I have to push him.
Push him until he gives in and gives my body what it needs-the right way. The only way that can bring us closer. Not just as an athlete and coach, but as a man and a woman. If he lets go of his reservations and stops thinking of me as someone’s daughter, but rather an adult female, maybe…maybe there’s a chance for more. The possibility of being with the man I’ve loved to the point of agony for two years.
I take a deep breath and prepare to dive, but Everett’s hand moves in my periphery and I catch it. The way he adjusts the bulkiness that swells against the front of his pressed trousers. He does it discreetly so the hundreds of people in the Olympic facility don’t see him. Then he covers his lap casually with the clipboard. But I see him. I see him and heat blasts me from head to toe, a ticklish smoky feeling curling in my tummy. I’m panting and there’s no reason I should be out of breath. Someone shouts from the bottom of the ladder that they’re waiting to use the platform for practice dives and I shake myself, wetting my dry lips, trying to still the shaking of my muscles. Focus. Focus. You’re at the Olympics. This is your dream.
A gold medal isn’t my only dream, however. The man waiting for me at the bottom of this dive has been occupying so much space in my head for so long and I’ll never shake him. Can’t he see how badly I need him on top of me, taking me, giving me what my body needs? Mine satisfying his in return, solving the mysteries about sex that have been plaguing me?
God, I want that. I need it. Nothing but the full measure of him is going to satisfy my heart, though. Is he close to giving in?
Forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand. A back one and a half somersault pike. Not the most difficult maneuver. Just a warmup. I’m sure the fact that my legs are the consistency of pudding won’t make a bit of difference.
Right.
Squaring my shoulders, I bend my knees and spring up, suspending myself in the air high above the pool, tightening my stomach muscles and lifting my legs up, over, flipping me back into a somersault-and quickly I realize I’m not going to make the half one, as well. I’m going to hit the water way too early at a bad angle. A very bad one. This is going to hurt.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace for the slapping sting of the water, but no amount of preparation stops it from hurting. I hurtle down several more feet than usual, the breath sucked out of my lungs, my skin smarting where it broke the surface. Dang it. I’m too distracted. My body refuses to do what it’s supposed to and at this rate, I won’t even take bronze.
I wince over a fresh wave of soreness on my way up to the surface, my legs not kicking as fast as they should-and that’s when I hear someone jumping into the pool above me.
No. Not someone.
Everett.
His big body cuts through the water in my direction, his eyes open and wild as he reaches me, wrapping an arm around my lower back and kicking back toward the surface with me in tow. We come up for air at the same time and we’re face to face, laboring to breathe, Everett’s hand coming up to rip off my swim cap, cradling my cheek, his gaze running laps around my face. “You took too long to come up,” he growls. “You hit the water backwards and I thought…Jesus, sweetheart. I thought you were hurt.”
Divers and coaches have gathered together close by, whispering about what happened. Agog over my coach jumping into the water to save me and his very, very apparent concern. But I barely see them. Or hear them. Because that same concern is spreading joy throughout my limbs and all I want to do is crawl inside of it. To live there.
Everett, apparently unaware of the bystanders, hauls me up against his body in the pool and I automatically wrap my legs around his waist, my soft cheek rubbing against his stubbled one, sending my pulse into a sprint. “I’m okay.”
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he says raggedly, his open mouth grazing my ear.
“I’m sorry.”
Everett lets out a low curse and I notice for the first time that he’s shaking. “You’re going to get yourself killed like this. Your body isn’t going to perform without relief first.” Beneath the water, his hand cups my right butt cheek and tugs me toward his lap, grinding my core softly against his bulge. “I could see your hard nipples all the way down here.”
“Take me somewhere,” I whisper, twisting my fingers in the front of his drenched gray polo shirt. “Fix me, Daddy.”
His shocked groan causes flutters everywhere. My pulse points, my bloodstream. “I don’t see a choice. Your concentration is all over the map. You’re going to get hurt. You’re going to lose this chance you’ve worked so hard for.” His forehead rolls side to side against mine. “I can’t let that happen.”
“Is that all it’s about?” I whisper, searching his strained features. “Diving?”
A long pause ensues. And then he says, “No,” through his teeth.
My heart wings its way up into my throat and I snuggle close to Everett, burrowing my face into his wet, warm neck. We’re going to have sex. He’s giving in. And afterward, he’ll no longer see me as just as his pupil. I’ll be so much more to him. More than a teenager-
“I’ll need to speak to your parents about it.”
“What?” I squeak, rearing back and looking him in the eye. “You…can’t. You can’t-”
“Calming your body down is a training matter. Bringing you to climax will help you win.” It’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. Trying to convince himself that he’s taking me to bed for the right, noble reasons. Why can’t it just be about the two of us celebrating our attraction? Celebrating this close relationship that I have with no one else? That I don’t want with anyone else? “Get out of the pool and shower up. We’ll go explain the situation to them.”
“No, Everett. We don’t have to tell them.”
“Yes, we do,” he grits out. “I won’t sneak around behind closed doors fucking my diver. We’re going to do this the right way. God knows I do too much the wrong way already.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Everett stares into my eyes for long moments, then curses, shaking his head. “Get out of the pool, warm yourself up and head to the training room.” He blows out a breath that smells like spearmint and cinnamon. How can I want to kiss him and rage at him at the same time? “I’ll ask your parents to meet us there.”
Everett
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
This morning, I woke up with my cock stiff as a board. Covered in sweat. Needing Margot’s spread legs wrapped around my hips. Craving her like the world’s most addictive drug, even though I’ve never been inside of her before.
Yet.
That’s all about to change, isn’t it? I’m a sick motherfucker to do this. But I know her parents-they’ll do anything to help her win. And I mean anything. Even let a man twice her age fuck her into a better performance.
It’s not unheard of for athletes to build up so much steam and stamina that they grow desperate for sex. Especially among Olympians who hook up constantly during the Games, working out their restless energy in every dark corner of the village. This won’t be a completely foreign concept to Margot’s parents, but no amount of knowledge is going to dull the shock.
This is how it has to be done.
Above board.
Officially.
If I simply start sleeping with Margot behind the scenes without some formal parameters, we’ll never make it to the pool again. And I will go off the fucking deep end. I’m already halfway there. I almost shoved my cock inside of her in front of everyone ten minutes ago, needing to feel her. Needing to know she wasn’t hurt. Goddammit, the dangerous way she hit the water…I’m going to replay it every time I close my eyes for the rest of my life.
Margot walks into the training room in a thin robe, her blonde hair in loose waves around her shoulders. She’s wide eyed and nervous. Of course she is. Because her father is right behind her, entering the therapy room for the first time, visibly curious as to why we would ask to meet him there. His wife isn’t with him.
It takes me a moment so commence the meeting. All I can think about is the shameful fact that I stalk this man’s daughter. I follow her everywhere, watch her sleep, steal her clothing so I can take the garments home and wrap them around my pillow, kissing it with an open mouth, shoving it between my legs and rutting, pretending it’s her. My house is an homage to Margot. She’s everywhere. If not her name carved into the walls, then it’s pictures. So many pictures or her in various states of undress. Or simply eating an apple, texting on her phone, unlocking her car. She owns me, body and soul. But the way I’ve handled my obsession is wrong and illegal and I can’t lose sight of that.
I can’t slip those final remaining feet into the abyss.
Which is why I’m making her need for sex about training. Diving.