Chapter 13
Noah
I thought I was being clever.
I thought I was winning.
I woke up this morning smug as hell, thinking about Coach losing sleep, stewing in his own fury after the little stunt I pulled last night. I imagined him pacing his hotel room, jaw clenched, replaying every second of what he saw–and the best part?
I didn’t regret it.
Not at first.
The way he glared at me at breakfast? Worth it.
The fire in his eyes? Worth it.
The fact that I got under his skin for once instead of the other way around? So fucking worth it.
But the second he dragged me into that hallway?
The second his voice dropped and he laid into me?
Something shifted.
Yeah, I played it cool. I threw it back in his face. I even leaned into the brat act with the ‘go ahead, punish me line, because hell–why stop when you’re already on the highway to disaster?
But the truth?
Somewhere between the third pastry and the hallway ambush, it hit me.
What if someone else had walked in last night?
What if hotel staff had caught us? What if that girl’s dad had been staying in the next room? What if some rando filmed it?
I hadn’t thought it through. Not even a little.
And I hated that.
I’d worked too damn hard for this shot–my career, my future, all of it. And here I was, jeopardizing everything for a power game I started out of frustration
and a hard–on.
This man–Coach Mercer–he was getting the worst of me. Not the focused athlete. Not the hungry rookie…. Just the stubborn, impulsive mess I thought I’d
left behind in West Virginia.
Maybe I should’ve left the rebellion for outside the team.
1/4
4:24 pm P P Pм
Chapter 13
For the bedroom.
For Mr. A.
At least with him, I could unleash this side of myself without consequence, Or… I thought I could.
Until Coach whispered that warning line.
My entire body froze the moment I heard it, because I knew that sentence.
He’d typed it to me. Mr. A typed it.
I wasn’t imagining it. It wasn’t a coincidence.
Not unless he was reading my fucking messages.
And suddenly, the evidence I’d been brushing off–the tension, the control, the voice–crashed down like a weight on my chest.
He knew.
He’d known.
And he let me keep talking. Let me pour my heart out. Let me confess things I’d never said out loud. Let me bare myself–emotionally and literally–to someone I thought was anonymous and he just sat there. In the shadows. Behind the screen. Behind that perfect, unbreakable Coach mask.
The betrayal burned deeper than the confusion. But the arousal? Yeah, that was still there too.
Fucked up as it was, my body didn’t know whether to punch something or crawl back into his lap.
So here I was–at the gym. Doing every goddamn set in my program like it owed me an apology. Deadlifts. Lunges. Push–ups until my arms shook. My knuckles white around the bar. My mind replaying every word, every moan, every look.
He’s Mr. A.
He has to be.
And if he didn’t come clean? Then I’d rip the truth out of him.
One way or another.
I was drenched.
Sweat rolled down my back, soaked into my shirt, clung to the waistband of my shorts. My arms burned. My legs felt like bricks. And I was too far gone in
my rage to care.
I was halfway through a brutal set when I saw him enter.
Coach.
All in black gear. Calm. Composed. Like he hadn’t blown up my brain this morning.
2/4
4:24 pm P P P м
Chapter 13
His eyes landed on me instantly, watching every rep like he owned the air I was breathing.
“I see you obeyed,” he said, voice smooth as bourbon. “Did just as I asked.”
Yeah, I thought, like the damn teacher’s pet you wanted me to be. Prick.”
I didn’t respond as he stepped closer.
“I didn’t do this for you,” I muttered, still pushing through the reps. “I’m doing this for me.”
“Mm.” He moved behind me, too close. His hand brushed the bar as I lifted. “Are you sure that’s all you’re doing it for?”
I gritted my teeth.
“Maybe you want me to finally say it,” he murmured, bending slightly, voice right at my ear. “That you’ve done a really good job.”
His hands helped steady the weight, but it felt like he was holding me.
“You’ve worked so hard. Followed every command. So obedient. So eager to please.”
His breath brushed my skin.
“Such a good boy.”
My brain short–circuited and a growl coiled in my throat, tangled up with a sound I didn’t even want to admit was pleasure.
Did I just fucking purr?
I wanted to punch the smirk off his face.
I wanted to melt into the heat of his body.
I was strong–I could pull my own weight–but Coach was taller. Broader. Imposing and irrationally tempting as he helped me lift the weights once more.
My muscles were trembling. Not just from the workout.
And that twitch in my shorts?
That wasn’t cramps.
Don’t I have a damn spine? Haven’t I grown a pair big enough to hold on to my pride?
Apparently not.
“Fuck you, asshole,” I snapped, dropping the weights. “I don’t need your praise.”
“Really?” he said, stepping in front of me, gaze dropping. “Because your crotch says otherwise.”
I flushed. “You’re such a dick.”
3/4
4:24 pm p p P M
Chapter 13
“No,” he said with a cold smile. “I just think you’re a list:”
Heat crawled up my neck. My chest was heaving–not from the weights anymore. From everything
“And you’re a coward!” I shoved past him. “Hiding who you really are from everyone.
He followed, Calm. Controlled. Dangerous. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The hell you don’t,” I snapped. “You think I’m stupid?”
“Noah-”
“You think I haven’t put it together? That I wouldn’t recognize your words in my sleep?”
He stopped.
I turned to face him, fury burning through the last layer of restraint I had left.
“Why don’t you confess who you are?” I spat. “What’s stopping you, Coach? You afraid it’s all a fraud? That the man behind the screen isn’t dominant at all -but a face for a man with no balls to own it in real life?”
I stepped forward, chest to chest, daring him to deny it.
“To be…”
A breath.
A heartbeat.
“…Mr. A?”
Comments
- 34.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
