With a commanding motion of his hand, the coach lifted my chin and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was hungry, adult, and even a bit rough. His tongue forced me to give him space, drawing eights inside me that made my body tremble. “Leave,” he said in a hoarse voice, reluctantly breaking the kiss. “Right now. Otherwise it’ll be too late.” “No,” I showed stubbornness. “I want… it to be too late.” “I won’t be able to stop, Sonya,” he growled into my neck, sinking his fingers into my thighs. “Go away right now.” “Don’t… don’t stop. I want this, Kamil.” “You’re a stupid girl! You’ll regret it,” he said. “This won’t change anything between us. I won’t stay—here, not with you, and not at all.” “I still want it. Kiss me again, Kamil Nailyevich…”