Story 2- His BBC as a present

Chapter 1

June's POV

I stared at myself in the foggy mirror of the locker room, my chest roaring in my ears. My nipples were still peaked from the cold air and the leftover adrenaline, pressing sharp against the inside of my arms as I crossed them.

Phew, I'd almost lost today's match by a heartbeat — three one-hundredths, to be exact — but that razor-thin margin wasn’t what had my pulse racing now.

It was him.

Right before the meet, when I’d leaned against the starting block and teased him about needing “extra motivation,” Coach Finn had given me that slow, half-smirk and said in a low tone that only I could hear:

“If you take gold in the 100 free, I’ll get you something special. Whatever you want.”

His eyes had dropped to my mouth for half a second too long, lingering on the curve of my lower lip before flicking back up. I’d laughed then, tossing my hair back. “Careful what you promise, Coach. I have expensive taste.”

But I’d known exactly what I wanted. And now that I’d won, by that stupid, glorious three one-hundredths, the image wouldn’t leave my head.

Me on my knees in some shadowed corner after everyone cleared out with his enormous Black dick heavy on my tongue with dark veins pulsing under my lips and the salty heat of him filling my mouth while his calloused fingers tangled in my wet hair and his low groan echoed off the tiles.

A fresh pulse of heat bloomed low in my belly, making my thighs press together instinctively. God, I was already wet again, and it had nothing to do with the swim.

I wiped the last beads of chlorine-scented water from my neck with the edge of my towel, letting my eyes trace the faint red line the suit had left on my hips. 

My fingers slipped through the damp strands at my temple, trying to tame them, but they just flopped back defiantly.

Whatever. No one was judging my hair right now.

They’re probably still outside, screaming about how I touched the wall first. Coach had yelled the number but I didn't remember because it got swallowed by the roar.

“Yo, Queen of the Hundred Free! You planning to live in that mirror or what?” Temi’s bright voice bounced off the tiled walls, shattering the fantasy. 

She appeared in the doorway, already wearing her team jacket, backpack slung over one shoulder like she’d been ready for the last twenty minutes.

“Bus is loading, come on, we’re rolling in like five minutes!” 

“Yeah—coming!”

My fingers trembled as I peeled the damp swimsuit off my body, the cold air biting into my still-heated skin. I yanked my oversized navy hoodie from the hook and pulled it over my head in one impatient motion. 

The fleece settled cold against my still-wet skin, clinging in places it had no business clinging, but I didn’t care. The sooner I could hide inside the soft fabric and disappear into a seat on the bus, the sooner I could find him.

I shoved my wet goggles and cap into the duffel, grabbed my flip-flops, and jogged out barefoot, the icy tiles stinging my soles with every step.

Temi raised both brows when she saw me fully. “You good, champ? You look like you just saw a ghost in lane five.”

“Almost did,” I said, forcing a half-smile. “Almost became the ghost who lost by a fingernail.”

She snorted, already turning to leave. “Yeah, yeah, tragic. You still won, drama queen. Move your medal-winning ass before Coach leaves us both here to swim back to base.”

The bus was already rumbling, exhaust curling in the evening air. The driver gave me the universal “you’re late” eyebrow as I scrambled up the steps, but said nothing. The moment my feet hit the aisle, the team erupted.

“There she is!”

“Close one, June—but you fucking did it!”

“Medal-winning ass, let’s goooo!”

I forced a grin, accepted the fist bumps and shoulder squeezes, the warmth of their excitement buzzing against my still-sensitive skin. Sliding into the row where Temi and two other girls had saved me a seat near the middle, I dropped my duffel between my feet.

A few minutes later the engine growled louder, tires rolling, streetlights beginning to streak past the windows. The chatter settled into tired, post-meet murmurs.

“June,” Coach Finn called, his deep voice cutting through my haze in that quiet way that always made my stomach clench.

I looked up. He was walking down the aisle toward the back, eyes locked on me.

“Got a minute? Need to debrief your race. And—congratulations. You earned it.”

My stomach flipped. Temi elbowed me with a smirk. “Go get your gold-star talk, champ.”

I stood, my heart suddenly slamming harder than it had during the final twenty-five meters and followed him to the very back row which nobody ever sat in because the seats were narrower. He dropped into the window seat and patted the spot beside him.

I sat close. Close enough that our thighs almost touched. He turned slightly, elbow on the armrest, studying me with that steady, unreadable gaze.

“Three one-hundredths,” he said, voice quiet so only I could hear. “You scared the hell out of me on that last five meters. But you touched first. Good fucking job, kid.”

His praise landed like a hand between my legs. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from squirming.

“Thanks, Coach.”

He kept talking — something about my pull phase, my breathing pattern, how I’d negative-split the last fifty — but the words blurred. I tried. I really tried. 

All I could focus on was his mouth forming them, the rough timbre of his voice, the way his big, dark, calloused hand rested on his own thigh, inches from mine, fingers long enough to wrap around my waist twice.

I’d imagined those hands on me for months. Gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks. Spreading my thighs. Holding my head steady while I tried and failed to take that thick Black cock deep—

A filthy, reckless thought flashed through my mind, and thank fuck I'd skipped panties under the hoodie.

I turned my head slowly, met his eyes and let a slow, sly smile curl my lips.

His brow arched, confusion flickering across his handsome face at the sudden shift in my expression. “What is it?” 

Aww.. Poor man.

“Keep quiet,” I whispered.

Before he could react, I moved.

I swung one leg over his, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, hoodie riding up my thighs as I settled my weight onto him. 

My bare thighs pressed against the rough fabric of his track pants, the friction sending a fresh jolt right between my legs.

His breath caught. His large hands instinctively flew to my waist, dark fingers digging into my lighter skin, gripping hard like he meant to push me off but couldn’t quite make himself do it.

My hands slid up his broad chest, then down until my palm cupped the thick, unmistakable ridge of his Black shaft through his pants and I gave a slow, deliberate squeeze.

Damn, he was huge. I gave a slow, deliberate squeeze and felt him jump against my fingers, the heat of him searing through the layers.

His whole body jerked as a choked sound died in his throat.

“June—," His voice was a strangled rasp, barely audible. "What the fuck—”

“Shhh.” I leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "You promised me whatever I want, remember?"