Chapter 88 My Hot Coach (8)

• The kettle’s soft whistle cut through the charged silence in my apartment, steam curling from the spout like a tease. I stood at the kitchen counter, my hands moving on autopilot as I poured hot water over the tea bags, the faint chamomile scent mixing with the lingering coconut of my body wash. My purple training suit was still plastered to my skin, sweat-dried but tight, hugging my ass and tits like it was daring Derek to make a move. My heart was racing, my thong soaked from the walk home, from the way his eyes had devoured me every step of the way. I licked my lips, tasting the gloss I’d reapplied, and glanced over my shoulder. Derek was leaning against the living room wall, his tank top clinging to his chest, his blue eyes locked on me like a predator waiting for the perfect moment. Fuck, I was ready for him to pounce.
• I carried the two mugs into the living room, my sneakers silent on the hardwood, my hips swaying just enough to keep his gaze on me. The late afternoon light spilled through the windows, painting the room in warm golds, and my damp hair stuck to my neck, tickling my skin. I stopped in front of him, holding out his mug, my fingers brushing the warm ceramic. “Your tea, Coach,” I said, my voice low, dripping with suggestion, my lips curling into a smirk.
• Derek’s eyes flicked to the mug, then back to me, dark and hungry. He reached out, but instead of taking the tea, his hands closed around mine, strong and warm, his fingers rough against my skin. My breath hitched, a jolt of heat shooting through me. He took the mug, his movements slow, deliberate, and set it on the wooden coffee table with a soft clink, not breaking eye contact. Then he grabbed the second mug from me, placing it beside the first, and before I could say anything, his hands were on my waist, pulling me close.