His Private Swim Sessions - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading His Private Swim Sessions, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of His Private Swim Sessions.
My heart stuttered at his words.
Given the "special attention" Coach Vincent had shown me earlier, I knew this "extra lesson" wasn't just out of kindness.
The other trainees seemed to pick up on the odd tension too. As they filed out, their glances flickered toward me—some envious, others downright jealous.
Soon, the Aquatic Center was empty. Just me and Coach Vincent.
He didn't waste time. His fingers closed around my wrist, tugging me straight into the water.
This time, he led me to the deep end.
The memory of nearly drowning still clawed at me, and panic prickled under my skin. Instinctively, I clung to him.
"Relax, Evelyn," he murmured, voice smooth. "The deep end's no different. If anything, you'll learn faster here."
I swallowed my fear and pushed forward, gliding into deeper water.
"That's it... Easy. Gentle kicks..."
Guided by his voice, I realized—I was floating. Effortlessly.
A thrill shot through me, bright and giddy. Coach Vincent hovered close, his presence a silent promise: I won't let you fall.
Then, without warning, his arm slid around my waist, the other bracing my thigh.
When I glanced up, his gaze wasn't on my face—it was locked onto my chest.
My bikini left little to the imagination, the swell of my cleavage undeniable.
Even when I caught him staring, he didn't look away. His eyes darkened, burning with a hunger that made my breath hitch.
The water was cool, but my skin blazed.
His touch drifted lower, tracing my navel, then dipping dangerously close to—
"Evelyn..." His breath ghosted over my ear before his teeth nipped the lobe. "You don't have a boyfriend, do you? Bet you've been starving for this."
At the same time, my swimsuit straps loosened. His fingers teased, then kneaded—slow, deliberate.
It had been so long since a man touched me. I was putty in his hands.
And Coach Vincent? He knew exactly what he was doing. In seconds, he had me trembling, aching.
"How's the practice going?" His voice shifted suddenly, all business. "Maybe you should try on your own."
Just like that, his hands were gone.
The whiplash left me dizzy. His stern expression gave nothing away—as if the last few minutes never happened.
Had they?
But my undone straps and the fire still pooling low in my belly said otherwise.
Was this some kind of game?
If so, he was playing it masterfully.
Lost in my thoughts, I barely registered when he took my hand again.
"Evelyn, let me show you an advanced technique. With your talent, you'll pick it up fast."
"Don't stiffen up. Just follow me..."
His palm pressed against my stomach, moving with the water's rhythm. Then, with his support, my body floated weightlessly.
The freedom was intoxicating. For the first time, swimming felt like flying.
"Imagine you're a fish. Legs together, push through the water—feel it resist..."
His hand skimmed lower, reigniting the heat he'd stoked earlier.
Yet despite the teasing, he never crossed that final line.
What was his deal? Post-coital clarity? Or was he waiting—testing me?
Questions swarmed, but as I lost myself in the water, they drifted away, one by one.
Given the "special attention" Coach Vincent had shown me earlier, I knew this "extra lesson" wasn't just out of kindness.
The other trainees seemed to pick up on the odd tension too. As they filed out, their glances flickered toward me—some envious, others downright jealous.
Soon, the Aquatic Center was empty. Just me and Coach Vincent.
He didn't waste time. His fingers closed around my wrist, tugging me straight into the water.
This time, he led me to the deep end.
The memory of nearly drowning still clawed at me, and panic prickled under my skin. Instinctively, I clung to him.
"Relax, Evelyn," he murmured, voice smooth. "The deep end's no different. If anything, you'll learn faster here."
I swallowed my fear and pushed forward, gliding into deeper water.
"That's it... Easy. Gentle kicks..."
Guided by his voice, I realized—I was floating. Effortlessly.
A thrill shot through me, bright and giddy. Coach Vincent hovered close, his presence a silent promise: I won't let you fall.
Then, without warning, his arm slid around my waist, the other bracing my thigh.
When I glanced up, his gaze wasn't on my face—it was locked onto my chest.
My bikini left little to the imagination, the swell of my cleavage undeniable.
Even when I caught him staring, he didn't look away. His eyes darkened, burning with a hunger that made my breath hitch.
The water was cool, but my skin blazed.
His touch drifted lower, tracing my navel, then dipping dangerously close to—
"Evelyn..." His breath ghosted over my ear before his teeth nipped the lobe. "You don't have a boyfriend, do you? Bet you've been starving for this."
At the same time, my swimsuit straps loosened. His fingers teased, then kneaded—slow, deliberate.
It had been so long since a man touched me. I was putty in his hands.
And Coach Vincent? He knew exactly what he was doing. In seconds, he had me trembling, aching.
"How's the practice going?" His voice shifted suddenly, all business. "Maybe you should try on your own."
Just like that, his hands were gone.
The whiplash left me dizzy. His stern expression gave nothing away—as if the last few minutes never happened.
Had they?
But my undone straps and the fire still pooling low in my belly said otherwise.
Was this some kind of game?
If so, he was playing it masterfully.
Lost in my thoughts, I barely registered when he took my hand again.
"Evelyn, let me show you an advanced technique. With your talent, you'll pick it up fast."
"Don't stiffen up. Just follow me..."
His palm pressed against my stomach, moving with the water's rhythm. Then, with his support, my body floated weightlessly.
The freedom was intoxicating. For the first time, swimming felt like flying.
"Imagine you're a fish. Legs together, push through the water—feel it resist..."
His hand skimmed lower, reigniting the heat he'd stoked earlier.
Yet despite the teasing, he never crossed that final line.
What was his deal? Post-coital clarity? Or was he waiting—testing me?
Questions swarmed, but as I lost myself in the water, they drifted away, one by one.
End of His Private Swim Sessions Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to His Private Swim Sessions book page.