The Coach's Daughter

Chapter 39 [M]

Warning: Mature content... not that graphic tbh (sorry to the readers who love spice) but if ur under 18 do some skipping (cuz everyone totally follows that rule) bc I'm not trying to get this story rated M

Recap: Amelia and her mom are FINALLY OFFICIALLY donezo after Amelia giving the woman like 500000 chances.

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Zack and I spend the week stuck together. I try not to react every time I cross a day off of my calendar but each day feels like a stab to the heart.

The last day before he leaves, we have a picnic on the football field and watch the sunset. At night, we watch Rugrats with Tommy until he and Carrie fall asleep.

My eyes keep flickering to the clock as we watch Little Women in his room. It's past ten and I can feel tomorrow inching closer and closer.

"Stop that," he says as I stare at the skinny hand of the clock ticking.

"I can't help it," I reply. Pressing my lips together, I scoot closer to him and caress the hair on the back of his neck. Mustering up my courage, I look him straight in the eyes to make sure he understands. "I was thinking... Maybe I could stay the night."

I can see his thoughts churning and the pain when he closes his eyes. "You can't," he lets out.

"Why not?" I ask quietly.

His eyes focus on mine. "Your first shouldn't be with someone who's gonna leave."

"My first should be with you," I insist. "I want you to leave with every piece of me." Reaching out, I grab his hand and bring it to my chest.

"I don't want you to do this just because I'm leaving."

"It's not. I want to do this," I say honestly. A thought flickers into my mind and I start to backtrack. "Unless you don't want-"

Before I can finish, his warm hands catch my face and our lips crash together. A low groan escapes from his throat as I press myself as close to him as I possibly can. He pulls me so I'm on top of him, straddling his body.

I realize that all this time he's been careful with me, holding back. Heat travels throughout my entire body as I let myself go, whimpering as he licks my bottom lip and moves to my neck.

"Don't stop," I urge, craning my neck back for better access.

His lips move back to mine, ravishing me until I force myself to pull away. With a fluttering feeling, I start to peel off my top. His eyes stay on me, stricken, as I unclasp my bra. Any insecurities I could have had wash away as he stares at me like I'm some kind of goddess.

"Fuck. Is this really happening?" he whispers, not tearing his gaze away from me. I catch his words with my lips and start to kiss down his neck while running my fingers through his hair. His breathing intensifies and I can feel his heart beating against my hand, but he remains careful, holding me like I'm delicate.

I press a kiss to the edge of his lips, more insistent this time. "You can touch me," I say. My hand interlaces in his as I bring it to my bare chest, holding his hand to my heart. His hand moves softly against my skin, just barely cupping my breast.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, eyes clouded. I can see him fighting for control.

I want to get rid of that control.

Pressing down more, I roll my hips against him, and his jaw clenches. In a low voice, I whisper, "I want you."

His eyes flash and a certain darkness sets in them. "Get on your back." I lie back as he moves on top of me, kissing every inch of my body. Closing my eyes, I bask in the feeling of his lips against my skin. It feels so good- so impossibly good- that, for once, my thoughts come second to how I feel.

Slowly, my hands reach for the hem of his shirt, urging it up, and I stare in awe as he slips it off in one swift move. Suddenly, I'm grateful for the existence of football as my eyes glaze over the hard sculpture of his abs down to the hem of his sweats. Taking him in, I run my hands over the planes of his now bare chest, trying to remember every line and crevice. If my movements are awkward, he doesn't react like they are.

Closing my eyes, he urges me to hold onto him. It hurts a little but not enough to make me want to stop. I memorize the sounds he makes, the raspiness of his voice as he whispers "I love you so much," the stars in his eyes as he finally loses control. His body is forever etched into mine.

The second time it feels less painful and more familiar. Like his body is mine. His voice is like velvet as he whispers my name. I bury my face in him and inhale the fire, smoke, and sugar that I've come to know as Zack Darrington. His fingers interlace with mine, saying everything we can't say. I don't dare let go.

Late into the night, I lay, oddly comfortable being bare in his sheets, as he brings me a damp towel and presses it to my inner thighs. "That feel good?" he asks as I brush my hands through his hair, and I nod. He climbs in next to me and I wrap around him, falling asleep with his lips against my forehead.

I wake up at 3:30 in fear that it's already time for him to leave. My stirring wakes him up too.

We're running out of time.

He stays half-awake with me, talking sleepily about how he wants to play for New England, reminiscing about how pretty I looked in the "white top thing," how he knew he loved me at the last game when, for the first time, someone saw him weak and didn't run away. His fingers toy mindlessly with his necklace on my chest.

Every confession breaks my heart a little more and I pray for time to go slower. I brush his face until he falls asleep.

I wake up at 7:30 again and relief floods through me as I find Zack's arm wrapped around me. He wakes up at my movement and gives me an innocent smile, which falters when he sees my tears.

"Please don't cry," he says and holds my face tenderly. "I'm sorry, Amelia." He pulls me into his chest protectively. "If I could choose to stay, I would. A hundred times."

I know he would. So I stifle my tears and kiss him.

"I never wanted to be the one to leave," he says. "I'm sorry." He breaks and for the first time, I'm the one to hold him as he cries.