The Summer Games: Out of Bounds (19 page)

Holy
.

“Is she as soft as she looks?” Kira asked.

“Like velvet,” Erik answered, his tone warm and husky.

“I want to see what she looks like when she loses control.”

What is happening?

Why isn’t he kicking her out?

Why don’t I kick her out?

Erik’s lips twisted into a devilish smirk. “Do you hear that, Brie?” he asked as his lips hit my ear. “She wants to see you come.”

His fingers picked up to a maddening pace, rolling over my clit, and I moaned, tingles erupting down my body. My hips arched off the ground, grinding up against his hand.

“Have you tasted her?” Kira asked, pushing off the mirrors and stepping closer. Her dark hair was still tugged up into a tiny bun, but a few strands framed her face, highlighting her full lips.

I watched her drop down to her knees in front of me, far enough away that I knew she was waiting for my permission. Her hand reached out and glided up my shin, and my stomach shook with butterflies.

“Erik,” I breathed, unsure of what to do. Would he let her touch me?
Taste
me?

He pushed the top of my yoga pants down, taking my panties with them. He kept pushing the material past my hip bones and then down another inch. I had to lift my butt off the ground for him to get them any farther, and I knew if I did, it was as good as consent. Kira’s hands reached up for my clothes and when her soft fingers hit the skin just above my pubic bone, my hips lifted off the ground on their own accord. She undressed me the rest of the way and then tossed my clothes to the side.

“Do you want her to touch you?” Erik asked, sliding his hand down my stomach. He hit my belly button and then brushed lower, skimming across my most sensitive skin. He spread me open, showing Kira every inch of my soft curves as his middle finger dipped inside. I cried out and dug my nails into the back of his neck. He slid in and out slowly, so slowly, and then Kira’s breath hit the inside of my thigh and I squeezed my eyes closed so tight it hurt.

I thought I was going to pass out from the adrenaline spiking my blood. It was all too much. My body didn’t know where to focus. A million different sensations were hitting me at once.

“Answer,” Erik commanded with a soft whisper against my ear.

I nodded breathlessly, reaching down to grip Kira’s silky hair so she couldn’t pull away. I had no clue what was happening. I’d never once been touched by another woman, but I dreaded the thought of her pulling away. I wanted this too much.

She pressed a butterfly kiss to my inner thigh, but it wasn’t enough and Erik knew it. He reached down and hooked his hand beneath my right knee, spread my thighs, and opened me for her even more.

Her kisses trailed the inside of my thigh as she tasted my salty skin. Her smooth hands blazed the trail for her lips and when she touched the inside of my thigh right where it met my hip, my eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head. She touched and stroked me gently, not wanting to push too far too fast. Her fingers were like feathers across my skin and when she finally put her lips on the very center of me, I lost track of everything but her mouth. It was divine.

I squeezed my eyes closed harder as my toes curled. Every part of me was trying hard to stave off my orgasm. The sparks were so close, but I didn’t want her to stop, not when she’d only just begun.

“Kira,” I whispered, trying to tell her to slow down, but she reached out and pressed my hips down so I couldn’t move. She covered me with her mouth and swirled her tongue across my clit. I tried to roll my hips to meet her, but she had me pressed to the floor so hard I couldn’t move.

It was maddening and Erik could see it written across my face.

“Do you see what can happen when you listen to your body?”

I let out a moan as my stomach started to shake. He bent forward, pulled my nipple into his mouth, and I saw stars. I fisted my hands in his hair as my orgasm grew closer and closer.

“I need to come,” I begged.

Kira’s tongue slid up and down and I pressed my hips up, trying to keep her in that…exact…spot.

She swirled her tongue again and I started to shudder.

I locked eyes with Erik and he nodded, giving me permission to fall.

“Yes,” I cried. “
Yes
.”

My entire body shook as bliss overtook me. Erik kissed me hard, dragging his teeth along my bottom lip as I moaned into his mouth. Kira didn’t let up once; she licked me until my breathing slowed and my eyes fluttered open.

I thought she’d back off then, but it wasn’t enough. Erik’s hands were all over me, burning my skin as Kira’s soft lips played with my head. The sensations were so opposite. Erik’s hands were strong and calloused; he took what he wanted, gripping my body like it was his to own. Kira’s touch was tentative and sweet, so fucking soft I couldn’t help begging for more.

My second orgasm came on faster, so quick I couldn’t try to control it. My body jerked as I pressed my lips against Erik’s neck, moaning his name over and over again as I tried to keep hold of the sensations. I wanted it to go on forever, and it seemed to as Kira’s tongue robbed me of the concept of time.

There, in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm of my life, I realized they hadn’t touched once. They were both completely clothed; I was the one spread on the ground, naked and exposed. Kira kissed my inner thigh one last time, massaging the spot before she slowly pulled away. Warm air hit my skin as real life settled back into place. I was dripping with sweat, both from my workout and from my heady orgasms.

“What did she taste like?” Erik asked when my eyes finally fluttered open.

Kira smirked as she pushed to stand. “
Bliss
.”

I was flustered as I tried to orient myself back to reality. I pulled my yoga pants back into place and felt Kira behind me, watching from a few feet away. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. To them, I was a toy, and they’d fucked with me so much that even as I stood and adjusted my pants, I knew there was no use in trying to erase the last few minutes. They were branded across my heart forever.

Kira stepped forward and lifted my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze in the mirror. She was smiling, easy and confident. She and Erik had worked together in the last few minutes, making me come so hard my world shifted, and yet she looked so calm, like the last few minutes had been nothing at all.

“Your body is beautiful,” she said. “Trust it.”

I reached my tongue out to wet my lips.

“It’s the only thing in this world you can depend on.”

As if on cue, Erik came into view in my periphery. He tugged his t-shirt back into place near the cubbies and reached for his keys. His eyes didn’t meet mine in the mirror as he crossed the room. He pulled the studio door open and called to me over his shoulder.

“I’ll meet you in the truck,” he said with his usual tone.

His words sliced through me. They were distant and cold, the polar opposite of Kira’s. She gripped my hip, reassuring me, and then walked off to pull the mats from the center of the room. I grabbed my t-shirt and phone and headed for the door with my eyes on the ground.

“Good luck in Rio,” Kira called.

I waved and walked out, not bothering to correct her. I didn’t need luck for the games; I needed luck to get through the next twenty minutes alone with Erik.

He was already sitting behind the wheel, waiting for me to join him. As soon as I pulled my door shut, he took off, kicking up dirt under his wheels as he whipped back out onto the deserted street.

The excitement I’d felt only minutes before had morphed into something dark and ugly. I was crashing from the adrenaline; the spell was wearing off, and in its place there was only anger. I’d put myself out there, had bared myself for him, and he was back to treating me like nothing. My body couldn’t handle the whiplash. I needed him to pull me close and reassure me that the last thirty minutes had been as exhilarating for him as they’d been for me.

The longer we sat in silence, the more my body filled with anger. I shook with it. Rage bloomed in my stomach, though I tried hard to ignore it. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to focus my attention through the front windshield, but every time he moved I nearly jumped out of my skin.

What was going on in that thick skull of his?
How can he not be moved by what he just did?
A normal, decent guy would reach across the front seat and hold my hand. He’d try to strike up a conversation and make me feel more comfortable. Erik might as well have been a ghost in the driver’s seat.

He pulled off onto the gravel drive in front of his house and I knew we only had another minute together.

I turned and narrowed my eyes on his sharp profile. “You didn’t touch Kira once back there. Why?”

She dripped sexuality, and if I were a guy, I would have picked her over me ten out of ten times, so why hadn’t Erik?

A slow-spreading smirk overtook the right side of his mouth as he turned to assess me coolly. “I’ve fucked her before.”

Ice filled my veins.

“How many times?”

“Get out of the truck, Brie.”

We were right outside the guesthouse. I needed to get out and walk inside, strip off my clothes, and shower off the last thirty minutes. I needed to push the night to the back of my mind and focus on what was most important: Rio. Except, I didn’t get out of the truck. I leaned closer to Erik and got right in his face, so close he couldn’t ignore me.

“I’m not your plaything. I’m a real person with real feelings and real desires.”

His dark brow arched. “Are the two exclusive?”

I reared back, eyes wide. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

His smirk spread wider as his gaze raked down my body, unabashed.

“No, Brie. You’re a little doll.” His hand reached out to push a few stray hairs behind my ear. I tilted into his touch on impulse, like my body was conditioned to respond to him. “You’re so easy to control,” he continued, bending low to whisper against my lips. “If I pushed you back on this seat right now, you’d spread your legs for me.”

I shook my head “No. I would never let you do that.”

My words sounded strong in my head, but in the front seat of the car, they came out weak and trembling.

He laughed and the sound nearly tore my heart in two. “You already have.”

I scraped my fingers across his hand and flung it away from me.

“You’re a manipulative pig,” I spat, shoving my door open and stumbling out of the car. “Do me a favor and erase tonight from your memory.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Erik

The moment Brie
stormed off, my confidence was replaced with self-loathing. It was too much, too fast, and I was reminded why she’d been off limits in the first place. I faced the facts: Brie was too young and too naive. She was mine to coach, not to fuck. She’d trusted me and I’d put her in that situation, knowing full well it would end with me touching her—with Kira touching her. I couldn’t help myself. She was too tempting to ignore: her delicate lips, her glistening skin, her face full of longing.

Jesus, it was wrong.

If anyone had seen us in the yoga studio, my entire life would change in one clean swipe. The Olympic Committee would pull me from my position as coach, and my critics’ quiet doubts would solidify into public I-told-you-so’s. Parents would condemn my choices, pull their children out of classes at Seattle Flyers, and I’d be left with nothing to show for it—not even Brie. She and I weren’t forever. She was a beautiful little fantasy, the kind that kept you up at night, not the kind that extended into reality.

I’d coached for ten years and had never once come close to caring for one of my gymnasts the way I felt for Brie. She was under my skin; she’d burrowed there the first time she stepped out of that black SUV and opened her mouth. Maybe if she weren’t so sharp, maybe if her body weren’t so fucking beautiful, maybe if she backed down instead of rising to every challenge I threw her direction it would have been easier to stay away.

If I could go back in time, I never would have touched her, simple as that. This was the most pivotal moment of my career. I had too much to prove to myself, to the world, and especially to my father
.

While growing up, he had made it very clear that his time and attention were valuable. He’d moved from Sweden to coach women’s gymnastics and was prepared to dedicate his entire life to it. Even before I was born, he was in high demand, coaching the country’s top Olympic hopefuls and building up his training facility in Texas. During the week, my mom and I rarely saw him. On the weekends, he was around even less.

As soon as I was old enough to enroll, I begged my mom to take me up to the gym for a gymnastics class. It was there in that class that I remembered feeling my father’s love for the very first time. He dosed it out so rarely that when I did feel it, when his gaze was on me, I was blinded by it. At the time, I thought I’d fallen in love with gymnastics, but in reality, it was my father’s praise that had seduced me.

The next day, I pleaded with my mom to take me back for another class, and from then on, I lived at the gym. Every day after school, I joined my father and practiced under his direction. I completed high school by sixteen so I could focus on gymnastics full-time and my father had never been prouder.

I never became immune to his attention. Over the years, I built walls in my mind to protect myself from the truth, and by seventeen, I was a shell of a person. Living for so long under the pressure of my father had extinguished the native passions I’d had as a boy. I didn’t have a life or personality outside the gym. I didn’t go out; I didn’t have friends. I had no interests outside of gymnastics.

I was in the gym every single day, working my ass off for a borrowed dream. At the time, I never considered how unhappy I was. Occasionally at night, when I had a moment alone with my thoughts, I’d consider a different life, an easier life, but I would hear echoes of my father’s voice, telling me to persist. Of course I wasn’t happy, I’d told myself. I was training seven days a week. What elite athlete enjoys the long workouts, the tears and sweat and blood?

Besides, it wasn’t that I was depressed; I’d learned to be nothing, completely numb to the world, not happy or sad or angry. I couldn’t muster a single feeling at all, but I told myself it was okay. My father had enough passion for the both of us. He believed in me; he knew I could achieve greatness if only I kept my nose to the grindstone.

Six months before the Olympic games, an injury in my shoulder broke through the numbness of my life. It started as acute tendinopathy, but because my daily workouts never gave it a chance to heal, it ballooned into a full-blown chronic condition. I would wake up every day feeling fine, but after warm-ups I began to feel it. Like a distant train chugging toward me on the horizon, the pain built slowly, punctuated by agonizing bursts of the horn until it came upon me in full force. In my apathy, the throbbing became the only thing my mind could focus on. My doctor said the shoulder wouldn’t heal unless I took six weeks off. My father had thrown a fit inside the doctor’s office, even slinging a potted plant across the room when the doctor had asked him to calm down. I didn’t flinch when it shattered against the wall; I just sat there, thinking to myself that I should have been embarrassed, but I couldn’t remember what embarrassment felt like. In my deadened state, I couldn’t bring myself to rage alongside him. It was like hearing an acquaintance’s parent has passed away—I recognized that an objectively sad thing had happened, but it wasn’t my heartbreak to bear.

My dad reached back and pulled me out of the doctor’s office, shouting about how I couldn’t take six weeks off.

The following morning, he’d walked into my room with a small bottle of pills.

“Where’d you get these?” I asked. There was no prescription taped to the side of the blue bottle.

“Your new doctor,” he lied, closing my fingers around the bottle. “Take one a day, two if you need it.”

Then he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door to any discussion.

The tiny pills rattled in the plastic bottle as I dumped one out and stared at it in the palm of my hand. Without hesitation, I swallowed it and leaned down to drink from the tap in my bathroom. I didn’t feel different right away; I laid on my bed with my eyes closed and sometime later, after the high had settled in, I realized I was smiling for the first time in years.

The next day, I took another one, shielded by my father’s instructions. I
needed
the pills for my shoulder. As crazy as he’d seemed that day in the doctor’s office, I couldn’t argue with the results. I was confident in the gym again, no longer tempering my practice to the level of pain. He refilled the bottle a second time and I gladly accepted, but the new supply didn’t last nearly as long as the first.

I took two to three pills a day during the months leading up to the games. My father never asked questions. He refilled the bottle and dropped it on my nightstand every week. Like a hungry Pavlovian dog, the heavy rattle would make my mouth salivate, and boy was I a well-trained pet.

I never once considered what I was doing to myself. After all, I wasn’t addicted; I was completing a course of treatment.

Until the pills betrayed me.

I had slowly reached the maximum dose per day, and even doubled it after reading sketchy medical forums online, but eventually the tablets became shadows of themselves, offering only memories of their former potency. I didn’t know what had changed about them.
I demanded the name of the source from my father, and when he refused and told me to consider reducing the number I was taking, I took things into my own hands.

I didn’t know how to buy drugs, but I knew 12
th
and Chicon was a long-rumored drug market in Austin. I drove down in my beat-up truck and looped the street a dozen times, watching the cop cars lingering around, flashing their lights at any loitering pedestrians. The tenth time I looped around the block, I caught sight of two guys in an adjacent alleyway. They were tucked away in the shadows, smoking cigarettes and speaking jocular Spanish. I pulled my car to the side of the road and hopped out just as they turned to assess me.

They looked like the epitome of thugs: baggy pants, dark tattoos spiraling up their arms, and narrowed, wary eyes. Their skin was dark and leathery from years in the sun and as they watched me approach, I wondered if maybe I’d made the wrong decision.

“Whatcha looking at
pinche gringo
?”

I took a step back and glanced over my shoulder; there wasn’t a cop car in sight. If I needed help, no one would come. I turned back to stare at them and rolled back on my heels, finding I wasn’t really scared of them, but rather of speaking the words I’d come there to say.

“You here to make a deal or stand there like a pussy?” the guy asked, causing his friend to cackle loudly.

Was this really how it worked? I’d ask them for drugs and they’d hand them over, like convenience store clerks?

The moment felt fake, like we were actors on a set rather than real people on the streets of Austin.

Even as I answered them with a shaky voice—“Oxy”—my eyes scanned my surroundings, waiting for someone to stop and take notice. I had to be sure there were no witnesses. I’d just competed and won gold at Worlds two months earlier. I was slotted for the Olympics and if I got caught buying drugs, my career would be over. More than over, it’d go up in flames.

“You look like a fucking narc, pretty boy,” the leader said, stepping forward and sizing me up.

I was tall for my age and built from years of training. I knew I didn’t look seventeen, and this guy didn’t believe me even as I tried to assure him. “I’m just looking to buy oxycodone.”

He snarled and spit in my face. “Get out of my sight,
hombre
.”

His saliva didn’t faze me; I was desperate.

“Please,” I begged, my voice strained.

He glanced back at his friend, like
Get a load of this guy
, and then before I could register his movement, he reared back and punched me in the stomach so hard I keeled over, feeling vomit coat my esophagus.

“Go get your mommy-high somewhere else,
pinche cabron
.”

He reared back again, kicking his foot into the side of my lungs. I hit the concrete with a heavy thud, coughing and sputtering for breath. My palm hit the ground, trying to find balance, and I squeezed my eyes closed, prepared for more destruction.

Their laughter sliced through the air as they turned and walked away, proud of themselves. I opened my eyes and stared sideways at their feet, opening my mouth and hearing myself wheeze in haggard breaths.

When they turned the corner, I heard laughter. Loud cackles filled the air around me. I whipped my head around, trying to find the source, and then it slowly sank in: the realization that the sound was coming from me. It was a real, non-pill-induced laugh, followed sharply by acute pain. For so long I’d been numb, wallowing at rock bottom while being told I was reaching the top. I had always been skeptical about people who claimed to have had “eureka” moments, but there on the concrete, my nerves felt as if they were firing at all once. They’d been held back for so long and now that the dam was broken, there was no stopping them. I stayed on the concrete as my body shook with the weight of my emotions.

Numbness had been comfortable; the ability to feel hurt like hell.

That day, I’d gone looking for drugs, and maybe I’d found them—by the time I stumbled back to my car, I felt euphoric for the first time in 13 years.