Page 12 of Yes, Coach (Bratton Hollow #1)

Taryn

T wo Weeks Later

The secret relationship thing is both easier and harder than I expected.

Harder because keeping my hands off Murphy at school is basically torture, especially now that I know exactly what those hands can do to me. Ever since our night at the cabin, we've been fucking everywhere we can manage it.

His truck in empty parking lots. The storage room behind the gym after hours. His office with the door locked and my hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds he pulls from me. Quick and desperate and so filthy I can barely look him in the eye during actual school hours without blushing.

I'm addicted to the way he takes me. The way he whispers the dirtiest things in my ear while he's buried inside me, telling me what a good girl I am for taking his cock so perfectly. The way he makes me beg for it, makes me tell him exactly what I want him to do to me.

Three weeks of this and I'm constantly on edge, constantly wet, constantly thinking about the next time he's going to pin me against a wall and make me come undone.

Easier because Murphy was right about the protection factor.

Nobody messes with me anymore. Not the mean girls who used to make snide comments about my thrift store clothes, not the guys who thought they could cop a feel in the hallway, not even the teachers who used to dismiss my questions.

Word has somehow gotten around that I'm under Coach Reynolds' wing, and apparently that's enough to make people think twice.

What they don't know is that I'm under more than just his wing.

"Earth to Taryn," Chloe says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?" I try to focus on my calculus homework, but it's hard when Murphy is across the field demonstrating a play to the defensive line, his voice carrying in that commanding tone that makes my thighs clench together.

"That thing where you zone out and get this dreamy, slightly dirty look on your face." She follows my gaze to where Murphy is showing Tommy Martinez the proper stance. "Please tell me you're not having inappropriate thoughts about Coach Reynolds during math tutoring."

If only she knew. Yesterday he bent me over his desk during lunch period, my skirt hiked up around my waist while he fucked me so hard I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming. The bruises from his fingers on my hips are still there, hidden under my clothes like a secret.

"I'm concentrating on derivatives," I lie.

"Uh-huh. And I'm concentrating on becoming a Victoria's Secret model." She leans closer, lowering her voice. "Seriously, T. The sexual tension between you two is getting ridiculous. Like, visible from space ridiculous."

My heart stops. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he's been watching you for like ten minutes straight while pretending to critique the blocking scheme.

And you've been staring at him like you want to climb him like a tree. And it’s not like his hard-on is under wraps.

" She grins, and I glance over, remembering the too small compression shorts we picked out on a shopping spree two weeks ago where he bought me so much stuff, I had to sneak it in the house to keep my mom from getting suspicious.

"Not that I blame you. If I were into older guys with serious BDE—Big Daddy Energy—he'd definitely be my type. "

She giggles while I feel the heat rush to my face.

"He does not have Daddy energy," I hiss.

"Honey, that man screams 'I will take care of you and ruin you for other men' from a mile away. It's literally written all over him."

My whole body is on fire because she's not wrong.

That's exactly what he does to me, exactly what he is to me.

My Daddy, who takes care of me and ruins me for anyone else in the best possible way.

I want to tell her exactly how he makes me feel, exactly how he loves me and fucks me like his good little girl.

Instead, I try to keep my voice level. "You're imagining things."

"Am I?" She studies my face carefully. "Because I saw you two in the hallway yesterday, and he was standing way closer than a teacher should be standing to a student. Like, way closer. And the way he was looking at you..."

Shit. We’ve been careful, but apparently not careful enough. Yesterday Murphy cornered me by my locker after the lunch period fuck, checking to make sure I was okay, that he hadn't been too rough. I got distracted by the scent of me still clinging to his skin.

"He was helping me with my locker. The combination gets stuck."

"Taryn St. Claire, you have been opening that locker for months. You do not need help with the combination."

"Fine, he was telling me about a scholarship opportunity. Happy?"

"Getting there." But she's still grinning like she knows something I don't want her to know.

"I’m not judging. If he makes you happy then I say go for it.

Just be careful, okay? Whatever's going on between you two, people are starting to notice.

And not everyone's going to be as understanding as I am. "

The warning sends a chill down my spine, but before I can respond, practice ends and the team starts jogging toward the locker room. Murphy catches my eye and jerks his head toward his office, a subtle signal we've developed over the past few weeks.

A signal that means he wants me. Now.

"I have to go," I tell Chloe, already gathering my books.

"Let me guess. More college prep?"

"Something like that."

I wait five minutes after the last player disappears into the locker room, then make my way to Murphy's office. The door is already propped open, which means it's safe to enter, but the second I step inside, he closes and locks it behind me.

"We have a problem," I say before he can kiss me senseless like he usually does.

"What kind of problem?" His hands are already on my waist, pulling me against him.

"Chloe. She's getting suspicious."

His jaw tightens. "How suspicious?"

"She knows something is going on. Not what, exactly, but something. She says people are starting to notice the way we look at each other."

"Fuck." He runs a hand through his hair, the same gesture I've seen him make during stressful plays. "We've been getting sloppy."

"Maybe we need to cool it for a while. At school, I mean."

The suggestion makes him go very still. "No."

"Murphy..."

"No." His grip on my waist tightens possessively. "I'm not going backwards, Taryn. I'm not pretending I don't want you every second of every fucking day."

"But if people are noticing..."

"Then we'll be more careful. But I'm not giving this up." He cups my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. "I'm not giving up having you whenever I need you. Do you understand me?"

The commanding tone in his voice makes me melt. This is why I can't resist him, why I let him take me in dangerous places where we might get caught. Because when he gets possessive like this, when he claims me with that voice, I'd let him do anything to me.

"Yes, Daddy."

The word slips out automatically, and his eyes go dark with desire.

"That's my good girl." He backs me against the wall, his body caging me in. "Now, about this afternoon. Your mom's physical therapy appointment is at four, right?"

"Right." Mom's been having more bad days lately, which means more doctor visits, more time away from home. More opportunities for Murphy and me to be together without lying about where I am.

I feel horrible for using those opportunities the way I do, but at the same time I know Mom wants the best for me. And Murphy is the best.

"Which means you have two hours before you need to be home."

"What did you have in mind?"

"My place. My bed. And about an hour and a half of me making you scream my name."

The promise makes my knees weak. "What about the other thirty minutes?"

"Recovery time. Because I plan to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight."

A knock on the door makes us both freeze.

"Coach Reynolds?" It's Principal Morrison's voice, and my blood turns to ice. That fucking creep is back again?

Murphy puts a finger to his lips, then moves me away from the wall and back toward the chairs in front of his desk. He grabs a folder from his filing cabinet and shoves it into my hands.

"Scholarship applications," he whispers. "You're here for help with scholarship applications."

I sit down and open the folder just as he unlocks the door.

"Hey, Phil. What's up?"

Principal Morrison steps into the office, his gaze immediately finding me. "Miss St. Claire. Working hard, I see."

"Yes, sir. Coach Reynolds is helping me with some final scholarship paperwork before I graduate."

"Excellent." His smile seems genuine enough, but there's something in his eyes that makes me nervous. Something that looks like suspicion. "Murphy, could I have a word? In private?"

My stomach drops to my shoes. This is it. Someone saw something. Someone said something. We're about to lose everything.

Murphy's expression doesn't change, but I see his hands clench briefly at his sides.

"Of course. Taryn, why don't you take those applications home and look them over? We can discuss them tomorrow."

"Yes, Coach." I gather my things and stand, careful to maintain the appropriate distance between us. "Thank you for your help."

"Anytime."

I sidestep past Principal Morrison with what I hope looks like casual confidence, but inside I'm screaming. This is it. This is how it all falls apart.