The Coach's Lusty Hotwife E-Book

Alana Church

• Herausgeber: Boruma Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

With her husband's football team in the dumps, horny hotwife Janet has an idea. Sex sells, and when the coach's wife is the one who is up for grabs, all the players will give it (and her) their best shot. But can she convince strong armed quarterback Jimmy "The Cannon" O'Bannon to play for the Promise Vixens? Find out in "The Coach's Lusty Hotwife!"

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Janet got up. Jimmy politely rose in response. "How would you like to see some of the scenery?" she volunteered. "There is an absolutely incredible view of the Teta Peaks from the front of the house."

"Sure. I guess."

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming." A smile took some of the sting out of her words. 

"How's it going, honey?" Coach Wilson asked. He raised his eyebrows in polite question as Jimmy followed Janet up onto the deck, feeling almost as if they were a couple.

But not really. You'll never be good enough for a woman like her.

"Everything is just fabulous, honey. God," she enthused. "Could we have gotten a more perfect day?" She took a deep breath, looking up into the cobalt-blue sky, which had been scrubbed clean of clouds. "This is the kind of day that makes you feel lucky just to be alive, isn't it?"

Coach Wilson reached out a long arm and pulled her in for a kiss. "For me, that's every day."

Janet pushed her hands against the tall man's chest, giggling. "I'm going to take Jimmy to see the Tetas. You mind if I disappear for a few minutes?"

"Nope. You two go on with your bad selves. Mack and me can probably keep the place from burning down."

"Why am I not filled with confidence?"

"Because you should have more faith in your husband, and the manly qualities that made this country great." Coach Wilson took a bite of his hamburger.

"Uh-huh." Janet seemed unconvinced, but took Jimmy's arm. "Come on, Cannon. Let's go before we all die of testosterone poisoning."

He frowned as she led him into the house. "Shouldn't we go around front?"

"Nah. You can't get a good look at the Tetas from there. We have to go up to the second floor, where there isn't a bunch of crap getting in the way."

He shrugged, but followed obediently. Compared to outside, the house seemed hot and breathless, almost stifling. Janet seemed to notice it, too. "Montana," she sighed as she led him up a staircase. The polished wooden bannister was like silk under his fingers. "The furnace runs for eight months straight, and then when it finally warms up, we have about two weeks of spring and then it's time to turn on the air conditioning.

"Here we go," she said, opening a door at the end of a hallway. "The best view is from here."

He twitched aside the curtain, his brows drawing down in confusion. The window looked east, away from the Bitterroot Range that formed the valley that Promise lay in. All he could see was the street, parked cars, and the other houses in the tidy little subdivision.

"Um." He didn't quite know what to say. Was he missing something? "Where are the Tetas?"

"You don't know much Spanish, do you, Jimmy?" Janet's voice was low, amused. But with something deeper running through it.

"Tetas is Spanish for breasts.'

"And they're right here."

Leseprobe

The Coach’s Lusty Hotwife

By Alana Church

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2020 Alana Church

~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

Chapter 1: Hard Sell

They were eating dinner when the phone rang.

“No,” Janet Wilson moaned, as her husband’s hand automatically went to his pocket. “Please, Carl. For the love of God, let’s have one night in peace.”

He grimaced as he looked at the screen. “Can’t. It’s Douglas. And he’s announcing his decision in a couple of days.” He tapped a button, and answered in an easy, relaxed tone. “Carl Wilson.

“Yes, Terry. I was hoping to hear from you tonight. You have? Good.” Janet closed her eyes as his face fell. “Really? You sure you don’t want to take some more time and think about it? No, no, I understand.” His lips peeled back in a mirthless smile, and his hand clenched around the sleek phone. “If it feels right, and you’re positive, another week isn’t going to change things. I appreciate you letting me know. And we’ll see you on the field next year. Good luck, son.”

He hit the disconnect button and set the phone on the table, screen side down. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, stabbing viciously at his plate.

“Bad news?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Douglas. Rotten little bastard has been stringing me along for weeks. But he’s going to Anaconda State. Just like we were afraid he would.”

Janet sighed. She had been thrilled when came back to her hometown as the wife of the new football coach. Promise, Montana, wasn’t on anyone’s list of the most exciting cities in America. But after years of following Carl around from one job to the next, she had hoped that they would be able to put down some roots. Or, in her case at least, feel as if she wasn’t a hobo or a gypsy, always renting because there was never enough stability to buy.

It wasn’t her husband’s fault. She had known the score when she married Carl. Unless you were one of the fortunate few, a head coach or an assistant at a major program, a football coach was always one or two bad seasons away from being fired. And if you were young and ambitious like her husband, you would be always looking to take the next step up the professional ladder. Which meant that their lives had about as much stability as a pair of jackrabbits being chased by a pack of coyotes.

But taking the job at Promise College had dangled the hope of a less nomadic lifestyle in front of her eyes. Carl had always enjoyed his visits to her hometown, and over the past two years, she had sensed an easing in his ambitions. The gorgeous mountains, the clean country air, and the welcoming, relaxed friendliness of their neighbors and her family had worn off some of his restlessness. She had dared to hope that he might decide that he didn’t need to chase the dream of becoming a big-school coach, and they could settle down here for a good long while. Maybe even permanently. She’d had her fill of moving trucks and security deposits. Let someone else be the new assistant linebackers coach at Iowa. They wouldn’t need it.

Of course, Carl would need to be successful in Promise in order for that dream to come true. No college administration, no matter how small the school or relaxed its attitude towards its athletic department, would tolerate losing forever. The Promise Vixens had been the laughingstock of the Bitterroot Conference for years before Carl had taken the job. And his first two years had been mediocre at best. They had one or two more years. Three, at the most. And then they would be sent packing, just the latest in a long line of failures who couldn’t turn the floundering program around. Worst off all, Carl might be tarred with the ‘loser’ brush. He wouldn’t be a rising star any longer, but a man who had failed his first chance at running a program on his own.

“Damn it,” her husband was saying. “I was really hoping to get him at quarterback. I mean, he might be an overgrown, immature, snotty little prick, but I’ve dealt with worse. And by God can he throw the ball.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” she said encouragingly. “I’m sure it will all work out. You’ve got some more kids coming in this weekend on recruiting visits, don’t you?”

Carl nodded, somewhat mollified. “Yeah.” His fist clenched beside his plate. “And I need to land at least two or three of them. I need playmakers, Janet. Kids with skills. A quarterback. And at least one wide receiver. Two would be even better. Me and Mack are putting together a defense that’s going to make coaches in this conference piss themselves. But no one ever won a nothing-nothing game. We need to score, somehow.”

She pushed some of her pasta primavera around on her plate, worriedly noting the tense look on Carl’s face, then made a decision. “Get up,” she said, standing. “And put on something nice. We’re going out.”

“Out?” he echoed.

“Out,” she nodded firmly. “And turn that damn cell phone off for once. Better yet, leave it here. You need to unwind a bit, baby. And I know just the way to do it.”

He smiled at her, and she felt a quick flutter in her belly. “Oh? I like the sound of that.”

The name of the place was the Lucky Star. It was half a roadhouse, half a bar and grill, half a dance club, and it had been a Promise institution since before statehood. Over the years, hanging out at ‘The Star’ had become a rite of passage for the local teens. Janet should know. She had been one of them, once upon a time. She’d had her first legal drink inside its dark wooden walls. Her first illegal drink, too, now that she thought about it.

And don’t forget some other firsts, she recalled with a smile as Carl pulled their SUV into the gravel parking lot. Despite the fact that it was Monday, a blast of music hit her ears as soon as she opened the door. First toke of that evil marijuana, first time I kissed a girl, first time I got invited to a three-way…

“Janet! Carl! Welcome back!” A curvy young woman smiled at them as they walked inside. “Just the two of you tonight?”

“That’s right, Abbie,” she smiled. “Can you get us a table near the dance floor? I feel like shaking my grove thang tonight.”

“And I’m stuck here on door duty until closing,” she complained. “And I’ll miss the show.” Her glance slid to Carl, frankly admiring. “How about you, sweetie? Want to keep me company while your wife teases all the men here with that hot cheerleader bod of hers?” She bent forward, letting Carl get a good look down the front of her shirt. Her breasts were nice and plump, and from the way they were pushing insistently at the cloth, Janet was fairly sure the young woman wasn’t wearing a bra. “I can tell you all about my nice tight end. And I know how much you big, handsome football coaches like to get good penetration.”

Carl’s hands twitched, but he quickly looked away. “Just a table for two, thanks,” he said, as Janet hid a smirk.

Pouting that her teasing hadn’t received more of a response, Abbie led the two of them to a small table, but she made sure to catch Carl’s eye before she sashayed away. Her hips were swaying in open invitation.

“Jesus,” Carl said as he looked over the dance floor. “Now I remember why I keep this place off limits to the team. If I didn’t, I’d probably have to deal with half a dozen paternity suits inside of a year.”

“Yeah,” Janet laughed, her eyes taking in the scene. “If there’s a heart in Promise, it’s right here.” She leaned back in her heavy wooden chair, scarred by decades of use, and sighed happily. “I love it.”

It was only a minute or two before a waitress came up to take their order. Janet asked for a rum and coke, while Carl opted for a beer, and they ordered a tray of sliders and fries to share to make up for their interrupted dinner. When the food arrived, they sat back, taking in the cheerful, happy scene.

On the surface, The Star wasn’t any different than what you could see at any bar or roadhouse anywhere in the Rockies. The music leaned heavily towards country, though there was a healthy helping of good old-fashioned classic rock. Maybe twenty people were on the dance floor. Couples and groups of adults were scattered at the tables, eating a late dinner, or playing darts or shooting pool. A group of young men was off to the side, watching a baseball game on one of the televisions that hung in the corners.

But when you looked closer, that was when the oddities started to become apparent. At least, they would be considered odd to anyone who wasn’t born and raised in Promise. Many of the people in the bar looked to be underage. And there was considerably more physical affection being shown than you might ordinarily see in a Montana roadhouse. As she and Carl watched, a young couple a few tables away shared a deep, passionate kiss, and the man lifted the woman into his lap as their hands roamed slowly over each other.

Carl shook his head. “My brother would have a foaming fit if he could see this place. Let’s see.” He counted the points off on his fingers. “We’ve got underage drinking.” He nodded to a corner, where two men, obviously a couple, were holding hands. “Homosexuality.” Another finger. “Definitely some fornication.” His nose wrinkled as a familiar odor wafted past. “Pot.” He waved a hand as a triumphant shout came from the television-watching group. “And I’m sure there’s some gambling going on, too.”

Janet took a sip of her drink. “Your brother is a sexually-repressed dingus. And his wife is even worse.” She wrinkled her nose. “This is a small town, Carl. And there isn’t much to do. Kids are going to be kids. Everyone figured that it would be better to give them a safe place to experiment and learn. What would you rather have?” She nodded at a group of laughing teens. “A beer or two here, where there’s people who will make sure you’re safe to drive home before they give you your keys back? Or half a bottle of Night Train and a closed-casket funeral because you lost control of your car on some black ice when you were loaded?”

Her husband raised his hands. “I’m not arguing. It’s just…different, that’s all.”

“Well, I’ll take my ‘different’ over whatever hellfire-and-brimstone Shangri-la your brother is selling to the rubes back in Colorado,” she shrugged. “Pastor at his own church, and he still never looks happy.” She took a bite of her slider, chewing hungrily. Hot and greasy and oh-so-bad for her waistline, it was as good now as it had been when she was seventeen and a varsity cheerleader at the high school.

A slow song came on, one with a deep bass line and a throbbing, sensual beat. She finished her burger and stood up. “Dance with me?” she invited, holding out a hand.

In his eyes, a wicked spark kindled, lighting a fire in her belly. “That’s all right,” he replied, his lips curving in a slow, dark smile. He tilted his head. “I’d rather watch.”