by Cara Dee
When I scored my slot to compete in the World Championship, I made the monumental mistake of using a suit—this one—for the first time. And the nipple chafing during my run almost made me cry. Once Gabby had fussed over me, she laughed so hard. Now I'm better prepared. Once I'm taped up, I zip up again. Then I just focus on stretching my leg, hydrating, and shoving an energy bar down my throat.
The viewing stands along the road, when I get that far, are filled to maximum capacity with cheering spectators. It adds a thrill that courses through my veins, though I can't afford to pay any attention to them. I know, though, that the Coopers and the Quinns are in place, as are my parents, and I'm pretty sure I hear Mom shouting my name.
Cade…
There's a hitch in my breath as I rush up to the racks and dismount my bike. I see him and, fuck, I wish I could hurl myself at him. While I throw off my helmet and locate my gear bag, I have these visions of him carrying me, all romantic, to the nearest port-a-john. Then he'd massage my leg and feed me ice chips.
Instead, I'm quickly changing to my running shoes, donning new shades, and putting on my leg brace. It's a thirty-second rest that doesn’t provide any rest whatsoever.
Now I have a marathon to run.
*
Cade Kingsley
1:14 PM
"Five hot dogs, thanks." I retrieve my wallet so I can pay, and the princess stands next to me, barely able to see over the high counter, and prattles what she wants on her two. One of which I know she won't eat, but she's stubborn. "Basically, you want everything on," I chuckle.
She grins sheepishly. "Yes, please."
I kiss her on the forehead, noting she needs to apply more sunscreen. "Go find us a table, baby, and put some lotion on."
"Okay," she sings and skips off.
Five minutes later, I join her at a pastel green-painted picnic table under a yellow umbrella. The vendors that share the serving area fill the air with rich, smoky scents that make my stomach growl and tighten in hunger. This is our first meal where we have enough time to sit down for at least twenty minutes, and fuck me if I had any idea being a spectator would take it outta me this much. Driving from viewing site to viewing site, hoping to get a glimpse of him, and keeping up with what the commentators are saying, plus checking in with Dylan's grandparents at home has left me…well, fucking exhausted. And nauseated, prouder than words can describe, and nervous as all shit.
Dylan's mother, who knows we're a triad that's into BDSM, had a twinkle in her eye earlier when she made a comment about Dylan's father and me acting the same—like it's our boy's first day of school. Dylan clearly got his bratty streak from her.
"Um." Gabriella lifts one of her hot dogs to face-level and eyes it like it's her Everest. "Daddy…?"
"Yeah?" I grin and take a bite of my own. Fuck, this is food. The flavors of the spicy sausage and freshly baked bun mix with the relish, cheese, mustard, and other fixins. I love being on vacation.
"I didn't know they were going to be this big," she explains.
I check my watch and decide to mess with her. "Well, you have half an hour to finish both. If you don't, maybe I'll feel inclined to leave you at the hotel while the rest of us go out to celebrate tonight."
She drops her jaw and looks positively outraged. "Daddy, what—no!"
"Princess, what—yes," I mimic.
*
Dylan Reaves
1:47 PM
I need to pee, I need to pee, I need to pee.
"Motherfucker," I pant.
I run past an aid station, sorely tempted to pause at one of the port-a-johns. But no. Time waster. Even more tempting is to stop at the side of the road, but a technicality in the rules makes it possible for a ref to disqualify anyone who does it. It's not a judgment call I want hanging over me.
I can hold it. I fucking better. I'm not ready to be one of those pros who just…goes. In the ocean, sure, not an issue, but on the bike? Or while running? No, thanks.
An Australian guy runs past me, much to my fury, and he doesn’t seem to have the same qualms I do. He relieves himself on the go. Then, he's aiming for a podium spot, and right this second, the silver is his. That weighs heavier than decorum.
My margin is gone. My leg is killing me, and I can't go any faster. At least four athletes are close behind me, one of whom I know has a background in running that’s as impressive as mine in swimming.
I throw a quick look behind me and curse. Make that seven runners behind me.
Is it even possible for me to make top ten?
*
Gabriella Bellandi
3:02 PM
"Can they change the fucking topic?" Daddy snaps irritably. "We get it—it's a close race. Give me an update instead."
I exchange an uh-oh, Daddy's mad look with Kayla.
Both he and Mr. Ford stand behind us, arms folded, shoulders squared, matching white tees and tanned skin, equally matching frowns, and they're sharing a set of earbuds so they can listen to the radio. Daddy says that’s better than the PA system that only announces tidbits here and there. Like, when someone crosses the finish line, and a man booms out, "You. Are. An. Ironman!"
Clutching the waist-high fence that seals off the finish area, I squint at the scoreboard and bite my nails. I have over a million butterflies in my stomach, and they want out.
We have a gold medalist. And a silver and bronze medalist.
"He's in eighth place." Mr. Ford is looking at his phone when I peer over my shoulder.
"That's freaking awesome!" Kayla cheers.
I can only nod, too nervous. I can get very competitive for myself, but this is Dylan. One of the two loves of my life. He gets competitive to the point where he might injure himself and care less about his leg. That's my biggest worry, that he will limp across the finish line and be in pain.
"Kayla! Gabriella!"
My head whips around, and I flatten my hand at my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun. There! In the six-row view stands on the other side. Evangeline, Angel, Brayden—well, all of their peoples. Kayla and I wave and grin.
"It's too goddamn close to tell," Mr. Ford mutters. "Here. It's a cluster of almost a dozen athletes." He speaks to Daddy, though I make sure to listen. "He's right in the middle of that."
"Oh, God." I'm hit by another million butterflies.
Kayla feels it, too. "Daddy, I have something to get off my chest." She pauses, and Mr. Ford lifts a brow. "I think…and I'm being honest now, I swear. And I think I—Gabriella, too—should be spared from a year's worth of punishments after today, because this feels like a punishment."
Oh, I nod. I'm nodding quite furiously. "I agree. I don’t think I've ever been this nervous in my whole life."
Daddy's mouth twists in wry amusement. "Cute."
"Actually, this is interesting," Mr. Ford muses. "By that logic—given that Cade and I are nervous as well and certainly not enjoying it—we're being punished in advance, too." Oh, crap. Here comes Daddy Logic. "And since we haven't done anything wrong, does this mean you will be good girls for a year?"
We stare up at the sexy bastards. Flat looks. Because, seriously.
We'll have to solve this mess later though, 'cause the crowds surrounding us start roaring. My heart jumps up into my throat, and I turn back to stare at the finish line. Palm trees, Ironman banners, and sponsor flags wave in the air. The excitement goes through the proverbial roof, and—oh my God! I think I screamed that. And I don't care. My eyes widen, my pulse skyrockets.
"Holy fuck," I hear Daddy exclaim.
"Dylan! Dylan!" It's fucking him! Tears fill my eyes as the overwhelmingly loud noise from the spectators blurs into the background. "Dylan, I love you!" Almost, almost, almost, he's almost there. Fourth place! He finally crosses the finish line in fourth place, and then I'm pulled away, the motion giving me a somersault. "Gah!"
"You. Are. An. Ironman!"
"You. Are. An. Ironman!"
I realize it's Daddy. He holds me close and quickly
ushers me toward the area where family members can have some space to greet their athletes. We flash our cards to the security to get access, and then we step onto the humongous red mat as several runners make it to the goal farther away.
"Dylan!" Daddy hollers.
"Eeep!" I jump in place as Dylan spots us and jogs over, a panting and sweating mess. "You did it! You did it!"
"I did it," he pants. "Fuck me. I can't—" Yeah, no, he can barely breathe. Daddy hauls him in for a tight hug; I fly into them both, to which Dylan whimpers, and it looks like he's both laughing and crying. "Please don’t—oh God, I gotta pee so fucking bad."
I crack up hard and slap my thigh.
Daddy grins widely and wipes at his eyes. It makes me even more teary-eyed in the process. "Okay, let's get you to a bathroom, baby boy." He supports some of Dylan's weight, and we walk toward a row of bathrooms. "Fourth motherfucking place. I have no words."
Duh, me either. I'm just a ball of emotions right now.
*
Dylan Reaves
7:00 PM
"Nooo…" I mumble into my pillow. Actually…Daddy's pillow. It smells like his cologne. "I can't have slept long."
I must've fallen asleep when Gabby massaged my leg earlier.
"A couple hours," Daddy murmurs. I hum in pleasure as he weaves his fingers through my hair. "We have dinner reservations in fifteen minutes, and there are a lot of people who are excited to see our champion."
My mouth stretches into an involuntary grin.
I did it.
By some miracle, I managed to use the pain and gain more speed. I passed one…then two…three… A handful of fellow athletes. Fourth place. To be fair, we were all grouped together in a ten-second gap. But still. I could not have asked for more.
I had to face some press right after, and one journalist predicted I'm gonna be a big name and someone everyone will keep an eye on now.
"How are you feeling?" Daddy wonders.
"When I lie completely still, everything is perfect."
He chuckles warmly at that. "My sweet little pan." Leaning over me, he presses a kiss between my shoulder blades. "You need to get some food in you, though. We're not going far. It's just down the beach—the place with the barbecue you liked?"
Oh… As if on cue, my stomach rumbles. I only ate some snacks, energy bars, and inhaled a truckload of water before. God yes, I need to eat. I just have to figure out how to move.
*
Rio Kelly
7:21 PM
"So beautiful." I smile and tuck a piece of hair behind Chelsea's ear. "Tired?"
She grins sleepily and leans against me. "Yeah, but in that lazy it's-been-such-a-good-day kind of way. What about you?"
"Sounds about right, what you said." I take a swig of my beer and hug her to me. The beach restaurant could have been mistaken for a traditional luau, and the sound of the ocean behind us is lulling as hell. Combined with the rich scents of the barbecue and every other dish that fills the long table at which we're seated, as well as having been in the sun all day, and my mind is sort of sluggish. Perfect state of being for Hawaii, I'd say.
As I kiss the top of Chelsea's head, I spot Cade, Dylan, and little Gabriella coming down the boardwalk lined with tiki torches.
"Dylan's here, my love." I speak quietly, and she straightens so I can stand up. "Oi!" I let out a whistle to get everyone's attention and raise my beer. "Let's get off our asses and toast to a fan-fucking-tastic performance by Dylan today."
"You were so good today!" Chelsea calls.
Heads start turning, private conversations get wrapped up, and once they see the young man of the hour has made it, they're quick to bring him into the fold.
Cade smirks and guides a visibly humbled and embarrassed Dylan to the head of the table.
"To our family's own little Ironman." I smile and dip my chin at the boy, and he grins tiredly. I can't imagine how sore he must be. Eight hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-nine seconds—that was his bloody amazing time today.
"Hear, hear!" Ryan tips his bottle at Dylan. "Seriously fucking impressed, kid."
Nick goes next. "We couldn’t be happier to share this with you. Well done today, Dylan."
Several toasts and enough praise to turn him red follow before Cade cuts us off with a comment on our sadisting. Ryan, Mark, and I share a smirk as the resident Sadists, and little Kayla musters the courage to shoot us a cute scowl.
I feign a lethal stare, the type I usually reserve for newbie Doms at Switch when they put their partners at risk.
Kayla squeaks and hides behind Nick.
"You are so cruel, Owner," Chelsea laughs softly behind her hand.
I chuckle, and we take our seats again. "That's a fine compliment." I grip her chin and take a kiss before reaching for a bowl of Hawaiian rolls. It's time to eat our body weight in what Hawaii has to offer.
"Hey, Rio," Mark says, seated farther down the table. "What would you say about a triathlon play party?"
"Well, now." I'd say I'm more than a little intrigued. "Three painful disciplines for a certain amount of time… So many possibilities."
"I'm RSVP-ing a hell yeah for me and my two," Cade says and raises his beer bottle.
Gabriella scrunches her nose. "Can I suggest lollipop-tasting, bubble baths, and laser tag?"
Ryan and I bark out a laugh while the s-types are quick to agree with Gabriella.
Greg purses his lips in thought. "Technically, that would be the opposite of what a maso wants, so…"
"Mission accomplished for you," Angel says with a smirk. "A marathon of pink bath bombs with glitter."
Greg makes a face. "That sounds awful."
"Let's just leave the planning to us," Ryan drawls. "Trust, we know how to make you suffer."
The Tops have a drink at that.
"I think I've suffered enough," Dylan states.
I laugh under my breath, and I notice how no one argues his point. Even Sadists have limits.
Give it a day or two, though.
*
Dylan Reaves
11:13 PM
I rub my eyes and yawn, letting Cade guide me back to our bungalow. Gabby's awfully energetic, rambling adorably about all the activities we're going to do when we get to Kauai.
In the meantime, Cade has to personally assist me with the brushing of teeth and taking off of clothes. I'm a zombie. A happy, full, tired, lucky, achy zombie.
At least I can sleep in a little tomorrow before our breakfast with my parents.
"Okay, time for bed." Cade smacks me lightly on the butt, and I stumble out of the bathroom. He can take care of the light. I can barely take care of myself right now. "I'll be right out." The door closes again.
Gabriella is sitting on the bed in just panties, and she's channel surfing so quickly I don’t think she actually knows what she's zapping past.
"Um, you're breaking the rule on no underwear when you sleep," I point out.
"I'm not sleeping yet," she retorts.
I shrug and get rid of my boxers, and then I crawl over her on my way to the middle, effectively flattening her to the mattress.
"Dylan!" she complains.
"Hi." I dip down and wrap my lips around a nipple, 'cause it was calling to me.
She lets out a breathless laugh and gets squirmy. "I was watching TV."
"I don't care." It was only supposed to be some boob kissing, but now I kind of want more. She is so gorgeous and soft and pretty and perfect. "You're fair game." I hook two fingers into her panties and yank them off. My mouth waters at the sight. Maybe a few pussy kisses, too. Then I can sleep.
Kneeling between her sexy thighs, I lean down and kiss her private place. I ignore her gasp, and maybe I get a bit greedy. She tastes so good. I go back for more and lick her slit, tasting her natural sweetness and the coconut of her after-sun lotion.
"You have the smoothest, most delicious pussy, little sis." I rub her clit lightly and go lower, sucking at the spot her wetness comes from
. Oh, fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Now I'm getting all hard. Hard and sleepy is not an awesome combo. I get cranky and rougher because I lose my patience, and I also forget stuff. Like asking her if I can fuck her.
I mean, we have our rules; I know what's okay for me to do, but I still have manners.
Well, not at the moment, evidently. After a few more tasty licks, I crawl higher up and waste no time pushing my cock inside her.
"Ah, shit," I groan.
"Dylan, wait," she whimpers as I stretch her.
"Shhh." I kiss her fervently and start fucking her in long, deep strokes. She gets wetter and wetter, and her moans become muffled when she presses her mouth to my neck. Her hands roam my back, fingernails scraping lightly. "Fuck—I love you," I whisper, out of breath. "You feel so perfect."
"I love you, too," she gasps. "Oh, God—give me more…"
The mattress dips behind me, letting me know Cade's finally here. I moan as he strokes my butt and drops a kiss to my spine. Next, I feel his long, thick cock pressing against my ass.
"Push in all the way, baby boy," he murmurs. "Fill her pretty little cunt and stay there."
"But I wanna fuck her—"
A firm touch on my back kills the rest of my sentence. He grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me back hard enough for fire to tear through my skull, and I choke on the sharp stings.
"I don’t think you heard me." His low growl rumbles between us, and my brain powers down. "Daddy's here now, Dylan, and you fucking obey him. Is that clear?"
My eyes well up. It's like a flip of a switch. He's no longer Cade. I don’t have to be in control anymore; the race is over. I can let go.
"Yes, Daddy," I croak.
Oh, goddamn. The relief floods me, my vision gets even blurrier, and my throat closes up.
I can let go.
"There's my baby," he whispers, his warm hands stroking my sides. "You'll be good for me, won't you?"
I nod obediently, mentally sinking lower and lower. I'm his. He'll take control again, like we both need. He keeps touching me sensually, soothingly, while I surrender parts of my will and submit to the man I love. Pushing in slowly, burying myself inside Gabby, I take pleasure from what Daddy lets me have, and I find peace in just waiting for his next command.
