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long legs outstretched along the bench. He sighed, long and deep, and closed his eyes. It felt good to be there with them in the dappled Mexican sunshine. To be away from the team. Away from the crowds. To have this precious time to recover from the verbal attack. It felt really good.
    I felt myself relax and I wasn’t even knitting.
    I raised my head and smiled at Coach Debbie.
    Then she kissed me. Full on the lips.
    I gasped.
    “Do you mind?” she asked.
    I turned my face to her and kissed her back. “Do I look like I mind? I always wanted to couple with you again!”
    “Me too,” said Benson, opening his eyes, watching us.
    Coach Debbie swept a lock of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. “You did? You should have told me. I didn’t know you felt that way. Either of you.”
    “Well, I do.”
    “Me too,” said Benson again.
    “Leah. Benson.” She laughed softly. “America’s Darlings. Did you know I always get a VO when I watch you two perform? Every single time. You do that to me. And I ought to know better. I’m your coach.”
    “You’re much more than a coach, Debbie,” Benson said, “and you’re supposed to get a VO.” He chuckled. “Good thing coaches and athletes are allowed to practice together!”
    “ Expected to practice together,” Coach Debbie murmured.
    I snuggled into her. “Just another thing that sets us apart from everyone else.”
    Benson shifted on our laps.
    He turned so that he lay on his back across our legs, his head resting on Coach Debbie’s lap. Slowly, deliberately, he slid a hand up Coach Debbie’s shirt.
    She smiled and closed her eyes.
    His hand roamed over her stomach.
    I watched his every move, my mouth open the tiniest bit. I was feeling better already.
    Coach Debbie arched her back. I arched my back.
    Benson glanced at me and grinned as his hand worked its way over her hipbone.
    She shivered.
    I shivered.
    He skimmed his hand lightly across her soft skin. He winked at me, knowing full well what he was doing to me. Then I realized he was doing this for me. Sweet, sweet Benson! He walked his fingers slowly across Coach Debbie’s rib cage as his eyes held mine. He caressed the skin around her navel, cupped a tight little breast, rolled her nipple between his fingers.
    My fingers cupped cold, thin air. My fingers rolled nothing but each other.
    Coach Debbie let out an almost silent “ooh!”
    I did too.
    “Hussy,” Benson whispered, grinning up at me.
    A rush of heat spread through me.
    Then he slid his other hand up my shirt.
    Oh my. Oh my!
    He rested his hand tenderly on my breast. It was familiar, comforting, warm. He rolled my nipple between his fingers, the way he knew I liked.
    My leg jerked.
    Benson’s hand moved under Coach Debbie’s shirt and she moaned.
    I looked down at him, lying on his back with his arms up both our shirts, playing with our breasts. My Benson.
    “Hey, babe,” he whispered.
    “Hey,” I answered, smiling.
    Coach Debbie reached across me to rest her hand on Benson’s shorts, right on his enlarged cock. I worked my own hand under his butt, that butt I knew so well. I kneaded it. I rubbed my finger over his asshole. He made a low sound. He strained on our laps, writhing in slow motion, his hands clenching and unclenching at our chests.
    Dear, dear Benson.
    He wasn’t my boyfriend, but oh, how I loved him.
    I relaxed, finally, into my lovemates. We lounged on that bench, taking our time, making each other feel good as the sun shone down on us. Distant voices murmured and laughed. A bird called out from a nearby tree.
    How sweet it was.
    And how different—oh so different from practice!
    Benson moved in time to the ministrations of our hands. His eyes were closed, his brow lightly furrowed. Coach Debbie worked her hand into his shorts, folded her hand around his cock. He squirmed in pleasure. She moved her hand up and down, up and down, as I found his ball sac and gently cradled it in my hand, flicking his asshole with my