by Lucia Franco
"What would it take for you not to be mad with me?"
I was sure he expected me to stroke him, but instead, I rubbed myself along his swollen length. With each rush of my hips, I applied pressure to him and he indulged by thrusting forward. His eyes darkened to a suggestive hue that tingled in my belly.
Damn, his eyes. They made me want to unravel every layer of him.
"For something just like that to happen, but while I am coherent," I moaned. The pleasure bloomed inside my veins, a high was on the horizon.
Kova nipped the tender flesh under my lobe. His hands skimmed my lower back and his fingers slid into my panties. His palm covered one cheek and he gripped it tight in his hand and yanked me roughly against him. A little yelp escaped me.
"But it is so much better when you are sleeping… I can do whatever I want to you. The best part? Your body reacts and still wants it even when you are incoherent."
A shiver ran down my spine at the thought. I shook my head, surging faster and faster. "You're incorrigible."
His fingers danced illicitly close to my sex. I clenched the fabric of his shirt in my hand and waited anxiously, continuing to rub myself on him.
"Impressive." He drove up with his hips and I sucked in a breath. "A big word for such a young girl." He groaned so deep and guttural that I think he liked the definition of the word and what he was doing to me.
"I am young, and you love it. Admit it," I said breathlessly. Kova growled, but didn't answer. He was a fusion of brooding and passive, someone who was indisputably crossed.
"How can someone like you always seem to know what I like?"
I smiled against his mouth. "I'm attentive."
Two fingers dipped further into my wetness. He caressed me softly, slowly, sliding all around. I arched my back and my hips came up, hoping he'd push inside. I moaned, wanting more.
"This girl wants you to make her come."
Another stroke over my swollen pussy and Kova was pulling his fingers out and sliding them between his lips. I let out a frustrated gasp and reeled back. Kova pulled his fingers out with a pop and smiled from ear to ear. I wish he'd smile more. His whole face changed.
He tapped the side of my outer thigh like he was proud. "Time for me to go, sweet girl."
Thirty-Nine
The Rossi name was a curse.
I swear it was.
We were rational yet highly emotional people. I could be the jaw dropping girl in the room, your confidant, and your worst enemy.
All at once if I had to.
And in those rare times when I was on the receiving end—because karma—I loathed it. I prided myself on being practical and levelheaded, but when my emotions slithered under and took root, spreading their vines when I least expected it, I acted just plain old stupid.
It was early Friday morning, twelve hours before our flight departed for the elite qualifier meet where I would test both Optional and Compulsory routines, when I woke up feeling downright weak. It was horrible. I didn't even have the strength to panic. I was lethargic and unable to process my thoughts and so physically drained that I called my mom. Holding up the phone was a job in itself.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Much to my surprise, she had gotten on the phone and within minutes had a private doctor on the way to my condo. It was one of those luxuries of the American Express black card. She heard the brittle tone of my voice and seemed legitimately concerned for my well-being, but then I replayed the conversation in my head and caught her last words.
I anticipate your youthful appearance, my darling daughter. I scowled.
Diagnosis: Severe exhaustion and fatigue.
The doctor had to administer an injection of a high dose of vitamin B12. The next two times I'd have to do it myself since he'd prescribed an extreme dose until I got home and scheduled an appointment to see him.
It didn't take long for the dose to kick in. I had a burst of energy and positive attitude. I felt confident, eager about competing in my first meet with World Cup since I started. I wanted to test elite, and I wanted to make my team proud. If that meant I had to stick a needle fifty times over in my leg, I would.
We had a five-hour flight to the Las Vegas meet, where we'd go eat dinner and then straight to the hotel to check in and head to bed. I wouldn’t see my parents until after the meet. The coaches were adamant and enforced a rule that we not have any kind of contact with them, but I knew they were there. I sat by Madeline the entire time and read a book. I didn't want my focus to deter sitting next to Kova, and I wasn't in the mood for Reagan's shenanigans.
I was nervous and jittery.
At dinner, I barely looked in Kova's direction, despite sitting right to next to him, which he orchestrated to happen. It took every fiber in my body not to lean in and inhale his scent deeply into my lungs. He smelled divine while sipping on vodka. I couldn't think of oranges and cigars without thinking of him.
It wasn't like I was upset with him, I just lost all sense of self-control when I was around him and I couldn't afford to do that right now. I really wanted to win. So I put myself in the zone and blocked out all distractions.
Once back at the hotel, the teams split up and went to their rooms. Since the elite were such a small team, we all roomed together. None of us uttered a word, just went on with our normal routines and went to sleep.
Gymnasts were well-groomed and disciplined little soldiers.
And it's where I found peace the most.
My thigh was sore the next morning where I had to give myself an injection. There was a slight discoloration around the sight, but nothing that a little makeup couldn't fix. I hoped it wouldn't bruise until after the meet.
Other than that, I was feeling fan-fucking-tastic. My energy was through the roof. Like I’d had a bunch of energy drinks.
After a quick pep talk from the coaches, we had podium training at the site. We marched in dressed in our matching leos and sweats. Hair pulled back in slick ponytails with globs of gel combed through so not one single strand would fall out of place. My nerves started to kick in once we arrived, though I was oddly calm. Podium training was very structured and organized with limited time to warm up and get used to the equipment.
I had one chance to swiftly readjust all my routines so the timing was correct and find my mark to focus on.
Stone quiet and determined, I prepared for something I had never done.
Not every meet had podium training because not every meet is on podium. In regular gyms like World Cup, there was no podium, and every apparatus was anchored to cement.
On podium, nothing was cemented. The events would be raised three feet off the floor so spectators had easier viewing. It's why on television some judges were level with the apparatuses and some were not.
While it was safe and regulated and wouldn't be visible to the untrained eye, competing on podium wasn't the same. The texture may be different on beam or vault, the bars may give more, and the floor could be softer or rougher and have more spring. Usually a set routine was in place to only warm up specific skills set by the coaches. That's why podium training was so vital.
Just another way to fuck with a gymnast's head, really.
Lifting my eyes, I tightened my grips and glanced around. I dipped my hands into the chalk bowl and visualized my routine.
The level of tension that radiated throughout the gym was thicker than a block of fresh chalk. Never did I expect to see the coaches so overwrought with nerves. All you had to do was watch the movement of their eyes and you'd know. It was always the eyes that said everything. If not, just about all their shoulders were stiff and tight, and they sauntered around with their hands on their hips, speaking assertively to their gymnasts. While this was about the competitor and their talent, it also reflected on the coach. It was always about the coach. They wanted to look as amazing as their golden ticket.
Reagan had just completed her dismount when she came over to the chalk bowl. This was my first
meet with her and surprisingly, she was calm and silent toward me. I gathered she remember her first time testing for elite and how stressful it was. I for sure thought she'd try to get under my skin and mess with my head, but she didn't. Thankfully.
My warm-up for bars came next. I stood in front of the low bar and lifted my arms toward it. Just as I was about to mount, Kova put a hand up. Stepping onto the mat, he walked around the cable cords in my direction.
"Listen, I want you to do your full routine first so you get a feel for these bars. The equipment is different from ours, but if you keep your mind and body sharp, it will not be as bad as it seems. Do not stop when your heart drops, because it will, just keep going. After you complete your routine, I want you to get back in line and think about what you need to adjust and only warm up those skills. Small changes will add up to huge results. Do you understand?"
I nodded. "Which should I do first?"
"Compulsory."
I should've guessed he'd say that. Since compulsory had mandatory skills that every gymnast had to master, I'd have to prove myself capable before I could test Optional.
After I completed my warm-up, my nerves were a little jittery. I stood in line retightening my grips for no good reason with a racing heart. Kova had been right, every skill I did had felt different and I absolutely had to make some changes. My swing gave more, and my heart splattered to the ground a few times when I released. I knew it wasn't the best warm-up and that Kova would not be pleased, but I couldn't think about that right now. I didn't look in his direction, even though he was probably waiting for me to look for him. I just stared at the floor and visualized what I'd just done. I had to get in tune with my body and think about where I would make minor adjustments.
I needed to calm my stressed nerves.
The biggest issue would be timing. Timing was everything and I needed to adjust it just right for the routine to be executed properly.
Just as I was about to go my last time, Kova pulled me aside.
"What are you doing?" I shrieked in a whisper. "I'm going to miss my turn!"
It'd been drilled into our heads that everything was on a strict schedule and there would be no exceptions made. I seriously couldn't afford to lose my spot.
Kova placed his hands on my shoulders and calmed me with his touch. Looking directly into my eyes, he said determinedly but with a touch of tenderness, "Do not crack. You got that? Do. Not. Crack." I bit my lip.
After a full year of working so closely together, he knew when the weight of the moment got to me.
"I can see it in your eyes—you got nervous and that is okay, it is normal, but do not let that affect what you came here to do. Look into my eyes and see what I see. A warrior, a fighter, someone who gets kicked out but finds another way in. You are braver and stronger than you know. You are a fire that burns. Do not feed your doubts, Ria, feed your dream. Do not lose your focus." I nodded feverously, annoyed I'd shown emotion. "Now, do you want me to stand and spot you?"
I expelled a strenuous breath and nodded again.
"Look at me," he ordered. "Look in my eyes." He placed a hand on my shoulder and an eerie calmness seemed to wash over me. "Take a deep breath and release. Again." Then he smiled proudly at me and my stomach settled.
Words might have been lost on me, but Kova's thoughtfulness to ease my worries and spot me spread throughout my chest. Coaches were allowed to spot during the actual meets without receiving any kind of deduction. The spot was more for peace of mind. I'd never needed one in the past, but this was a whole new page in my storybook for me.
"I just want you to stand there."
Kova walked over and stood near the high bar. He got in position and waited for me. I was confident I could make the changes successfully but having him there quieted my fears. A comforting safety measure.
After I adjusted my routine, I also made the necessary changes to my optional routine. Kova was there the entire time. He didn't push me or ridicule me, he just let me do my thing. It was like a second chance to get used to the feel of bars.
My teammates and I moved onto vault. Just like with bars, I had two vaults I had to do—a front handspring double front tuck, and an Amanar. The only difference with vault was that I had two turns for each vault during competition as opposed to one. Both were extremely difficult, and both required minor changes that didn't frighten me in the way bars did.
"What the hell was that?" Kova questioned, striding up next to me. His eyes were huge and his hands were out waiting for an explanation. I reeled back, nervous with anxiety. I hadn't pulled the Amanar like I should have, which was why he wasn't happy. I freaked out in the middle of the twist and did a Yurchenko double instead. It wasn't uncommon for a gymnast to make the change midflight with this vault, but it would earn me a deduction in difficulty. The extra half-twist was hard as fuck to crank out.
"We need more flight."
I loved when Kova said we, because we were a team and that was important to me. He described with his body how I should be tucking and locking by making sporadic movements.
"Take one foot back in your start. Otherwise your block will suck again and you will not get the flight you need."
I glared at him when we got to the end of the runway. As if I didn't feel my shitty block.
"Okay," was all I said.
Taking a deep breath, I exhaled and stomped my feet in chalk. I got into position a foot back and visualized what I was about to do. The changes felt great and I knew both vaults would be just like they were back at World Cup. Vault was my specialty. I excelled at it.
Floor was exactly what I had expected—super bouncy. I warmed up with a few passes to get a feel. Luckily, I hadn't gone out of bounds, but the height I reached made my heart plummet to the ground. I already flew pretty high as it was, so I reduced the steps in my tumbling passes to bring it down just a notch. I didn't need too much momentum.
Beam was same as any other day, but now it came with a slight wobble since it wasn't secured to the floor. I jumped, flipped, leaped, and it all came with a shake of the beam. I had to be extremely tight otherwise I'd be having balance checks every other second. In the press to handstand mount that went straight into my first combination sequence of a double back handspring into a full twist, I fell off the beam. My jittery nerves got the best of me and I shook more than I anticipated. Kova grunted under his breath loud enough to let me know how displeased he was with me, but I jumped back up, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Glancing ahead, I found my spot and began my routine, chanting to myself, I got this.
And I did. I fucking had this.
I concentrated on sticking every skill. I went deep and dark with my thoughts, into a different dimension, and only saw one word at the end of the tunnel. Success. The quickest way to overcome fear was hit it directly head on. I had to breach my comfort zone if I wanted to make any kind of advancement in this sport. I was my only limit—I decided my path. I was committed to this journey and I would succeed. I. Would. Make. It. Happen.
Once I landed my dismount without so much as a small step—I stuck it—I looked for my coach who was already making his way toward me.
As we walked side by side back to the resting area where my duffle bag was, Kova placed his hand on my lower back.
"I do not know what you did up there, but you caught me by complete surprise. Excellent work, Adrianna. You let go of your fear and allowed yourself to shine. You trusted yourself. I thought you may need a bit more work with this beam, but you shocked me and proved me wrong."
I sat on the floor and pulled up my knees in a butterfly position. "Gymnastics is so tricky," I said, unwrapping the ace bandages from my ankle. It alleviated some tenderness with my Achilles but not as well as the sports tape. "It's risky and messes with your head more than any other sport out there," I said as if it just dawned on me. "As much as I like to think I can control everything, I know I can't. So, if I stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong and think about all the things th
at could go right, and I try my absolute best, it should work in my favor. Should being the keyword." I chuckled to myself as I crumpled the bandage and dropped it in my bag. "Otherwise I'm always going to find errors."
Kova listened while I rambled on. His attention never left mine, as if every word I said mattered. It was the best feeling to see him already staring at me. I felt high on life, ready to tackle my next obstacle with Kova by my side.
"I'm not sure what came over me, but I was driven by power and determination. Maybe it was because I have you behind me, I'm not sure, but I do know that I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, so I just kind of let go and believed in myself."
I smiled brightly at him. The way Kova looked at me made my heart flutter. I couldn't stop it from happening. I felt great. Confident. Like I could take on the world. He was happy and proud, and I loved that I exceeded his expectations.
"Adrianna, I wish I could finish this conversation with you, but I have to go. Just know, that what you did up there is because you stopped doubting yourself. You proved it just like I knew you would. I cannot wait to see you perform tomorrow."
He turned away before I could say anything. I knew he wasn't leaving to purposely avoid me, my teammates needed his attention as well.
I tried not to smile from ear to ear. I tried not to stare at him with admiration. But I did and I didn't give a shit who saw. He was proud, and that filled my chest with so many emotions I couldn't put into words. Appraisal was not something I needed all the time, but in flashes of self-doubt, it changed everything. He gave me the courage I needed to move forward. He was my life boat.
Make it count.
It's what he'd said since the moment I started with World Cup. And I would. For myself. For my coaches.
Kova moved to stand near the uneven bars again, this time to help Holly. I watched as he instructed her, giving her the same reassurance he instilled in me. He believed in us. Despite his flaws—and he had plenty—he cared about his gymnasts and the sport. He wanted us to succeed.
