The Straight Girl’s Starting Position — Bonus Chapter

An Exclusive Bonus Scene by Aurora North

⚠️ This bonus chapter contains spoilers for The Straight Girl’s Starting Position. Read the novel first for the full experience.

Private Practice

Six months after the championship. Dani and Avery’s home gym. A positioning correction that goes exactly where both of them wanted it to go.

The home gym smelled like rubber mats and the faint ghost of cedar soap, which meant Dani had been here since dawn.

I stood in the doorway wearing compression shorts and a sports bra and nothing else because it was August and the garage had no air conditioning and also because I’d learned, over six months of living with Daniela Reyes, that the fastest way to disrupt her morning routine was to show up half-naked while she was running setter drills against a wall.

She caught the ball on the rebound and turned. Her eyes traveled from my bare feet up my calves, over my thighs — lingering there, on the muscle and the skin and the tiny bruise on my inner thigh from last night that she’d left with her mouth — past my stomach to the sports bra to my face. The evaluation was thorough. Clinical. Devastatingly hot.

“You’re not dressed for practice,” she said.

“I’m dressed exactly for the practice I have in mind.”

“Show me your starting position,” she said.

I walked to the practice net. Set my feet. One step too far inside. Deliberately. Brazenly.

She stepped behind me. Both hands on my hips. The familiar grip. Her thumbs pressed against my hip bones through the thin fabric of my shorts and my body responded the way it had since the first practice — immediate, total.

“You’re inside,” she said. Her voice was low.

“Then correct me.”

She rotated my hips. Her hands tightened. The adjustment became a grip. She pressed her body against my back — compact, warm, her breasts flattening against my shoulder blades, her hips fitting against my ass.

Her hand slid up my side. Over my ribs. Between my shoulder blades. The flat palm against my bare skin.

I leaned backward into her. No catching myself this time. Her hand on my hip slid forward. Over the waistband of my shorts. Down. Her fingers spread across my lower stomach — flat, possessive, pressing against the taut muscle below my navel.

“We have actual practice in two hours.”

“Then we should be efficient.”

I kissed her. Not gently. She kissed me back. Her hands found the waistband of my shorts. Pulled. I let her. The shorts slid down my thighs.

My underwear was already wet — had been since she put her hands on my hips. She looked down and registered it. The darkened fabric.

“You’re soaking,” she said.

“You put your hands on my hips. That’s all it takes.”

“I will never get tired of knowing that.”

She hooked her fingers into my underwear and pulled them down.

I sat on the training bench. Naked. Dani stood between my knees, still dressed. The asymmetry was deliberate and incredibly hot — me naked and exposed, her clothed and controlled.

She cupped my breasts. Her thumbs finding my nipples and circling with the steady, specific pressure she’d calibrated over months. She bent and took one nipple in her mouth. Sucked. Not gently — the firm, pulling suction that sent a direct current from my breast to my clit. Her teeth grazed. Her tongue soothed. She switched to the other breast while her hand continued working the first, pinching and rolling.

“I want your mouth,” I said. “Lower.”

She dropped to her knees.

She knelt between my thighs and placed both hands on my knees and pushed them apart. Wide. She looked at me — at all of me, exposed and wet and wanting.

She started with her fingers. Sliding them through the wetness, spreading me open. Her index finger circled my clit — one slow, teasing orbit — then moved away. Traced down. Circled my entrance without pushing inside. Back up. Another slow orbit.

“Dani. If you don’t put your mouth on me in the next five seconds I’m going to—”

She put her mouth on me.

The first stroke was the flat of her tongue — broad, hot, dragging from my entrance to my clit in one slow, devastating pass. The sound I made echoed off the garage walls. I gripped the edge of the bench and my thighs trembled around her head.

She licked me with the focused confidence of a woman who’d memorized every nerve ending between my legs. Flat tongue for the first thirty seconds — broad strokes that made my hips roll. Then the focused tip against my clit — tight circles, consistent pressure, the rhythm she’d learned made me come fastest.

The suction came next — her lips closing around my clit, pulling gently while her tongue kept moving. She slid two fingers inside me. Without warning. Her fingers curled upward. Found the spot. Pressed.

I came. Hard. Fast. My back arched. My thighs clamped around her head. My hand tightened in her hair — the silver streak, my anchor — and I pulled and she moaned against me and the vibration extended the orgasm. I said her name loud enough that the neighbors probably heard and I did not care.

She eased me down. Slower licks. Her fingers still inside me, feeling the aftershocks.

“Your positioning has improved significantly,” she said.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

I made her.

I pulled her up by the front of her tank top. Kissed her. Tasted myself on her mouth. Pulled her tank top and sports bra off. She was bare — compact and muscular, her breasts small and firm, nipples dark and tight.

I pulled her into my lap. She straddled me on the bench. Eye to eye. Height difference erased.

I slid my hand into her shorts. She wasn’t wearing underwear. She was drenched. The wetness coated my fingers instantly. I found her clit — swollen, sensitive — and rubbed in firm, steady circles. The pressure she liked. Harder than I’d have guessed. She’d taught me that.

“Inside,” she said. “Now. Please.”

The “please” undid me. Dani rarely said please.

Two fingers. Inside her. Slow at first, then deep. Curling upward. Her hips rocked in my lap. Her forehead pressed against mine. Eye contact. We held eye contact while I fucked her with my fingers because she’d taught me that watching was its own form of intimacy.

I added a third finger. She hissed through her teeth — the stretch, the fullness. Her thighs tightened around my hips. Her hands gripped my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

“Good girl,” she whispered.

The phrase hit me the way it always did — a full-body shudder, a spike of arousal so acute it bordered on pain. Fourteen months and the words still operated on me like a circuit closing.

“Say it again.”

“Make me come and I’ll say it as many times as you want.”

I curled my fingers harder. Faster. My thumb on her clit. She came with a cry that echoed off the garage walls and her body clenching around my fingers and her mouth pressed against my neck.

“Good girl,” she breathed against my skin. “So good. My good girl.”

The “my” was new. I felt it in my chest like a bell being struck.

“I want more,” I said.

“We have ninety minutes before practice.”

“Then we’d better move inside.”

The bedroom was ten steps from the garage door. Dani put on the harness. I watched from the bed — naked, sprawled, my legs open. She stepped into the straps, adjusted the buckles, the silicone curving upward between her hips. Five-foot-eight and silver-haired and wearing a strap-on with the same casual authority she wore the captain’s armband.

“On your knees,” she said.

I rolled over. Rose to my hands and knees. She ran her hand down my spine. A slow, possessive stroke. She gripped my hip. I felt the toy nudge against me.

“Green?” she asked. Even now. She always asked.

“Green. Very green. Extremely, urgently green.”

She pushed inside me. Slowly. The stretch was familiar and exquisite — the toy filling me inch by inch, the curve pressing against my front wall. She held still for three seconds. Then she moved.

Not slow. She fucked me with the athletic, rhythmic power of a woman whose hips had been generating controlled force for twenty years. Each thrust was precise and deep. One hand gripping my hip with bruising force. The other reaching around — finding my clit, rubbing in fast, tight circles while she thrust.

“Harder,” I said. Because I’d learned to say what I wanted.

She went harder. My arms gave out. My face dropped to the pillow. My hips stayed up because her hand held them there — the setter’s hands deciding exactly where my body needed to be.

“Good girl,” she said. “Take it. You’re so good at taking it.”

I came. Violently. A full-body detonation. I screamed into the pillow. My body clenched around the toy. She didn’t stop — kept thrusting, kept rubbing my clit, until I was gasping and shaking and had to reach back and grab her wrist.

“Stop — too much —”

She stopped immediately. Held still. Her hand softened on my hip — from grip to caress.

She withdrew carefully. I collapsed flat. She lay beside me, still wearing the harness, still breathing hard.

“You didn’t come,” I said.

“I was focused on you.”

“That’s very noble. Take that off and sit on my face.”

She laughed. The real laugh. She unbuckled the harness. Climbed over me. Positioned herself above my mouth.

I gripped her thighs. Pulled her down. Pressed my mouth against her and she was so wet I tasted her before my tongue made full contact. I licked her with broad, firm strokes. Full pressure. No teasing. She ground against my face, her hands braced on the headboard, her thighs trembling. She came in under a minute — my name ripped out of her in a voice that sounded like it had been dragged across gravel.

She collapsed beside me. We lay side by side, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling.

“We have seventy-three minutes before practice.”

“Plenty of time for a shower and two more orgasms.”

“One more. I need to be able to walk.”

“Coward.”

“Realist.”

The shower had been its own event — my fingers inside her against the tile wall, her mouth on my neck, the hot water running over both of us while I made her come a third time with her back arched and her hands gripping the towel bar.

We stood in the kitchen dressed for actual practice. Coffee from the ridiculous Italian espresso machine. Her reading glasses were on. She had a pen behind her ear.

“Dani?”

“Mm.”

“I’m going to start one step inside again tomorrow morning.”

She looked at me over her reading glasses. The silver streak. The dark eyes. The scar beneath her lip curving upward.

“I know you are,” she said.

“And you’re going to correct me.”

“I always correct you.”

“And then we’re going to be late for practice.”

“We’re never late for practice.”

“Dani. We’ve been late for practice six times this month.”

“Coincidence.”

“Morgan asked me if we’re running a private training program.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her the program is very thorough and the results are excellent.”

The almost-smile became an actual smile. A real one. The wide, rare, beautiful one that I’d been earning since January and would spend the rest of my life trying to earn again.

“Finish your coffee,” she said. “We have practice.”

“Starting position?”

She set down her mug. Took off her reading glasses. Walked toward me with the unhurried, confident stride of a woman who knew exactly where she was going and exactly what she’d find when she got there.

“Perfect,” she said.

And put her hands on my hips.

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