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I’d introduced them to Emma a couple of days ago and they’d been polite, but disinterested. They probably hadn’t picked up on my cues: This Woman Is Important. We weren’t going in for PDA with cameras around. Neither of us wanted press to pick up the scent. She didn’t want all those close-ups on her while I swam, and I didn’t want her caught up in the shark-like feeding frenzy I knew was circling right below us in the water. If news broke that I had a girlfriend, and she was my physical therapist, and by the way she was live on camera watching me swim? There’d be no end of it the whole rest of the week.
I wondered what Emma’s parents would be like. They arrived tomorrow. I had a feeling I’d like them. At first they’d refused my offer to fly them out, telling me it was too much. I’d had to explain that the tickets to watch the games were comped to me, the team already had a large block of hotel rooms reserved for family and friends, and I had enough miles to cover the airplane ticket. But what had finally won them over was their daughter.
“It would make Emma really happy to watch the games, in person, with you both.”
That had done it. They’d agreed, and would arrive tomorrow night.
The 200 fly flew. My experience of swimming an event was an odd blend of time both slowed down and rapidly sped up. In the minutes before my dive, my consciousness contracted into a laser point down my lane. No crowds, no noise, no waving fans or worried looks toward the scoreboard. I didn’t notice the men in the lanes around me, or my coaches standing over to the side. It was me and the water, that stretch of blue ahead. And I would beat it.
There was nothing like the butterfly to get that high, experience the closest thing we humans could to gliding and swooping across the water like a dolphin. My lungs burning, every muscle in my shoulders on fire. I lit it up. I knew without looking, I’d pulled off an amazing swim.
When I touched first, I removed my goggles, lifted up my cap and the roar was almost deafening. The entire arena was on its feet, going wild. I looked over at the clock and saw it. I’d taken almost a full second off of the world record. Even I couldn’t believe it. I shook hands with the men in the lanes next to me, congratulating them on their swims. I looked up to where I knew Emma was watching me. I could barely make her out among the fans around her, all on their feet, but I caught a glimpse of her, hands up over her mouth, and what looked like tears streaming down her cheeks.
“We did it,” I mouthed to her. She was looking straight at me, and I’d tell her exactly what I’d said when I finally got to see her later. Without her physical therapy, my shoulder could never have performed the way it did. Without her in my life, I would not have felt like I had actual wings lifting me through the pool. Emma had made all the difference.
CHAPTER 17
Emma
Olympic, post-gold medal sex was really next-level. Chase and I were setting records of our own in the bedroom. Number of orgasms in one sitting, for example. I’d blown all previous records out of the water. There was no medal ceremony involved, but I could really vouch for the fact that the reward was in the process, itself.
After he not only won gold for the 200 butterfly but shattered the world record, I’d met his best friend Liam. Briefly. I had a great deal of interest in getting to know him, hanging out, and becoming his friend, too. But not right then. And he really was a true friend, because after giving Chase a heartfelt, celebratory congratulations, he announced that he was meeting up with some guys for a drink. Which guys? He didn’t specify. I didn’t have a hard time believing that Liam made friends easily. He seemed like the type who could strike up a conversation with a cardboard cutout and manage to have a good time. But he’d only just arrived in Rio. Seemed to me he was clearing out, giving us a little time together.
Which was all right with me and Chase. You might think he’d be tired after a race that epic. A mortal man might have been. But not my Olympic athlete.
He pulled me into the back of the limo outside the arena, straight onto his lap. He locked the privacy screen between us and the driver. I straddled him and kissed him with all the emotion I was experiencing, the thrill of adrenaline and elation I still felt from watching him win.
“I saw you in the stands,” he told me, his hand cupped along the back of my neck, his thumb grazing the curve of my breasts. I rocked against him, opening my legs wide and pushing where I could feel him growing hard. I wore a short skirt and it rode right up, leaving only my panties and his shorts between us. My hands cupped his massive shoulders, delighting in his strength, his packed muscle.
“Could you tell what I said to you after I won?” he asked.
I shook my head no. I’d seen him look straight at me and mouth some words, but he’d been too far away.
Leaning in, he whispered in my ear, “We did it.”
“Chase,” I threw my arms around him, tears coming to my eyes.
“I love seeing you in the stands.”
“I hate watching you swim,” I nearly sobbed, so full of emotion, but then I burst into a laugh watching his dismayed reaction. “No, I mean I love watching you. But my heart gets tied in knots. I’m such a hot mess when you swim.”
“Are you all worked up?” he asked with a slow smile, definitely with something on his mind. His reached under my T-shirt, sweeping up my bare skin to play with my breasts. Every inch of me felt so sensitive, alert and alive and I squirmed under his touch.
“Do you need some release, baby?” he asked, finding one of my pebbled nipples and toying with it between his thumb and forefinger. I panted, expectant, knowing how hot he could make me feel with his words and his fingers. “You want me to make you feel good?” As he asked, he tweaked my nipple, brief and sharp, and it sent a jolt straight down to my pussy.
“Ah, yes,” I moaned, pushing my clit against him, grinding into him. I felt a rush of wet heat, my need building fast.
“We’re going to have to get rid of these, then.” He reached up and tore my panties off of me, literally ripping them at the seam.
“What—?” I began asking, startled.
“I’ll buy you another pair,” he assured me, pulling down his shorts and positioning me over him again. I straddled him and in one swift motion, sank right down onto his cock. Slick and slippery as I was, he still stretched me so full it made me gasp.
“That’s it,” he groaned, hands on my hips, working me down along his length. “I love watching you take me all the way in.” He thrust up in me to the hilt. The sensation was so overwhelming, so overpowering, I threw my head back, eyes closed. I braced myself on his broad, hard chest, palms against his pecs, as I adjusted, starting to ride him. Up, then down full and hard, then up, angling it just right so he hit my clit every time. I felt crazed, like an animal with my lust boiling over me, picking up the pace, heart racing.
He grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head, unclasped my bra and grabbed my breasts in his hands, moaning as he cupped them. He dipped down, taking a nipple into his mouth. As I ground down on him, he gave me a suck and a bite. I dug my fingers into his T-shirt, frustrated he still had it on but I lacked his skills. I could only do one thing at a time. He could undress me and still fuck me so good at the same time that I was a mess of grunts and groans. I could barely manage to cling onto him, he felt so massive, and still I wanted more, riding him wild.
“Uh, Emma.” He gazed down at where our bodies met, my pussy taking in his long, hard, slick cock again and again. “That’s it, work for it. Show me how you want it.”
My pussy clenched around him at his words, his demands. As always I took great pleasure in following his orders, showing him exactly how much I wanted it as I rode him so good. His hands on my hips, he held me tight and hard, guiding me in a fast rhythm that brought us both right up to climax.
“I want to watch you when you come for me.” He brought a hand up to one of my breasts, squeezing it, pinching the sensitive tip. “You’re close aren’t you, baby?”
Incoherent, sweaty, I couldn’t manage a reply
other than to groan and work to keep the rhythm. And I brought a hand down to my slick clit where I rubbed myself like a naughty girl.
“Oh, God, like that,” he groaned and I could feel him swell even bigger inside me, which I hadn’t thought possible. “Show me how you get yourself off.” Eyes closed, I arched back, holding on with one hand at his shoulder, my other circling my swollen clit as he thrust hard up into me again and again, matching my pace, my rhythm.
“Come, Emma. Come for me!” His rough voice, hoarse with need, sent me over the edge and I came just like he wanted, only for him, my Chase. Heart pounding, sweaty and wild, I rode out my orgasm and his in the backseat of the limo.
That’s what sex after winning a gold medal was like.
§
Back at his rental house, post shower, a hint of reality hit me once again. I still felt slight residual panic over the conversation Chase and I had had yesterday, when he’d told me that a blog had published a smear story on him. I’d nearly thrown up. I’d worried that Tori had grown impatient. Tired of waiting, I’d feared she’d decided to make something up about him. Thankfully the story wasn’t on Scoop’d, it was on some other blog.
But that was it, the kick in the pants I needed to finally do it. Chase headed into the kitchen to eat some high-calorie something or other, probably a hot fudge, ice cream, peanut butter smoothie. I picked up my phone and I got after Tori like a dog after a bone. I called her and left a message. Then I texted.
Emma: I need to talk to you. When are you free?
Nothing. So an hour later I left a voicemail and sent another text.
Emma: It can’t wait, I have to talk to you today. Let me know when.
No reply. She was probably pissed that we hadn’t seen much of each other at the games. When we’d talked about coming to the Olympics, we’d imagined it differently, the two of us heading off together to watch competitions every day and hitting the nightlife together every night. I knew I’d dropped the ball on that, but she’d barely gotten in touch with me, either. She’d arrived in Rio a week and a half before me and, in true Tori style, she’d hit the ground running. By the time I’d arrived, the Tori party was already in full swing. Whether I joined in or not was irrelevant. At least, that was how it seemed to me.
Emma: Please, Tori. 4pm? I’ll meet you anywhere.
Finally, she responded.
Tori: Condo? 4:30?
I agreed, though it would likely mean missing Chase swim in a qualifying semifinals event. I knew he’d qualify. Everyone knew he’d qualify. I still wanted to watch him. But how much better would it feel to go be with him after I’d had the talk with Tori?
