Touch: The Complete Series

by Cara Dee

Kayla Ford

  6:03 AM

  "Daddy!" I scream.

  Stepping into my new, sparkly yellow running shoes, I try and fail big time not to mess up tying them. I'm so freaking nervous I could die, I think. Okay, okay, I've got this. I know how to tie my own shoes, damn it all.

  There.

  "Jesus, where's the fire? What's wrong?" Daddy joins me in the hallway of our bungalow, and I tap my wrist impatiently. Goodness, I might puke. Nicholas gives me a look, which then turns into a little chuckle, and I hope it's one of understanding. I've been a wreck about this day all month! "We're on time, little one. I promise, we won't miss it."

  "I'm gonna die." I stare panicked at my reflection in the mirror and smooth down my pigtails. "My stomach's in knots." Next, I lean closer and inspect the war paint on my face. I give the mirror a cool, mean look. Rawr. A temporary tattoo of number 169 covers my left cheek.

  It's Dylan's race number.

  The toppy types have chosen to wear simple white tees with his number on the back, but we subs…we know this is a day to go all out. Yes, it is.

  "Everything will be fine." Daddy kisses the top of my head on his way to grab his shoes. "I spoke to Mark and Ryan. We're having breakfast with them later."

  Okay. I don't care. I just care about the biggest sportsing war in the world today! Right here in Hawaii. Oh, here come the nerves again. Or more of them. I clutch my stomach, and if I'm this much of a mess, I can't imagine what Dylan's going through.

  "Daddy, I'm dying," I say frankly. "I cannot think about breakfast, 'kay?"

  He laughs softly. "Fair enough. Can you think about having your cute little bottom filled?"

  "Wh…what…?" I gape at him. This is not the time for sexy stuff!

  He inclines his head and brings something out of the pockets of his cargo shorts. "Lift your skirt for me." Oh my God, it's a butt plug and a small bottle of lube. "Since you're so nervous, I thought this could provide a decent distraction."

  "Maybe I'm not nervous anymore?" I give him a hopeful look.

  "Nice try. Bend over for Daddy."

  *

  Dylan Reaves

  6:35 AM

  After adjusting the swim cap, I bend down to make sure the Velcro strap around my ankle is secure. It's got my race chip attached to it, and it'd be a fucking shame if I lost the one piece that times the biggest event of my year.

  The water's filling up with the first starting group. I'm one of them, so I walk down the steps and pull at the drawstrings of my Speedos. Goggles ready. Almost no surf today—that’s a relief. Walking farther out, I join the other professionals, painfully aware that I'm surrounded by at least a dozen men who are predicted to win.

  I hope to be the winner one day. My debut Ironman is unlikely to get me far; my only goal is to finish among the top ten in the first leg of the race and to make a name for myself in triathlon. Swimming, though… Here's where I have my edge.

  I'm good on my bike, too. Then the running? Well, fuck me running. I still need to work there. On a great day, my time is decent, even for someone on a professional level. But on most days, I rage.

  This isn't a hundred-meter race I can do over and over in a pool. It's a hundred-and-forty hellish miles through rough waters, lava lands, and hillsides. It's blazing sun and sometimes headwinds that will make a grown man cry.

  Breathe in…

  I allow myself a few seconds and disappear under the surface where everything is quieter and peaceful.

  "Kill out there, Dylan." Daddy's murmur from earlier runs through my mind as a reminder. "You may be my cheeky baby boy at home, but never forget you're a strong young man and a force to be reckoned with. Today is your day."

  Breathe out.

  I resurface, determined to give my all.

  I can't let my fear of failure hold me back. When you have a lot to lose, you have everything to fight for. I choose to fight.

  *

  Chelsea Kelly

  6:45 AM

  The shot of an actual cannon signals the start of the championship, and I hold my breath automatically. It's impossible to see where Dylan is, mostly because Rio and I are farther out on the water, but partly because all that’s visible are countless heads wearing colorful swim caps.

  "It goes boom, Mommy!" Hunter jumps and claps.

  I laugh softly and gather him in my arms. "It did, didn't it? Uncle Dylan's out there somewhere."

  "Yeah." He pokes my painted cheek, only to touch his own, maybe reminding himself of his own wickedly cool "grown-up tat." He's gonna scrub it off before the day is over at this rate.

  Rio returns from below the deck, and we find a good spot on the starboard side of the big yacht to eat our breakfast, enjoy the race, and watch the sunrise. Our little nook gives us a semblance of privacy on the otherwise fully occupied boat. Tourists flood the area, and we were lucky to get tickets.

  "I can't hear what they're saying." I cock my head at the announcer who sits God knows where. Whatever their expert commentators are saying just sounds like garbled nonsense out here.

  "There's supposed to be a live stream on the website." Rio pulls out his phone, and I take the opportunity to stir some creamer into his coffee. He calls it his vacation treat. For myself…a decaf iced tea will have to suffice. "There we go—well, hell. Look at that, love."

  I lean closer and grin when I see Dylan's name illustrated on the screen. He's in fourth or fifth place. That's so fucking awesome. I couldn’t be prouder.

  "You can jump on over to me, son." Rio snatches up Hunter and growls playfully against his chubby cheek. Our son finds that hilarious. "Time to give your beautiful little mum a break, isn't it? I think so."

  I smile at their sweet exchange before refocusing on Dylan. Finding an online radio station that covers the Ironman only takes a quick search, and then we finally have a feed we can listen to.

  "…and we know the most common mistake a rookie makes is to overexert themselves in the beginning."

  "True enough, but this is Reaves's edge. I wouldn’t count him out just because he—a former Olympic swimmer!—takes the lead sooner than we anticipated."

  "He's in the lead!" I whisper-shout.

  "Yay!" Hunter cheers. "Unka Dylan winning, Daddy."

  Rio laughs then takes a sip of his coffee. "We certainly hope he will, buddy."

  Taking a bite of my muffin, I stand up and smooth down my simple wraparound dress. When I was pregnant with Hunter, I quickly learned to appreciate clothes that, um, expand. "Excuse me for a moment. I need a bathroom," I say. "Sir, can I get you anything?" I much prefer to call him Master and Owner, but in public and around our boy, Sir is far less conspicuous.

  "I do." The gorgeous green eyes he's passed on to Hunter flash with amusement, and he gestures at my seat. "You can wait. I like having something lovely to look at while I eat."

  Shit, double shit, triple shit.

  "Whatever pleases you." I offer a tight smile in return and sit down again.

  Freaking Sadists. Can't live with them, can't live without them.

  *

  Dylan Reaves

  7:18 AM

  Fuck me. Best part of being in second place is you can follow in the lead's slipstream. Now that I'm first, I have only myself to rely on, and today—of fucking course—I get caught in the swell of the waves. Gritting my teeth, I give a hard kick underwater and slice right through a wave before I resurface and switch to butterfly. It gives me the advantage of staying completely horizontal. Through a wave, catch air in lower water, through a wave, catch air…

  I push myself to the limits, my body fluid and burning. As soon as the current calms the water, I return to freestyle, and I'm confident for the first time since my feet touched the ocean. This is my sport. My discipline.

  Picking up the pace, I do a quick sighting to make sure I'm staying on course, and relief fills me when I see I'm nearing the finish. Don't look behind you, don't lose time by looking behind you, swim faster, use the currents, alter the strokes, re
st your legs for the next discipline, more arms. I clench my jaw and give everything, knowing my arms can rest when I get on the bike.

  Let it burn.

  At the last stretch, I keep Cade at the forefront of my mind. Since I committed to starting a career in triathlon, he's become my biggest and best source for support, tough love when I need it, structure, and guidance. I'd be crippled with grief without Gabby's love and support; it's just that Cade goes another few extra miles, and he's gotten so invested in my progress. He's more than a Daddy Dom. He's a best friend, a ruthless coach, and a rock-solid constant.

  He inspires me to fight harder and go beyond what I thought possible.

  Almost there.

  I register the sounds of cheering. The seafloor is closer. Another few feet and I can start running. I quit breathing, doing the final yards as quickly as I possibly can, and then I'm touching the ground.

  "First out of the water—Dylan Reaves!" blares out on the PA system. I quickly spy 48:52 on the time board.

  Fuck yes, one of my best.

  Sprinting up the steps, my eyes seek out the crowd on the pier—or rather, Gabby and Cade. My goggles and swim cap get torn off, landing where-the-hell-ever.

  "Kayla's in place, Dylan! Kayla's in place! Love you!" Okay, Gabby's voice carries, but I can't see her. Either of them. Too many people. I appreciate the message though, and I push forward.

  Step by step, all through T1. It can't take more than one minute. A volunteer jogs up alongside me and extends a bottle of water. I accept it, and a protein bar is next. Nothing like inhaling granola while taking a cold shower to rid the saltwater. I'm in and out in seconds, and, um, long enough to relieve myself. Jesus Christ, it's dizzying, and people keep screaming. Running over to the bike racks, I pull on my short-sleeved black trisuit. Shoes already strapped to the bike pedals. Helmet and shades resting on the aerobars. Faster, faster. While putting on the helmet, I grab my bike and jog toward the mount area, and then I'm gone.

  *

  Nicholas Ford

  7:41 AM

  "Are we on the right side, Daddy? Are we on the right side? We can't let him get a penalty!"

  "He won't get a penalty, baby girl. We're exactly where we're supposed to be." The sun is already hotter than hell, and I slide on my shades as I check the time. According to Cade's last message, Dylan recently left the pit on his bike, so he should pass us soon. "Are you ready?"

  "Super, duper ready," Kayla swears.

  Cade's next message arrives.

  At least seven minutes on the gap. I'm gonna go puke and get to our next stop.

  "Jesus, the boy is good," I mutter to myself. I'm incredibly glad to be here to share the day with Dylan, and I'm pleased all of our closest ones could be here, as well. We couldn’t ask for a better community for our little family of kink. "Dylan managed to create a seven-minute margin."

  "Oh, wow! Isn't that awesome?" Kayla squints up at me.

  I nod and wink, then turn her pretty little head toward the street. "Very much so."

  As the crowd along the sealed-off street grows louder, my adorable little wife leans over the fence, taking her job seriously. Two peanut butter cups are in her hand, and she extends her arm as soon as we spot Dylan coming around the bend.

  I smile widely, proud of him.

  "Oh, he's coming in fast, Daddy," Kayla says nervously. "Dylan, I'm here!"

  "It'll be okay, baby." I let out a sharp whistle. "You've got this, Dylan!"

  "Seven minutes, seven minutes!" Kayla shouts.

  Hunched over the extra set of bars on his bike, he gives a firm nod, reaches out, and passes us in a blur. My pulse kicks up a few notches, and I chuckle to myself, having not anticipated the thrill of the race to hit me this much.

  "He took the peanut butter cups!" Kayla spins on me with a victorious grin. "Oh." She scrunches her nose at the sight of her chocolate-covered hand. "Melty. I hope he won't mind."

  "I doubt he will," I laugh quietly. "They're probably already in his stomach." They better be. He'll need all the fat and protein he can get this early in the day. Fast carbohydrates will fuel him later on. "Are you ready to get breakfast?"

  She giggles and licks her hand. "I already started."

  *

  Dylan Reaves

  9:23 AM

  The Hawaiian lava fields can suck my dick.

  Both sides of the open road—all black, all barren, all hot. The heat is liquid along the asphalt, and I know I won't stay in the lead much longer. This is where I start to lose my speed. My thighs burn more than I can handle, and I ache fucking everywhere.

  Passing another aid station, I ignore the cups of water a few volunteers run along the road to offer. I will not stop for any of that today. Precious seconds can't be wasted. The bottle attached to the bars keeps me hydrated and tops me off with some energy, though I wouldn’t mind if it magically turned into vodka at this point. Or a tranquilizer.

  "One day, you're going to win that race, big brother."

  I approach another hill and stand up to gain some speed again. Gabby's pillow talk about my career in between cuddles and dirty touches fuels me. She and Daddy make this possible for me. I can't compete without them. Or, I can, but…it holds less meaning. Significantly less in the way that it wouldn’t be worth it at all.

  The Ironman is a humbling race. You're forced to face yourself, and no matter how much this hurts, I would only get angry with myself if I complained now. How lucky am I? I have everyone I love with me, except for my grandparents who don't have the health to travel this far. Instead, they are following everything on TV. But everyone else is here, including my mom and dad. They made plans over a year ago to have their vacations here just because I'm competing.

  I don't wanna let any of them down.

  With a glance behind me, I glare when I see the first athlete trying to catch up to me.

  Fuck you, I'm not ready. I need to create more distance and stay in the lead all throughout the first half of the bicycle route. Otherwise, running will be a bigger fall in the ranks than I can accept.

  *

  Mark Cooper

  11:03 AM

  "I think we have a Domme in the making." I speak under my breath for only Evangeline to hear, and I gotta say, it's funny as fuck to see my twelve-year-old niece turn Ryan into a whipped yes-sayer.

  Evangeline laughs quietly and reaches across the picnic table to grab another waffle. Our breakfast has morphed into brunch, and the plate of waffles is right next to a plate of sweet and spicy sliders. "With all due respect—"

  "Funny how that's never followed by anything respectful, kitten."

  She snorts in amusement. "You're hardly better, Sir. You guard that baby monitor as if someone's going to run up to our table and steal it."

  It could happen. We're right on the beach. Plenty of joggers around. And without the monitor, I won't know if our kids are up to no good in our bungalow. Who knows, today could be the day our boy decides to discover the internet. For now, both little runts are asleep—thank fuck. Brayden and I were up all night.

  "What're you two mumbling about?" Ryan cocks a brow behind his Ray-Bans.

  "You being wrapped around a certain pinkie." I smirk at Abby, who giggles around a mouthful of toast.

  "The girl doesn’t eat enough!" Ryan argues.

  I frown, and I admit Abby is a little on the skinny side. "Finish your food, pumpkin."

  "Oh, shush. We've been eating all morning." She waves me off, and my eyebrows shoot up. Did I just get shushed? By a preteen? "Finally!" She glances toward the restaurant farther down the beach, where we can see Greg coming closer with more food. "Dad, when are we gonna go see Dylan?"

  Greg checks his watch. "We're leaving in about…half an hour."

  At the same time, Brayden reemerges from our place with our daughter. I assume it's feeding time.

  "Everything good, pup?" I make room so he can sit down next to me, which he does after handing Olivia over to Evangeline.

  "Yes,
Sir. Ready to go see Dylan." He smiles and puts on his sunglasses. "Did we decide who's staying behind with the kids?"

  I incline my head. "Evangeline and Angel." They'll be there for when Dylan crosses the finish line, though. We've acquired babysitting through the hotel starting this afternoon.

  Ryan takes a sip of his coffee. "Angel can't go anyway." Yeah, poor girl. Her second pregnancy is evidently putting her through the wringer more than the first did, and she had twins then. Ryan jokes about it, saying—since my brother is the father this time—it's Greg's payback for Angel's sadistic treatment.

  Greg is torn between amusement and worry. "I should go check in on her—"

  Ryan won't have it. "You did that twenty minutes ago, sweetheart. Sit your ass down and relax."

  I smile.

  Meanwhile, Abby pretends to gag. "I'm never having kids. You people never sleep. When I grow up, I'm gonna be like them." She points down the beach where Nicholas and Kayla are getting back in the water.

  "We'll see if you say that in fifteen years." I wink at her.

  "Twenty-five, maybe," Greg mutters.

  Ryan grabs Abby's hands and kisses her knuckles. "You crumb snatchers are a beautiful blessing."

  I can only agree with that. But…yeah, it's awesome to have family who will babysit whenever. For this vacation, the Quinns opted to leave their boys with Ryan's mother.

  "You're up, Master of the Household." Evangeline smiles cheekily at me and holds up Olivia. "Someone needs to be burped."

  "Is that so?" I nod and accept my baby girl. "Does Daddy need to burp you, Olivia?"

  She coos and grabs my nose, so that’s gotta be a yes.

  *

  Dylan Reaves

  12:06 PM

  I don't know what burns hotter, the sun, my anger, or my leg. Either way, it's a triathlon trifecta of hell. Realistically, I know I've exceeded everyone's expectations so far, even my own. I'm in second place—some smug Frenchman passed me a while ago—and this from a Texas boy who may have created some hype but definitely wasn't considered a threat. I'm still not, but despite my accomplishments, I'm pissed. And I need to piss.

  T2 is approaching, so I start preparing. By a stroke of luck, I'm granted tailwinds on the way down a slope, and it gives me the opportunity to stretch out my bad leg. It's been cramping on and off the past hour. Chafing is a real goddamn problem when I run, so next is the emergency kit under my saddle. Using my teeth, I rip off a square piece and unzip my suit.