply to see my reaction and then he’ll let me down hard. A guy like him doesn’t fantasize about a mother of two who’s ten years older than him. He can have almost any young, fit woman he desires.
“You do?” I ask doubtfully. My mouth is painfully dry, and that glass of wine I guzzled is making me feel more uninhibited than my usual self. “I like watching you. I touch myself sometimes.”
His sexy crooked smile is enough to make me swoon, but when his eyebrows bounce only once, my knees weaken. He radiates testosterone like an invisible aphrodisiac, making my thoughts cloudy. My pussy is so wet that I can feel its slickness. I wonder if other women experience his allure as intensely as I do. How could they not? He sure knows how to turn up the heat.
“Do you want to come over for another glass of wine?” he suggests with a deeper than usual voice.
He’s sporting a very serious expression with salacious eyes that seem to pierce right through me. I can’t prevent them from reading my deepest, darkest thoughts.
A bead of sweat trickles down the tanned skin on his well- formed bicep, and I nearly lean in to lick it simply to quench my ravenous thirst. My curiosity and desires are no longer my kept secret. I’ve opened a can of worms here, but I’m not sure I want to put the lid back on it yet. I’ve fantasized about this moment so many times.
In those dreams, he’s always lived up to my expectations. What if he doesn’t compare in reality? The fantasy will forever be tainted.
But what if he does?
“Yes, but I shouldn’t,” I reply, hating myself for turning down his offer. Whether or not his performance measures up to my high expectations, I’m sure we could have had an entire afternoon of steamy sex, had I accepted the offer, but I have priorities. “The kids are home and they’d eventually notice my absence.”
He suggests, “Tell them you’re going for a walk. I won’t keep you more than an hour...unless you’d like me to. I’ll gladly entertain you for the rest of the day.”
I swallow hard while forcing myself to look anywhere but at his beckoning brown eyes. My body trembles and my skin craves his touch. His gigantic hands would feel so rough against my womanly flesh. Having two of his fingers inside of me, pleasuring me while he kisses and suckles my nipples, would drive me to cum within seconds.
My legs wobble, weak from the thought. I quickly grab the fence to steady myself. Surely, he knows the effect he’s having on me.
His hand hovers over mine, middle finger delicately caressing my middle digit. The contact feels electric. A whimper escapes me. My eyes meet his once again. A smirk has grown on his thin lips and his eyes seem darker, so much more dangerous and enticing than I’ve ever witnessed. I’d be a fool to deny myself this opportunity. It’ll likely never happen again.
“Okay, but I need a little time.”
I have done no maintenance on myself for a very long time. Sex is absent from my life, so I don’t bother. My stomach tightens like a vice when he wraps his massive hand around my wrist, slowly and assertively pulling me closer to the fence. We are face to face, looking at one another, our breath brushing over each other’s faces. My entire body shakes, and I can’t control it.
“Don’t take too long, okay?” he whispers. His sweet breath is hotter than the summer breeze that caused his skin to glisten so perfectly. “When you’re ready, walk in the front door and come down the stairs. I’ll be waiting for you.”
He releases my wrist but watches me as I slowly ascend the stairs, painfully aware that my weak legs could fail me at some point. I can feel the heat from his stare as it burns into my body.
The instant I’m inside the house and sure he can’t see me, I slide down the wall, planting my ass on the cool hardwood floor. I rub my wrist, making sure he isn’t still attached to me. My skin is super-heated from just one touch.
How will his touch to my more delicate regions affect me?
My endorphins are easing; panic sets in. Oh god, what have I done? I can’t go to his place! If I walk into that house and he touches me, I know I won’t be able to maintain control over my primal needs.
Do I want to hold back though? That’s a good question. It’s been too long since anyone has touched me. I hope I don’t make a fool of myself.
Even though I’m still unsure if I’m going to go see him, I hop in the shower and shave away all my stubble. I wash my hair and my skin with the prettiest scented products I own.
Yes, I think I’m going over there.
No, no, I can’t!
But I really, really want to. I deserve this, don’t I?
After quickly drying my hair and dusting some powder on my face to reduce the shine, I flip through my closet, looking for something to wear that might be appropriate, but everything I own is so damn boring. I’ve been a single, overworked mom for so long that my sexy attire has been stowed in boxes or given away. I figured someone should get use out of them.
Frustrated, I settle for a light summer dress and a pair of white silky panties.
I’m still shaking when I enter my daughter’s doorway. She’s sitting on her bed reading a book assigned to her for a school project. Knowing her as I do, I’m sure it’s due soon. She puts everything off to the last minute. She’s always looking for an excuse to avoid anything that doesn’t completely captivate her attention.
“Hi, baby. I’m going for a walk.”
“Can I come?” she asks while bookmarking her page and edging herself off the bed.
“No, you have to get that book read. When is the project due?” “In two days,” she confesses, pouting.
I sigh heavily and give her the GET IT DONE look. “Okay
then, you’d better get busy reading. I’ll be back in about an hour.” “That’s a long walk. Where are you going?” she asks with her face crinkled up as she re-situates herself on her bed.
“Just walking. I need some exercise and the fresh air will help me clear my thoughts.” I try to sound convincing. “Don’t worry, you won’t even miss me.”
I blow her a kiss only to witness the infamous eye roll. She acts like she’s too mature for silly love gestures.
I enter my son’s doorway, even more nervous now. I take a deep breath to calm myself before poking my head in. “Hey, I’m going for a walk. You don’t want to come with, do you?”
He turns his contorted face to ensure I see the over- exaggerated expression of his disinterest.
“Okay then, keep an eye on your sister and don’t go anywhere.”
Without a word, he turns back to his computer to continue with his online game. Maybe they won’t miss me.
I make my way out of my house, locking the door behind me.
IT’S AS IF MY FEET HAVE A MIND OF THEIR OWN; no matter how hard I try to slow my pace, they move quicker than I’d like them to.
Before I know it, I’m inside his house and halfway down the seven steps, unsure of what I’m going to find once I get to the bottom. Will he still be wearing his shorts? What will I do if he’s naked? I stop with two steps to go and take a calming deep breath, hoping to erase the terrified expression from my face.
He’s wearing a clean pair of shorts and I smell the soft scent of cologne. He leans against the back of a black leather sofa, which sits in the middle of the room, and offers me a glass of wine. It wasn’t all that long ago that I sat on it while we chatted. The girlfriend he had back then sneered at me the whole time, making me feel very unwelcomed.
I’m standing here braless, knowing that he will probably touch me in ways the woman he’s dating now would definitely disapprove of. I’d love to record this moment and shove it in her bitchy face. What does he see in her?
He extends his arm further, expecting me to take it, but I can’t get my planted feet to move. Strange how a moment ago I couldn’t get them to halt. Betrayers, that’s what they are!
Coach slowly stands and walks toward me, handing me the glass. I take it and take a gulp while his eyes burn into mine with volcanic heat. Although it’s cold in his house, I’m boiling hot, and my womanhood is about to burst into flames.
I sip from the glass once more and then cast my gaze to his well-formed pectoral muscles. His tiny nipples jut out from the base of them. His chest cavity expands and contracts slowly as he breathes the air between us. I feel like I’m gasping, as if he’s consuming all the oxygen in the room, leaving me breathless. I suck back another gulp of wine before he takes the glass from me, leaning toward me to set it on the table behind me. His steaming chest touches my arm, and I shiver.
Instead of him pulling away, his face hovers next to my neck. His lips almost touch my skin. His caressing breath raises tiny bumps that seem to spread throughout every cell in my body. I shake violently, eagerly waiting for a solid touch to confirm that this isn’t just another daydream and I’m soon to awaken.
He whispers, “I want to taste your skin, kiss your sexy mouth and fuck you hard, the way you deserve to be fucked.”
The instant his mouth presses under my ear, my legs waver. He wraps his powerful arms around my waist, taking my entire weight as if I were light as a feather. I nearly faint when his hand cups my ass cheek, pulling my groin against his concealed, erect penis.
Oh God, it’s huge! I always imagined it would be, but figured reality would prove otherwise.
Coach lifts me and presses his lips hard to mine. His tongue digs deep into my mouth, exploring every inch. My mind whirls as our first kiss burns into my memory. I never want to forget how sweet his mouth tastes or how passionately he’s kissing me.
I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. My fingers weave into his thick black hair. I want to be as close to him as I can.
If this is a dream, don’t let me wake from it.
He carries me to the sofa, his lips locked on mine. I remain wrapped tightly around him as he lowers us, pressing me into the cushions with some of his weight. He’s so solid and heavy that I’m pinned and could not get out from beneath him if I wanted to; which I absolutely do not!
I’m enjoying that he has me under his control. I can pretend that I have no way of escaping his desires, thus not being responsible for my actions, but why deny the truth? I absolutely want him.
He takes both of my wrists in one of his massive hands and holds them together above my head, further restricting my movement and taking away whatever control I thought I still had.
A wave of panic tears through me. Will he let me go if someone walks in? Would he stop if I change my mind?
As if he can read my thoughts, his face pulls back and seems to soften. “If you want this to stop, say ‘red’ and it stops. Do you understand?”
I nod, not knowing why I can’t simply tell him to stop.
He demands, “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand, but why…” My whisper evaporates. I breathe heavily, knowing I’m about to give in to his sexual prowess.
He explains, “Red stops everything. If you tell me to stop, I won’t. Do you understand?”
I nod, still not understanding why “stop” won’t make him stop.
Our eyes remain holding one another’s gaze while his hand glides up my thigh, lifting my dress up as it travels. When his hand is between my upper thighs, nearly touching my panties, he urges my legs further apart. Only my damp panties separate the most sensitive part of my body from his rough exterior.
The instant his thigh presses firmly against my damp panties, I gasp. He pulls at my other thigh until my legs spread wide, but he doesn’t lean down against me. His body hovers just above mine.
Coach’s deep growl seems to vibrate my chest as he kisses down my neck, his free hand squeezing my breast through the thin fabric of my dress. He pinches my nipple until I wince. I yank my wrist free and grab his bicep.
What the hell? That hurt.
In one swift movement, he’s up on his knees, each of my wrists in his hands, and he sits me up. He tucks my arms behind my lower back and then pushes me back down, pinning them between me and the sofa. What is he doing? I try to pull them free because it feels awkward and confining. He stops moving and holds my shoulders still. His eyes burn into mine.
“Stay,” he commands abruptly.
His voice is deep and threatening. My breath catches in my throat, fear ripples through me, but only for an instant. I decide to play along and remain in this position to see where he’s going to take it. He removes his hands from my shoulders, giving me the choice to stay put or pull them free.
I don’t move, not yet. I’m curious.
Coach’s mouth covers the gusset of my damp, silky panties, instantly soothing away any concerns. His moans match mine as his teeth nip at my pussy lips through the thin fabric while biting and tugging on my panties with purpose. His fingers slip beneath the thin material, brushing against my excited clitoris and it twitches appreciatively. He tugs quickly, tearing the crotch of my panties in two, freeing my womanhood for his mouth to ravish.
I glance down to see why he’s not kissing my pussy, only to see him staring at me.
“Do you want me to eat your cunt?” I simply nod excitedly. “Tell me.”
“I want you to lick me,” I reply in barely a whisper, my cheeks flushing at my uncharacteristic boldness. I’ve never been a verbal lover.
“Tell me you want me to eat your cunt,” he insists and then blows cool air on my clit.
I can’t say that word, it’s absolutely too vulgar. His eyes remain focused on mine, but he isn’t touching me. His mouth is an inch away, his breath now heating me to near volcanic temperatures.
I’m going to scream soon. I can’t remember a time I have ever wanted anything this desperately.
He leans back on his knees, looking down at me, disappointed. “Tell me what you want, Rayna.”
Nervously, I say, “I can’t say that word.” I feel awkward, like I’m being put on the spot.
“Cunt?” he asks with a grimace. I nod, biting my lips between my teeth. “Say it, Rayna. Say the fucking word. It’s only four letters. I promise the world will not cave in around you.”
“Please, I don’t want to,” I whisper, suddenly feeling insignificant.
He breathes in deeply. I watch as his eyebrows furrow and his eyes seem to soften. “If you can’t say something as simple as ‘cunt,’ I don’t think we are a suitable fit. I’m sure, as you’ve discovered, I’m not a gentle lover, and I want what I want.”
He leans forward, uncharacteristically brushing a lock of hair from my cheek. Does he have a softer side?
“I’m sexually dominant; brutal at times. When I play, I play hard. I don’t mess around with my pleasure. If you want to expand your mind, I’ll be happy to take you into my world, but you have to want to do the things I tell you to, without questioning my motives. I’ll expect you to do things that might be uncomfortable. All I’m asking right now is that you say the word ‘cunt.’ Do it now, or I’m going to ask you to leave and not come back until you are ready to do as I ask.”
My mind is whirling, unable to decide. If I stay, he could do things to me that scare me. If I leave, I’ll always wonder what he means by taking me into his world.
“Take a chance, Rayna. What do you have to lose?”
“You really are bossy,” I sharply reply, not enjoying that I’m being given an ultimatum. “So, either I say that disgusting word or I go home, and you’re done with me?”
“Yes.” He hasn’t moved, still kneeling and staring at me as if reading my chaotic thoughts. He’s patiently waiting for me to decide. “It’s only a word and nobody is within earshot to hear you say it other than me.”
The best I can manage is to whisper. “Cunt.” I feel my face flushing red; my shame becoming all too obvious.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Try again, louder this time.”
Even though he is calm and absolute, I watch the corners of his lips lift, alerting me to the pleasure he’s getting from my mortification.
I nearly yell, “Cunt! Are you happy now?”
I swallow hard, trying to keep my emotions held back. I do not want to cry. I hate confrontation. My anxiety spikes and tears typically spill.
“You tell me,” he replies as he grabs his erect cock through the fabric of his cotton shorts, proving the excitement my humiliation brings him.
His seductive smile makes my tummy flutter. I want him even more now, which confuses me. Why wouldn’t I get up and leave, stomping my feet? Instead, my body proves its need for his touch. I think I’m more aroused than I have ever been. Could it be from saying that awful word, or because I did something I never do?
He lowers his face to my smouldering pussy, sucking my clit between his teeth and flicking it gingerly with the tip of his tongue.
The world falls apart around me. I moan so loudly that it echoes throughout the room. His barely audible, devilish chuckle gently whispers into my ears. I’m spellbound. Take me, devil man!
He started off worshipping my swelling clitoris. But now, Coach teases me with his scarce flicking. He’s enjoying how my body bucks in frustration.
“Your cunt tastes so sweet. Your juices are thick and slick, perfectly preparing you for my meaty cock. I want to drink you in.” His lips press a full kiss onto my pussy. My hips lift in appreciation. With a deep, assertive voice, he demands, “Beg me to make you cum.”
He wants me to talk nasty again. No, I can’t do this. It’s not in my nature. Besides, I’m not ready to cum yet.
Feeling ignored, he covers my clit with his open mouth, sucking hard while stroking his tongue up and down over my aching button. He pushes two of his fat fingers deep inside me with one quick thrust.
I cry out as his digits push completely in, his knuckles pressing firmly against my labia. Coach stays focused on one particularly sensitive spot inside of me. Each time his fingertips thrust, the sensations his tongue generously provides intensifies. He’s not fucking at a steady pace but keeping it torturously sporadic and I never know when he’s going to lick my clit or leave me craving it. He’s making me come apart.
He lifts his mouth long enough to repeat his demand. “Ask me, Rayna.”
I look down at his sexy, dangerous face as he mashes it against me. The world fades around me, my focus aimed at my pleasure button. I’m almost there. He lifts his face and I know he’s going to ask again. I’ll do just about anything to keep this going.
I scream, “Please, let me cum!”
“Cum, Rayna.” His calm, deep voice sounds so far away.
He doesn’t let up as my pussy clenches around his fingers. A violent orgasm erupts from deep inside of my soul. It is finally free to ripple throughout my body, setting fire to every cell of my being. I scream as my mind slowly falls into blackness, but his mouth and fingers don’t let up for a second. My body bounces and jerks under the command of his tongue.
Coach kneels up quickly, unbuttoning his shorts and yanking them down his thighs and tucking them between his knees and the sofa cushion. His impressive, rock-hard prick juts straight out from his body.
It’s glorious! He’s so big! His is probably the most perfect erection I have ever seen. A tiny gleam of pre-cum glistens at the tip, catching my eye.
His teeth tear at a condom package, revealing the hidden sheath inside. He rolls it over his weapon with the skill of a man who’s done it a million times. He leans forward, touching the fat tip against my slit.
"Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he demands, his excitement revealed in his voice. When I pause, he tilts his head and glares at me.
"Yes, please fuck me,” I reply with aloud, quivering voice.
In one smooth movement, he’s buried deep inside of my body. The shock of it ripples through me. I gasp, nearly coming from the sudden invasion. He’s spreading my walls wider than any man ever has.
I open my eyes when he doesn’t move. He’s looking down at me. A dark, trance-like expression has enveloped his face. He looks like a testosterone-filled, emotionless machine, ready to fuck me harder than I’ve ever been before. And I want him.
He doesn’t disappoint me when his hips lift, slamming back down onto me, shoving himself even deeper inside. The initial fullness shocks me and my hands spring free from behind my back, immediately slapping his ribs. He doesn’t even flinch at my weak attempt to make him ease up. He continues to pound into me again and again.
The pain quickly becomes something entirely wonderful. Each time the tip of his prick pounds my cervix, my body weakens a little more. I want him even deeper if it’s at all possible.
My fingernails dig into his arms, which brace his weight on either side of my chest. I slide up the cushion each time he crashes into me. His massive hands clutch my hips, lifting my lower half off the cushion and pulling me with him as he kneels back.
He flashes me a crooked grin that would signify a fistfight to another man with a quick temper. I’m quickly learning that he loves his dominance and the fear it creates in others.
He pushes his prick deep into me and holds me still. Only the rapid swelling and shrinking of his chest prevents him from looking like he’s made of stone, a perfectly sculpted statue for my eyes to soak up and burn into my memory.
“Tell me to fuck you hard and fast. Tell me your hungry cunt wants to cum on my throbbing cock.”
Coach isn’t fucking around.
I now know that when he insists I say something, I’d better say it. Otherwise, the pleasure stops. I wonder if he’s this persistent with his gym clients and if they appreciate it or hate him for it. I want to sample more of what he’s offering, and I’ll do almost anything to make that happen.
I yell, ensuring he’ll hear every word, “Fuck me hard and fast until my starving cunt cums on your fucking cock!”
Wow! I sound like a loose-tongued whore.
An evilness burns from behind his eyes that fills me with a sudden unease. His expression softens as he studies my fearful eyes.
“When you cum, I want you to thank me. Do you understand? If you don’t, I will stop.” His gently spoken words ensure that he is not a vicious beast intending to hurt me, but a man with an intensive need to pleasure me. My anxious fear has me undeniably lusting for him.
“I understand,” I say breathlessly, hoping he’ll quit talking and get back to fucking me.
He nearly sings, “You’re a good little slut and you deserve to cum.”
The violent fucking ensues and doesn’t let up. I don’t even care that he called me a slut. This pounding is totally worth the humiliation of the insult. I know I’m not a slut, so it doesn’t faze me.
He rams me like a wild man, pounding into me with impossible speed and force. The thudding against my body forces the air from my lungs in rapid succession. I can barely think.
My body is his toy to take as he will, my mind no longer able to make intelligent, responsible decisions. An orgasm locks every muscle in a seizure of painful pleasure I hope never to recover from. Screams pour out of me as wave after wave of heightened climax shreds through me, rendering me stiff and useless.
I open my eyes to make sure a man is fucking me and not the devil, but I can’t be sure. Coach still fucks me hard while watching me with black pools surrounded by skin so red it’s nearly purple. His eyebrows furrow. Soulless growls escape from deep in his massive chest as if the devil himself is tearing into me. Perhaps he is.
His eyes widen and glare, and that’s when I remember his instruction. “Thank you!"
Coach stands quickly, grabbing me by my arms and yanking me to my feet. My weak knees give out and I nearly fall, but he scoops me up like I weigh nothing more than a bag of potatoes. He doesn’t even grunt like I do when I pick up a grocery bag off the floor. He sprints to the back of the sofa, and then sets me down onto my feet, spinning me until I’m facing away from him.
His huge hand grabs the back of my neck firmly, bending me forward until I’m at a ninety-degree angle over the back of the sofa. He gently but assertively kicks my feet wide apart. His thick, powerful spread thighs press against my much smaller ones, pinning me to the back of the sofa and that throbbing prick buries deep into me again.
Oh, fuck! I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s reaching so much deeper inside of me in this position. I can’t even cry out to beg him to go easier, but do I really want to if I could?
It hurt at first when he entered me on the couch, but my body quickly adjusted, and I will this time, too.
I’ve never been this full and overwhelmed by anyone in my entire life. I’m surprised to realize that I really like not having any say in what he does to me. I trust him in that he said he’ll stop if I say “red” and that brings me comfort.
With one hand on my hip and the other on the back of my neck, he fucks me like it’s the last time he will ever fuck a woman. The power behind his muscular body has me flopping around like a rag doll. If he wasn’t holding my neck, I might get whiplash. The skin on my body feels like loose clothing as it ripples with each hard thud. Even the skin on my cheeks and lips bounce and I don’t have a shred of decency left in me at this point to care what I look like.
I cum, hard. My wetness trickles down my parted inner thighs.
He releases my neck only to grab a wad of my hair, pulling me back until his mouth is next to my ear. My scalp hurts but I’m still coming so I don’t give a shit what he’s doing to me as long as he doesn’t stop.
My pussy spasms around his thickness. He holds deep inside me. I relish the pause and gather my senses. His rapid, heated breath bounces off my ear. The only other sound is from my vigorously pounding heart rushing blood through my veins.
“Say ‘thank you, sir,’” he whispers next to my ear as shivers continue to ripple through me.
“What?” My mind is still foggy from the violent fucking.
“Say ‘thank you.’ Since you forgot again, you will start calling me sir to acknowledge my sexual dominance over you.”
“I don’t like that.” My voice sounds fragile and timid through panted breaths.
“Then you should have remembered to thank me,” he whispers in a growl. “Now thank me properly, or we’re done.”
To get him to shut up and bring me back to that level of euphoria, I comply with his demands. “Thank you for the incredible orgasm, Sir! May I have another?”
Yes, I’m being a smartass, but what’s he going to do about it? He won’t throw me out. He hasn’t cum yet and I’m sure he’ll want to accomplish that before he tosses me aside.
His hand comes down on my ass with a thunderous clap. My ears ring and my eyes fly open. I wail! I pant as the heat from his hand singes my flesh, no doubt imprinting a giant hand-shaped welt on my flesh.
Before I can complain, he fucks me even quicker and harder than he had been, which is a tremendous feat. I didn’t think he could be more intense, but I thought wrong.
Within seconds, I’m coming so hard that my body desperately wants to fuck back against him, but he’s too powerful for me to compete with. He has all the control, and I am simply along for the ride. And what a ride it is!
Before I can finish thanking him, I’m coming again, and again.
A loud, beastly growl wrenches from Coach’s throat, lasting longer than any breath I could manage right now. His prick swells, stretching my inner walls and forcing me into one final vicious orgasm. His muscles jerk, jolting his massive body.
A complete stillness overcomes him, and my hair slips from his grasp. A long, quiet exhale seeps from his very core as if he has satiated his devil.
I remain flopped over the back of the sofa, gasping for a full breath with his pelvis still pressed against me. I am limp, like an overcooked spaghetti noodle. He groans softly, leaning forward to kiss my back a dozen times before resting his forehead on it. His withering prick still lives inside of me.
He suddenly pulls away, his prick sliding out of my well-used vagina. I attempt to lift my chest, but I’m too tired. With more gentleness than I thought he had in him, he grips my shoulders, raising me up and turning me to face him. He pulls me against his sweaty chest and wraps his massive arms around my shoulders. Tenderly, he kisses the top of my head. It’s a loving gesture that seems out of character from the man I knew a moment ago.
“You did well.” His whisper compliments me while his body rocks me safely back and forth.
“What?” I ask, not sure why he thinks I did well when I did nothing to contribute, not even follow his simple verbal requests.
“You learned to appease my requests, even though you had an attitude. Also, you didn’t beg for mercy.” He seems proud of me.
I thoroughly enjoyed that, so why would I beg for mercy?
“I didn’t know that was an option.”
Coach scolds, “The option was always there. You accepted whatever I was doing to you. Do you remember when we first started, I told you to say ‘red’ if you wanted it to stop?” I nod against his solid chest. “You didn’t use the word. You surprised me, is all.”
“I should go. My kids will wonder where I walked off. The last thing I need is for them to report me as a missing person.”
He chuckles as he releases me from his hold. He walks around the couch to get a tissue to wrap the condom in. His glistening muscles hypnotize me as he performs the simplest task of pulling his shorts back on. That man is a glorious mountain.
Now that I’ve seen him totally naked, I think he’s even bigger than I had thought he was, or maybe that’s the perception I have of him because of how he just overpowered me.
He fucks like an angry man with something to prove. I wonder what his reasoning is for needing to have that much control. Is he like this with everyone he’s ever fucked or just the meek people such as myself?
“Can I ask you something?” I utter as he hands me a small towel. I watch him pat his forehead and chest with another towel while focusing his attention on me.
“You can ask me anything.”
I clear my throat before beginning my interrogation. “Why were you so rough with me?”
Coach seems concerned. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I reply quickly, easing the tension from his expression.
“I enjoy a good, hard fuck. As you can tell, I like control and dominance. The thought of making love bores me. And, before you ask, there is no deep-rooted reason behind this compulsion of mine. I simply prefer sex this way.”
I cross my arms after handing him the towel. “Do you ever make love?”
Coach tilts his head, furrowing his eyebrows, and tells me an affirmative, “No.” He tosses the towels through an open door.
He sharply responds, “Why would I?”
I shrug, not really knowing how to answer that question. “I don’t know. You love Alissa, right? So, do you two ever get romantic with each other? I mean, how do you show her that you love her?”
“She knows exactly how I feel about her.”
I nod, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “You do love her, right? If my calculations are correct, you’ve been dating her for nearly a year.”
“I care about her wellbeing, sure. Making love is for people in love, and I am not in love with her.”
He picks up the glasses of wine and hands one to me.
“You’re not in love with her? That would explain why there’s no ring on her finger,” I say with a smile, hoping I’m not overstepping.
He stares at me, his expression beginning to look intense once again. He no longer has the calmness in his voice, taking me off guard.
“I will not marry her.”
He’s so sure of his statement. I can’t say I’ve ever been that sure of anything in my entire life. When I married my ex-husband, I convinced myself that he was the best I could ever hope to have in a life partner, but I wasn’t sure I loved him with all of my being. He turned out to be a son-of-a-bitch who spent his time chasing loose women and not caring for his wife and children like he should have been. The man only cared about one thing: his dick.
To this day, I sneer when I see him with his arm around his chosen tart of the month. When our kids had court-ordered sleepover visitations, which he rarely followed through on, I didn’t know who would stay with them while he was out doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who. I think most of the girls enjoy playing housewife for a while, but when shit gets too real, they always leave him.
“If you’ve been with her for this long already, and you’re sure you will not marry her, why not let her get on with her life so she can find someone who wants to marry her? I mean, if that’s what she’s looking for.”
“Rayna, she knows I’m not the marrying kind. She is free to find another if she chooses to. I am not holding onto her. The two of us enjoy one another’s company; we are plus-ones to special occasions, and we have a well-matched sexual rhythm between us. But that’s it.”
“Yeah, but…” I want to continue questioning him about this, but the look he gives me tells me to leave it for another time, if ever. “I should go.”
“Thank you for coming over. We should do this again soon if you’re still curious.”
I clear my throat, ready to ask him what there is to still be curious about, but I decide not to. I gulp from the wineglass and set it on the table and then turn to walk toward the stairs. I don’t even get to the first step before he grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him.
The warm palm of his hand cradles my cheek with shocking tenderness. His eyes look down into mine and for the first time, I notice the flecks of green in his eyes that break up the intensity of the brown. They don’t seem so dark and intimidating at the moment.
How can these pretty eyes of his reveal that much petulance and yet still seem to have an overflow of kindness hidden within them?
Coach delicately touches his lips to mine, stirring the heat within me. Before the fire burns out of control, he sets me free and leads me by the hand up the stairs to the front door. He twists the handle and pulls it open, slapping me lightly on the ass as I take my first step outside.
I spin around and smile, blushing hotly as I recall the pain from the other slap he gave me while he fucked me, and how my body surprised me by reacting in an orgasmic explosion because of it.
The moment I walk through my front door, I immediately head to the bathroom to check my appearance. I can almost guarantee that I look like I’ve been repeatedly bounced off a fleshy brick wall. After burying my torn panties deep in the trash bin, I burst into a laughter that echoes off the bathroom walls. I immediately cover my mouth to muffle the sound. I don’t need the kids asking me why I’m so happy.
Oh, what an interesting afternoon this has been!
Erotic Teaser 18+ only
COACHING RAYNA, book one, Second Edition
—Taken from Chapter 14—
It’s been an hour since Rayna went upstairs and I still can’t fall asleep. I’m sexually frustrated. Knowing that she’s upstairs lying alone in her room is enough to keep me awake. I keep fantasizing about sneaking upstairs, climbing into her bed and ravishing her body while looking into her seductive eyes.
I lift my head to listen to the hushed sounds coming from upstairs. Someone is tiptoeing down the steps. Even though it’s dark, I can tell it’s Rayna approaching the bed. She says nothing, which I find odd. She startles when I raise my hand toward her.
Perhaps she thought I was asleep, and she was hesitant to wake me. I wait for her to decide whether to take my hand and get in with me.
I’m relieved when her delicate fingertips glide along my palm. I lift the covers and roll onto my back. She slips off her panties and tosses them to the floor while I slide my sweatpants down to my mid-thighs.
She straddles my pelvis. Her lips quickly find mine. She will set the pace tonight.
I place one hand on her lower back while the other cradles her cheek. Rayna can use me tonight, taking what she needs. I’m ready to let her take her pleasure, but I hope I’m capable of having an emotional connection, should she desire it.
Our lips never part. In one swift motion, I am buried deep inside her. Our breathing is quiet but increasingly more impassioned, even though she hasn’t moved.
This is fucking amazing; she is fucking amazing.
Rayna’s curvaceous hips lazily rock, pulling me in and out of her as she glides her pussy against my belly, never once lifting her weight off my pelvis.
My heart is warming and becoming a part of her. It’s abundantly clear that tonight means something more to both of us than did our previous raging sexual experiences. We are connecting on a deeper level, despite my efforts to keep my heart out of this.
Tonight, she’s mine and I’m hers, completely. We are one. Tomorrow, things can go back the way they were. Right?
She makes love to me, letting her orgasm slowly build and easily take her over. I’m careful not to force my pelvis upward by remaining still so she can take me how she chooses.
This is easy for a control freak like me. My inner demon throws himself against the imaginary cage in which he’s confined. I would much rather flip her over and take her hard and fast, but I sense that’s not what she needs tonight. If I’m rough with her, it won’t please her as much as being gentle.
Her orgasm rolls through her. She quietly rides the high, not moaning any louder than a whisper. Instead, her body trembles against mine. Her eyes meet mine, and that’s when I see her tears welling up. Her emotions are so strong that she can’t contain them.
For me, sexual intimacy has always been for sexual gratification or to gain a feeling of dominance, but for no other purpose. This is the most unbelievably loving moment I’ve ever experienced.
I couldn’t possibly be more intoxicated by this woman.
My fingertips tenderly wipe the tears from her soft cheeks. We slowly roll, ending with me above her. I raise myself onto my elbows while kissing her forehead as her tears spill. I don’t hump her; I stay inside her while kissing her cheeks and brushing away her tears with my thumbs. Never had I imagined wanting to be this gentle and loving while having sex. This is how I want to be for Rayna because she needs me to be.
“Please, don’t stop,” she whispers.
Following her request and make love to her, the same way she did to me. I kiss her lips, neck and cheeks, loving her with a newfound compassion that had been dormant. Her body slips into a silent orgasm.
I watch her in the silent calmness of the night. Her mouth opens as a quivering breath escapes her. Her eyelids remain tightly shut and her brows furrowed, lifting in the center just slightly .
I’m drowning in this moment. It’s taking away any doubt I may have had that I care deeply for Rayna. At this very moment, I realize that I’m not afraid to love her, and willing to let her love me. I can’t fear something I have no control over and I can’t stop it.
My own euphoric, full-body and mind climax overtakes me. My body stiffens and then jerks above hers. A muffled grunt slips from my throat. As my lungs release a halted breath, my body suddenly becomes weightier on my elbows.
She looks at me and peacefulness graces her eyes. I stroke her cheek with my fingertips and hold her gaze for several minutes until my softening manhood slips from her, ruining the best moment of my life.
What People Are Saying About Coaching Rayna #1