“You’re right.” It was a good thing she was there to keep an eye on the crazy in me. It kept trying to surface, find a new, impossible goal to strive toward in an endless quest. Except when I held her there in the warm breezy night, stroking her thighs, listening to the sound of her voice in the dark. Then I felt pretty happy to sit and enjoy.
“What about a rehab center?” I suggested instead, thinking of her expertise. “A center for athletes, with physical therapy and a fitness room.”
“Like a gym, but with an emphasis on rehab?” She seemed to like the idea.
We discussed the pros and cons, who the target audience would be. I liked the idea of a center dedicated to helping others. I’d spent a lot of time looking inward, focused on myself, working on my physical strength, stroke technique and endurance all with the goal of improving my times. It was time to widen my lens. I didn’t know how yet, but I was becoming more and more sure that I wanted to give back.
§
I still hit the pool every day. Old habits died hard. I found a high-caliber facility associated with a local university and worked out harder than anyone in it. Which wasn’t difficult, because most people there were normal. I was the insane one.
Sometimes people would sit on the pool deck and watch me swim. When I got out, they wanted to talk about the Olympics, and how I should do it again. I’d only be 30 years old in the next go-round. I could do it.
I knew they were probably right. I might not match my performance, but I’d probably get close. If I killed myself day in, day out, every day of the next four years, devoting each shred of energy and time to that one goal.
I didn’t want to do it. I felt that with certainty. Even in the void of what next, I knew that wasn’t it. I wanted a fuller life now, a broader umbrella, and I wanted Emma right at the center of it with me.
Later that afternoon, she came home. Her schedule was somewhat erratic, and her office wasn’t too far from our apartment, so we’d meet up when we could.
“How was your swim?” she asked, giving me a kiss. She wore one of her subtly sexy outfits, the little tank top and short skirt revealing her fit and lithe body.
“Fine,” I nodded, hatching an idea. “How long do you have before your next session?”
“My last client cancelled!” She looked at me with excitement.
A whole evening together, uninterrupted. “I think we have some time for a massage,” I declared.
“Is that right?” she asked, cocking her eyebrow.
“I’ll work on you first.” I gave her a heated look and she laughed, teasingly, turning to get herself a glass of water.
“But you’ve just done your swim,” she reminded me, taking a sip. “I don’t want you getting all tense.”
“If you insist,” I agreed, knowing I’d still get to have my way with her. And it wasn’t so bad, receiving a massage. Both options promised a high likelihood of enjoyment.
We had a massage table set up in the living room. Didn’t everyone? Or, at least every serious athlete lucky enough to be hooked up with a professional therapist trained in massage. I was a lucky dawg.
She was no longer working in an official capacity as my physical therapist, of course, but I still reaped the many benefits. No one touched me like Emma. Especially now that there were no rules holding us back.
“Now get undressed and lie down,” she told me, sternly. “I think I’ll really have to use a lot of oil on you today.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she lubed her hands. I stripped down to nothing and lay on my back. She rubbed me, slowly, torturously, all over my chest, my quads, everywhere but where I wanted the most.
“Emma,” I growled in warning. I could take some teasing, but sooner or later I’d get what I wanted.
She giggled, playful with a hint of excitement and maybe even a bit of nerves. I still surprised her sometimes, coming at her raw and dominant when she didn’t expect it. I loved taking her breath away, then hearing it come back in a needy pant and moan.
“You need to let me work,” she chastised, stroking, kneading my muscles. “I have to take care of you.” Wicked temptress, she slid her hands along my hips, at my lower abdomen. As she rubbed and massaged, she could see every inch of me, my swollen cock long and rock hard.
I loved seeing her get caught up in her own lust. At first she was playful, teasing and coy. Then something shifted. She glanced at my cock, a drop of pre-come at the tip. Then she glanced again, her pink tongue darting out, licking her lips.
She liked the taste of me. My cock jerked in response, a little more pre-come leaking out. She moved closer to my middle. She couldn’t take her eyes away.
“I think,” she offered hesitantly. “I think you might need some attention here.”
But before she got her treat, I sat up and turned the tables. Or who lay on the table, anyway. She didn’t get what she wanted, not yet. Not when torturing her was so much fun.
“Strip for me. And lie down on your front. Now,” I ordered. I slathered my hands in warm oil, too, watching her as she complied with my orders, slipping out of her clothes, her panties and bra, too, until she was completely naked, lying there waiting for me. Slick on her skin, my hands kneaded, pulled and pressed into her. I loved seeing her hips start to wiggle and grind into the sheet. As if pushing her clit into the table could give her the kind of release she needed. No, I had what she craved.
“Up on all fours, baby.” I coaxed her, helping her up into the position I liked. Down on her elbows, up on her knees, I got her at exactly the right angle. With her knees spread apart, her ass tilted up, I could get right at so much of what I liked, her round, pink cheeks, her pretty little asshole, her dripping wet pussy.
I stroked and massaged as long as I could. Until her whimpers and pleas got the best of me, too, and I leaned down for a light lick.
“Ah!” she gasped, so sensitive, raising up on her hands and turning around to look at me.
“You need to let me work on you.” I took pleasure in repeating her own words right back at her. With my large hand at the center of her upper back, I pushed her back down into position again. “Stay still or you won’t get what you need.”
With a whine, she did as I said, back down on her elbows, knees even wider apart so I could see her glistening sex. I grabbed her hips, my fingers along her ass cheeks, pulling her apart so I could really get in there. I licked, slowly at first, eating her pussy like the ripest, juiciest fruit I’d ever tasted. I moaned at the succulent sweetness, so turned on by the sounds she made, the way she white-knuckled the sheet.
When she got close, I brought my oiled thumb over to her ass, using some of the arousal dripping down her legs to coat her entrance. Sucking on her clit, I pressed against her tight ring, forcing it open, my thick thumb popping inside.
She screamed, at the brink, tense and quivering as I licked and sucked her pussy, starting to thrust in her ass. She loved it when I claimed her, showed her how good I could make her feel, because she was mine, all mine.
She started bucking, pressing against me, shuddering and groaning and I sucked hard on her clit, pulling it in, giving it a light bite as I pushed into her asshole.
“Yes!” she screamed out, climaxing hard, coming in my mouth as I sucked in her luscious wetness. I stroked her, milking the pleasure out of her, licking every last drop as she quivered and sighed.
Kissing her ass cheek, I praised her. “So fucking sweet, baby.”
“Oh, Chase,” she groaned, sinking down, her face pressed to the side. I gathered her in my arms and carried her into the bedroom. She needed a moment to rest and catch her breath. Too bad I wasn’t going to give it to her.
Pulling her against me, cupping her from behind, I wrapped my hands around her. Grabbing one of her breasts, dipping down into her slick pussy, I held her there, sucking on her throat, licking and whispering in her ear. “You come so pretty, Emma. I need to see it again.”
And that was how we spent the night, pushing boundaries, sinking
into each other with passion that left both of us breathless, sweaty, panting, and ultimately falling asleep with big, fat, satisfied smiles on our faces.
§
Emma had never been to New York City, so I took her there for a few days in October. The leaves in Central Park were crisp and bright. The sun was still strong enough for long days of walking around and sightseeing. And my father was in town on business, so we met up with him for dinner.
Halfway through our meal, an old friend of my father’s, Mark Fisher, joined us. He’d known me since the day I was born, he liked telling me, and he wanted to come congratulate the Olympic champion. We got to talking. It turned out Mark had made tens of millions as a venture capitalist, and now he wanted to make a difference. He had a bunch of ideas and was especially concerned about childhood obesity and the increasing reliance on screens for entertainment.
“Kids don’t run around and play outdoors anymore,” he lamented. “I used to spend all summer climbing trees and riding bikes. Now kids stay indoors playing video games.”
I didn’t have any answers, but I knew what he was talking about. I believed strongly in the benefits of physical activity, exercise and athletic pursuits, and I saw what he was saying. A lot of kids didn’t do that anymore, especially kids whose parents couldn’t afford all mine had, with the club and team fees, the gear, the constant driving back and forth to practice.
We didn’t decide anything that night, but Mark and I kept talking, texting and emailing which then grew into scheduled phone calls. In November, when he flew down to Vero to spend the day brainstorming, I knew we might be on to something. I believed passionately in swimming. You could do it from the day you entered this world until the day you exited. It kept you healthy, didn’t impact your joints, engaged your body and your mind. Not to mention that drowning was one of the leading causes of death in children. I knew something about that topic.
We started hatching the idea for a center, called Swim For Your Life. Mark would fund the construction and set up a generous scholarship fund for kids with limited means. Emma and I would run it.
The center would be open to the public, offering a recreational pool, swim lessons and a swim team. It would have all that, plus a fitness center with, you guessed it, physical and massage therapy. Emma was a big part of the planning process, at the center of creating the vision and helping us articulate not only the big ideas, but the logistical planning.
“We should offer a camp in the summers!” She got just as excited about it as me, brainstorming ways to keep kids active and engaged, swimming and playing and, of course, with Emma, running. “We can have a big field outside! With a track!”
The possibilities were endless, as were the needs. With more and more schools strapped for cash, cutting funding for physical education programs, kids needed a place to go and be healthy.
In the winter months Emma and I worked together to start making our dreams a reality. We found a fantastic lot at an affordable price, thanks to the comparatively reasonable real estate prices in Florida. While we got all the engineering surveys done, the soil reports, the structural calculations, my mom flew down for a couple weeks and worked with a landscape architect to design the grounds. There would be flowers, lots of them, and a vegetable garden that the kids could tend and learn about how food grows.
Emma’s parents got in on the fun as well. Her mom gave a lot of input into the rehab component, especially the water therapy programs we could offer. Her father managed commercial properties for a living, so he was a natural to not only consult, but offer the manager position. We had lunch one day, just the two of us, and I proposed it to him. He’d get a raise, the opportunity to work with his daughter and full oversight of the facilities.
“I’d be honored,” he said, shaking my hand.
I hoped to get that same reaction from him to a question I planned on asking sometime over the coming year. I still felt the way about Emma that I had from the start. She was the one for me. We hadn’t talked marriage and kids yet. I was making myself wait, for once in my life not rush after the goal but let it unfold, at a natural, comfortable pace. But that was hard for me. A large part of me wanted to haul her caveman-style down to city hall that afternoon. We could seal the deal quick, making her mine, forever and ever.
But I knew she’d like a wedding with her family involved. And my mom would like that, too. Liam would want to be there and, who knew, maybe Jax and even Ian would show up. And there were my teammates, they’d want to come, and Emma still lived in the town where she’d grown up so she’d have a bunch of friends and family she’d want to include. Hell, we’d be lucky if we got away with a guest list of a few hundred.
Not that I assumed she’d say yes, but I hoped she would. Seeing her there in meetings, planning for our new center, I couldn’t believe how I’d hit the jackpot. She was the real deal, so kind and nice and thoughtful. And a naughty, hot freak in bed. I’d caught myself a unicorn. And I planned on never letting her go.
CHAPTER 23
Emma
We spent Christmas together in Vero with my family. Chase met the whole extended Nelson clan, complete with cousins and aunts and a pet boa constrictor named Neil. That belonged to my Uncle Ralph.
This year, Neil didn’t eat anything. Last year he’d disappeared for a couple hours, then reappeared at the entryway with a suspiciously large lump in his middle. This year, Uncle Ralph kept him closer, wearing him like a scarf for most of the holiday.
Chase rode it out in classic style, nodding patiently to long explanations about how to make tuna casserole (Aunt Roberta) and showing my nine-year-old cousin Kenny how to swim butterfly. In the kitchen of my parents’ house.
“They’re best friends, not enemies,” Chase told him, moving his hands closer together at the end of the swoop. He was so good with kids, charming and funny and patient. Someday he’d make a great dad. He saw me gazing at him, all starry eyed, and he gave me a wink.
Geez, I was so head over heels for him. A fact I reminded myself of frequently as we flew up to Massachusetts to spend the week after Christmas with his parents. His father really rubbed me the wrong way. He seemed competitive with his own son, bragging about his latest business deal, displaying his latest girlfriend as if it were a competition, her against me. I did not do well around people like that. The more it felt like someone was trying to provoke a reaction, the more I clammed right up. The few days we spent at his father’s house, I spoke less and less, growing quiet as a mouse.
Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one who saw it. It didn’t make me happy to see Chase upset over his father’s behavior, but it did make it easier that he didn’t like it either.
“I’m sorry. He isn’t always this bad,” he assured me.
“It is not your fault,” I reassured him. “And I’m fine.” Which was true, but I grew more relaxed in the following days as we visited his mother. She and I had had fun with the landscape architect, planning the grounds for the swim center. She struck me as quiet, thoughtful, and much more grounded than I’d originally feared when I’d seen her in Rio. It turned out she got really tense around her ex-husband. Now I understood why.
While we were visiting his parents, Chase headed back to the old pool he’d trained at while in high school. It was technically closed over the vacation week, but they gave Chase a key. For him, anything.
One afternoon, I accompanied him for a workout of my own. I lasted about a half hour in the water, then took a hot tub, sauna, shower, plus blow dried my hair and changed. When I came out, he was still swimming and went at it for another half hour. I sat by the side on a bench and scrolled through my Facebook and Instagram feeds on my phone. Lots of photos of Tori, having a blast. She hadn’t slowed down a bit. We hadn’t seen each other that much in the past few months, and, honestly, that felt about right.
“You’re Chase’s friend?” An older gentleman came over, introducing himself as one of Chase’s first coaches. “I came over to say hello.” He made his way
over to the pool and Chase and he talked for a few minutes, all smiles and laughter as they reminisced.
“He sure seems to be doing well,” the coach commented as he passed me again on his way out. “A kid with that kind of drive? I’ve seen it go both ways.”
We both watched Chase fly through the water, as if he had wings in an empty pool. Not in training for any future event, he was just enjoying himself by pushing himself to physical exhaustion.
“Some kids?” the coach reflected. “They push and push, but then they don’t know what to do when it’s all over. They don’t know how to stop. But Chase seems like one of the lucky ones.” He looked at me, kindly. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do with that.”
He walked off, leaving me to my thoughts as I watched Chase swim. Was he doing all right? Did he miss it, training for the Olympics? Maybe he wanted to do it again in 2020?
I’d get on that treadmill again if he wanted, support him however he needed down that long, arduous journey. But it would be a hard one, pushing uphill as the years and endless hours of stress and overuse took a toll on his body. Thirty wasn’t old in an objective sense, but for an elite athlete it was right on the cusp, if not over the hill. I’d hate to see Chase push and push, only to get sidelined by an injury, or make it to the games and not be able to recapture his former glory.
Plus, a small part of me hoped he’d be happy without it. It must be hard, having had such an exciting, coveted prize to pursue for so long, to now wake up each day with, simply, life. But to me what we had going on was thrilling. The chance to do something really fun and good, running Swim For Your Life together. It was my dream come true. But was it his?
I still had the question on my mind as we drove back to his mother’s house, about twenty minutes away. Snow flurries were falling, pretty from the inside of the car but Florida girl that I was I already felt cold before I’d even set foot in it. I put my seat warmer on high.
In Deep: Chase & Emma (All In Book 1) Page 23
