Chapter 1 — Tennis Coach

I'm 32 now… or is it already 33?

Time truly flies. Back in my school days, I used to draw glances from men wherever I went…

Now, the reflection in the mirror looks anything but glamorous.

People envy me, thinking I'm the wife of a successful lawyer. And yes, since marriage, I've never known financial hardship. But that's not all there is to life.

Freedom…

That word presses heavily on my chest today, more than ever. For four years since getting married, I've barely stepped outside except for errands. I've lived almost entirely within the walls of our home.

Today, I decided to start living for myself again. That's why I'm beginning tennis.

I took a basic class in college once, but I might as well have never played at all—I'm practically a beginner.

Yesterday, I bought a short tennis skirt and top at the department store. Now, standing before the mirror, I turn this way and that. Honestly, even I think my figure still holds up pretty well.

Should I just wear regular workout clothes instead?

It feels embarrassing wearing something so revealing when I can't even play properly.

Ding-dong… ding-dong…

It's probably Claire from next door.

Truth be told, I'm only going because she begged me to come along.

When I open the door, she stares at me wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape.

“Sarah! Wow… I had no idea you had such a great figure. The coach's definitely going to have eyes only for you!”

“Oh, stop it… what are you saying?”

“No, seriously! Even my husband can't help staring whenever you walk past.”

“You're impossible…”

Her words make me secretly pleased.

Maybe starting tennis was the right decision after all.

We chat lightly as we walk toward the small tennis court near our apartment complex.

It's midday, so the place is nearly empty. As we step onto the court, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-thirties approaches from the other side. He gives Claire a polite nod.

“Coach, this is Sarah, the one I told you about.”

“Nice to meet you. I'm David Park—just call me Coach.”

He greets me with a warm smile.

“Yes, I'm Sarah Seo. Please take care of me.”

“Claire, could you go to the opposite side? I'll work with Sarah here.”

Claire has been playing for a few months already. Still, I feel like I might actually be better than her.

She serves the ball. It's called a serve, but honestly, it's nothing special.

Fine, let's see what I can do. I recall what little I learned back in college and swing the racket at the ball.

But the ball flies wildly out of bounds. Again. And again.

My pride starts to sting.

The thought of being worse than that chubby housewife makes me stubbornly determined.

“Haha… first time, right? With that stance, you won't hit it properly.”

He steps behind me, places his left hand on my shoulder, then reaches over and gently takes hold of my right hand gripping the racket.

“Like this… swing inward like this…”

His arm guides mine, and each time, the coarse hair on his forearm brushes against my skin.

This is the first time since marriage I've touched another man—even if it's just a lesson, I feel a faint blush creeping up.

“Now try again.”

But again, the ball goes astray.

“No, your waist needs to twist like this…”

He moves closer, his hands sliding around my sides to adjust my posture. Through the thin fabric of my tennis outfit, I feel the strength in his palms. My body tenses, sweat forming all over.

“Haha… Sarah, you've got quite a bit to learn. To play properly with Claire, you'll need at least a month.”

My pride is thoroughly bruised. When I came here, I'd imagined showing her up easily.

“Keep your legs about this far apart…”

His foot slips between mine, gently pushing my legs wider. His calf grazes mine, and each light touch sends a ticklish shiver up my leg, like tiny insects crawling across my skin.

“Good. Try again. Claire, serve!”

As the ball comes over, he grabs my arm and swings with me. For a moment, I'm completely enveloped in his arms, pressed close against his broad frame.

My husband is rather small.

I've always found myself drawn to taller, stronger men.

His sweat-scent drifts into my nose—musky, raw, alive.

I close my eyes slightly, surrendering my body to him, breathing in his scent.

My mind grows hazy.

“…try it alone.”

When he finally pulls away, I snap back to reality.

A deep sense of loss settles in my chest.

I try again—but still miss.

I guess physical skill doesn't come overnight.

“Sarah… maybe you should stay a bit longer and practice.”

“I guess so…”

It hasn't gone well, but being outside, sweating, moving my body—it feels strangely refreshing.

“I should head back now. My kid's due back from kindergarten soon.”

“You go ahead, Claire. I'll stay a little longer.”

For some reason, I don't want to leave yet.

He offers me a canned drink.

“Here. Take a break. We'll start again in a moment.”

He's surprisingly kind.

I'm glad no one else is using the court. It's just the two of us, alone under the quiet sky.

“Sarah, posture is everything in tennis. Let's try again.”

I assume the stance I just learned, facing him.

“No… not quite. Legs a bit wider. Arm like this…”

He steps behind me again, wrapping his arms around mine. This time, it feels different.

Maybe it's the heat from our earlier movement, but every point of contact burns. My face flushes.

His body presses closer against mine than before.

Being held in his arms feels… comforting. Safe.

Slowly, I lower my eyelids, letting myself sink into him.

“Relax your body… let go of the tension.”

One of his hands slides around my waist. I feel his hot breath low on my abdomen.

His leg nudges between mine, pressing me tighter against him. His strong thigh presses firmly against my buttocks.

My arms go slack. The racket slips from my grip and drops limply to the ground.

His large hand closes gently over mine.

My heart pounds.

His fingers trail slowly from my hand, up my wrist, along my arm, until they rest on my shoulder.

Every inch his touch travels, goosebumps rise. Every hair on my skin stands on end.

My legs weaken.

Without realizing it, I lean back, resting my hips against his thigh.

The firmness of his leg beneath me sends waves through my body.

His right hand strokes my shoulder softly. It feels as if my entire being is melting into his touch.

I want to see him.

As if pulled by invisible strings, I turn my head back toward him.

And in that instant, his lips cover mine.

I close my eyes again, accepting his kiss.

I don't understand why I'm doing this—with a man I've just met.

I exhale my heated breath into his mouth, and his tongue slips inside.

Sweet…

I can't even remember the last time I kissed like this.

This single kiss melts every part of me.

A sharp throb pulses deep in my lower belly.

His hand, still around my waist, slips beneath my shirt.

Despite the sport, his touch is incredibly soft.

He caresses my stomach briefly, then moves upward.

My bra tries to resist, but he slips past it effortlessly. I can't breathe.

My chest rises and falls rapidly with each shallow breath.

His hand closes firmly over my breast.

The strange, aching pleasure spreading through my body… ah…

In this moment, I want to give myself to him completely.

I suck hungrily at his tongue.

The scent of his sweat, rising through my nostrils, drives me wild.

He lifts my top, baring my breasts to the air.

Then his mouth finds my nipple, teasing it with his tongue. My abdomen clenches again.

My panties are already soaked with arousal.

One hand trails down my stomach, slipping beneath my shorts.

Over my panties, he presses firmly against my mound.

I can't hold my breath any longer—I pull my mouth from his.

“Haa… haa…”

His fingers slip under the elastic, diving into my folds.

He grips my pubic hair tightly, then