Balance (Off Balance Book 1) (26 page)

And then, just when I thought he was going to pull back, his thumb moved a fraction and slid between my lips, over my leo, from bottom to top in a swirling motion on my pussy.

Sweet Jesus!

Instinctively, my nails dug deep in his golden skin as I pushed my chest out. My nipples tightened, hardening to little points. I gave Kova full access as my hips unwound in the chair, reveling in his touch. He growled low as I moved myself against his hand. I needed more, I wanted it. A million tiny explosions were climbing inside me, building up higher and higher. I wanted to reach that pinnacle of bliss.

Kova pressed his thumb hard against my clit and pushed in circles, his fingertips seeking entrance, but my leo was too tight. A rush of wetness coated through the fabric, directly beneath his thumb. Kova rumbled deep in the back of his throat as he rubbed the wet stain. My legs shook and it took everything in me not to yell out from the intensity of the pleasure.

“Oh,” I breathed ever so quietly. “Oh...God. It feels so good.” I was right there. My entire body came apart, tingling with the euphoric bliss he brought me as I blew up. His thumb circled faster, my hips rolled in a wave as I exploded in front of him. I gripped the side of the chair, and released a heavy breath. My shoulders relaxed back.

Kova was breathing low and heavy when I finally found my voice. “What...what was that?”

His shocked gaze snapped to mine and held still. When he didn’t say anything, I asked again, “What was that?”

Removing his hand from my sex, he squeezed my knee painfully hard. His hand shook and the skin on his knuckles tightened. The vein in his arm twirled down in a spiral as he stared at the ground, lost in thought.

“An orgasm, I presume,” he choked out.

I shook my head vehemently. “No way. I’ve had orgasms before and they never once felt that incredible.”

Kova’s knees cracked as he stood, his pelvis directly in front of my face...along with an obvious erection. I swallowed back and looked up at him, his intoxicating eyes were already trained hard on me. He cupped himself, stroking his hard length. I glanced down, mesmerized as I watched him wrap his hand around his thickness, moving it around almost as if he was trying to push it down.

I licked my dry lips and glanced up. Kova had never taken his eyes off me. He dragged a hand through his hair and expelled a loud breath. His eyes finally left mine and scattered around the cafe.

“Do you think you will be able to go back out and train again?” he asked.

Wait—What? He wanted me to train after that mind-blowing orgasm I just had—he was certifiably insane.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I need to change my leo first.”

That got his attention. “Actually go home, Ria.” His face was void of any emotion and my stomach tightened. “You had enough for today.” He coughed. “That, ah, fall was a bad one.”

I frowned. I didn’t want him to send me home.

“But I still have a half day of training left.”

“I am giving you the rest of the day off.”

I stood to get my point across. “But I need these extra hours, you know I need all the help I can get. I don’t want to go home.”

“Adrianna, at this point I do not care what you want. I said go home, so go. For once, can you not fucking argue with me and just go?”

I flinched and forced back my rising tears. He’d never used such a menacing tone with me since I began training, or cursed. At least not that I could remember. His sudden, hurtful glare got to me. “No, I won’t.”

Muttering in Russian, he glared at me.

“I’ll suck it up and deal. It’s my problem, not yours. It was only a little fall anyway.”

Slowly, he looked in my direction, as if he was ready to body slam me to the floor. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs. I wasn’t sure what I’d done that was so wrong.

“I do not want to see your face until tomorrow. Am I making myself clear?”

Breathing deeper and pulling from within, I pushed back. I was ready to blow, and not in a good way. The Sicilian in me was coming out.

“You can’t make me go home for this. It was a stupid fall, and no one else has been sent home for falling!”

His eyes softened. “You misunderstand. If you do not go home and recover, tomorrow is going to be painful for you.”

This man confused me. One minute he was growling and ready to strangle me, the next, like right this instance, he was concerned and caring.

I nodded. Actually, he was right. “I don’t understand you.”

“You are not supposed to.”

Then he stalked off and left the room as if nothing happened.

S
ometimes when the day ended and everyone went home, I liked to come into the gym late at night just to lie on the floor and stare up at the ceiling, visualizing my routines over and over. My body would flinch and jerk as I pictured myself nail each skill and dismount, pleasing my coaches.

Every gymnast had access to the gym with just a swipe of their card, yet I’d never seen any here the few times I came.

In the hushed silence of the night, being surrounded by the equipment was freeing, and it brought a sense of security that filled my soul. No one to yell at me or stare down and tell me how wrong I was. No cold shoulders from my teammates. No side-looks or smirks to shake my confidence. It was just me and the gym as I breathed in the chalky air.

Switching on one light, it illuminated over the parallel bars, leaving the rest of the gym cased in darkness, which was just what I wanted. I liked the obscurity. It was serene and comforting.

A nice little bruise had formed on my pubic bone. I’d had falls on beam before, but this one was probably one of the worst since I’d fallen back-to-back. I iced myself religiously three times, soaked in a bath, and took four Motrin to alleviate the swelling. And nearly a week later, I was good to go.

Walking toward the blue-carpeted spring floor, I zipped up my sweater. The chill hit my bones, a tremble waked through me. Without the heated bodies to fill the gym, it was actually quite cold in here. Once I was in the dead center, I laid down and a shiver crept up my spine.

Meet season would soon be here and I needed to mentally prepare. I wasn’t sure which meets Kova would put me in, but since this year was an Olympic year, elite season dates changed. I had roughly four months to go, then December to June would be nonstop. The competitions were much larger than what I was used to, competing outside the state, and competing against new athletes, mostly younger than me and with harder skills. The younger part worried me the most, though I would never in a million years admit it to anyone. The last few months had been pure hell, both emotionally and physically, and divulging it would make me appear like the weakling I felt I was at times. So I bottled it up and kept my mouth shut.

Just like I did back home.

Expelling a deep sigh, I had to find trust and belief from within to gain the confidence I needed. I had experience and maturity due to my age and upbringing. Hopefully that would work in my favor.

I slipped my ear buds in and began playing
The End
by Kings of Leon. His deep, baritone voice along with the beats drowned out the negative voices in my head and allowed me to think freely. I was able to forget the weight of my life for a little while without the added pressure of anyone. The music spoke to me and I listened.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been there when something caught the corner of my eye. Craning my neck to the side, I looked toward the light from the door and my stomach dropped.

Coach Kova.

I had no idea what he was doing here. Surely, he got enough of the gym being here all day.

He looked to be on a mission as he strode toward the now illuminated rings, determined and completely oblivious I was present.

Thank God. He probably figured he berated the gymnasts enough they wouldn’t be here after hours.

Wait, I take that back. He only berated me to that extent. I was his punching bag on a bad day.

Reaching behind his neck, he fisted his gray shirt and pulled it over his head. It slid off his back smoothly, like a piece of silk, and dropped it to the ground. I sucked in a breath as he undressed under the muted light. I’d never seen him without a shirt before. Other than an occasional tumbling pass where his shirt would rise up and show a hint of his stomach, it was all the skin of his I’d ever seen.

He toed off his sneakers, leaving only a pair of black basketball shorts on, then cracked his neck, rolling it around in circles. He threw his arms out to the sides, swinging them around wildly to stretch them out. From behind, his golden back was lean, honed to absolute perfection, the muscles flexing as he stretched out his upper half. I couldn’t help but lie still and stare at him in awe.
His back was a work of art. Just like him.

He was fucking gorgeous.

I whimpered internally. Only I would see having a hot coach as a curse.

Kova jumped and grasped the rings. The corded muscles in his shoulders tightened and I watched as he began whipping his pointed toes back and forth while he held steady. Arching his back, then hollowing his chest, he had great form.

He went straight into full swings, handstands, and flips, warming up his body. My jaw went slack. He maneuvered the rings with precision, like a champ. I’d never seen him use any apparatus at practice before. He was focused, completely unaware anyone was watching. And I was happy he was oblivious. I was mesmerized by the sight before me. He had such grace and beauty coiled in his toned body that I think if he knew anyone was watching he’d stop. His control was remarkable at his age. Thirty-two wasn’t old by any means, but for a gymnast it was ancient. Christ, eighteen was over the hill.

Most gymnasts retired around the age of eighteen, very few made it to their mid twenties. Not by choice, but because their bodies could no longer handle the physical strain and demand of the sport. Almost always, there was an injury we sustained.

We defied gravity on the floor with insane jaw dropping tumbling passes, ran toward stationary objects to flip over, and balanced on a four-inch piece of wood with turns, tucks, and fulls. All the while killing our backs and feet from landings and dismounts. The impact shocked our ankles and zoomed up our spines, making us wince in pain. But we grinned and dealt with it and did what we were born to do, because we couldn’t imagine life without it. Just as Kova was doing now. He couldn’t let go.

Kova pulled up into a handstand then slowly extended his arms out to the sides so now he was in an upside down T, his back facing me. His body was pulled tight and locked solid. Roped muscles in his shoulders jutted out, and cut sharp as he began to slowly lower his body into a plank position. I held my breath as I watched. The skill was not an easy one to master. I’d seen teammates shake from the brute strength it took to hold this form. But Kova didn’t move, he didn’t shake. His arms were as steady as the rest of his body. There was no blowing like a leaf, as he once said I had on beam. It was beyond remarkable my coach could still do a skill of this capacity.

With incredible accuracy and control, he rotated his arms just a fraction so they were turned out. From his sculpted shoulders to the veins that snaked around his arms, he didn’t waver in his hold. It was utterly fascinating. His body exuded raw power and strength, and it was beautifully captivating. Remarkable. I’ve tried so hard not to associate Kova with anything other than him being my gymnastics coach. But seeing his determination and fight to make me a better gymnast on a daily basis compelled me to think of him in more ways than I should. And now, with how he was conveying control without anyone around, it was hard to see him as just my coach.

Once in a forward facing T, he pulled his legs up into a pike position. My gaze traveled down his solid chest, taking in his lean abdomen.

And my mouth gaped open, a gush of hot air rolling off my lips.

Mother of all hell.

There was a fairly large Olympic ring tattoo on the left side of his ribs. Unlike the colorful rings the symbol was known for, Kova’s five ring tattoo was in solid black. And with each breath he took, the tattoo moved as if it were floating on his skin.

Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I was gawking at his body, and it was hard to tear my gaze away. The tattoo and placement was unbelievably sexy. It upped his hot factor by ten million, not that he needed it.