Out of bounds the summer.., p.25
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       Out of Bounds (The Summer Games #2), p.25

           R.S. Grey

  “That was a present from your grandmother before she passed away,” my mother told me one time, after she’d caught me snooping. She smiled and pulled it out of the box, laying it flat across my chest. The diamond glimmered in the light and my eyes grew wide.

  It was the most beautiful thing we’d ever owned and she’d hawked it at a pawn shop so she could pay overdue gymnastics fees. I’d found the jewelry box empty, and when I’d asked her about it, I’d seen a glint of sadness in her eye for the first time—but of course she never admitted she was sad to part with the necklace.

  “Oh, that thing was old and silly. When would I even need to wear a thing like that? I’m not Cinderella.” She laughed as she stood in front of our stove, opening up a can of tuna fish.

  My heart broke all over again, thinking of her parting with the one reminder of her old life.

  “I just want to give her back everything she gave me.”

  “Brie.” He bent low and gripped my neck in his hand, enveloping me in a soul-crushing hug. “You already have,” he said, trying to ease my gaze back to him. I squeezed my eyes shut and crushed my face into his chest. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I didn’t want to give him this piece of me, this piece I’d never given anyone before.

  He didn’t fight me; he squeezed me against him and for a few moments, all I had to focus on was the steady sound of his breathing, his warm breath spilling down my neck.

  He surrounded me, enveloping me in the tenderness I craved from him. He was usually so closed off, and this soft side of him was fleeting; I knew that, and I wanted to steal as much of his sweetness as I could.

  I let my grips slip from my fingers and fall to the floor as my hands dragged down his back, bringing my entire body flush with his. He stilled, knowing what I was doing.

  “Please,” I begged, skimming my hands down his back, feeling his muscles tense beneath his soft t-shirt. He was solid against my curves, a hard mass of tension I wanted to smooth out. His hands reached down to grip my hips, as if he were trying to anchor himself. The pads of his fingers brushed my bare upper thigh and a soft moan escaped my lips before I could contain it.

  His grip tightened, branding me.

  “Please,” I begged, skimming my hand down his abs. “Give me five minutes where I don’t have to think about it. Give me this.”

  He knew the truth; he knew why tomorrow wasn’t just a competition for me, it was a lifeline for my mother and me.

  I pressed up onto my tiptoes and brushed my lips across his sharp jawline. It was shaved clean and felt soft beneath my lips. I inhaled the scent of his body wash, that masculine smell that unwound me.

  He kept his hands on my hips, tight and secure, not quite sure if he wanted to give in. My hand moved up, slipping beneath his t-shirt and gliding across his hard muscles. He flexed beneath my hand, trying to keep his composure. I knew I could make him crumble, make him give in to this, this thing we were so fucking good at.

  My leotard was made of a dark blue velvet-blend, and every time the soft material brushed against my skin, I nearly buckled under the sensation.

  “I’m begging you,” I said, drawing my lips up to his ear and biting down gently.

  “Brie,” he said, his voice broken and dark.

  “Touch me.”

  I moved his hand from my hip and pushed it lower, brushing his fingers over the velvety material barring me from him. I wasn’t wearing any panties. If he wanted to, he could brush my leotard aside and slip right into me.

  The moment the palm of his hand hit the center of my thighs, a low groan slipped out of his lips. In that moment, I was no longer in control. He picked me up off the floor and carried me back to the row of beams in the corner of the room. The door wasn’t locked—another gymnast or coach could walk in at any time—but the sun was setting and the competition was tomorrow. No one wanted to be in that room but us.

  My back hit the beam and he lifted me up until I was sitting on the worn leather. He stepped between my legs and wound his hands up around my neck, crashing his lips to mine.

  His kisses stole my breath and I tried to keep up, running my hands up his arms to balance myself on the beam, but it was no use. His mouth was on me, in me, stealing me. His tongue glided over mine and I tilted my hips forward to brush myself against the front of his pants.

  He backed up, knowing exactly what I was doing. An inch away and suddenly I had nothing, no heat to ease the desire threatening to swallow me whole.

  His lips left mine and I fluttered my eyes open to see him taking another step back, then another. He was still close enough to reach out and grab, but he was putting space between us, raking his gaze down my body. My chest rose and fell. My breasts strained against the top of my leotard as I waited for his next move. I’d put myself out there. I’d danced for him the night before and now I was baring my soul for him.

  “Spread your knees,” he said, pushing his palm between my legs so I was forced to open them for him.

  The velvet brushed against the inside of my thighs as I adjusted on the beam, and I bit down on my bottom lip to keep myself from whimpering.

  He smirked, taking me in from his vantage point.

  He ran his hand along my jaw, examining me.

  “You make me crazy,” he said, his eyes on my chest and then lower, down between my legs. “You know that?”

  I swallowed.

  “Watching you up on that stage last night…”

  He closed his eyes for a second as if replaying the memory for himself.

  “Had you done that before?”

  I shook my head, trying to catch my breath, but it was no use; my chest was tight, filled with dark fantasies.

  He wrapped his hand around my left ankle. “This body is the only thing I dream about…the way you move for me, taunting me. Everyone in that crowd prayed they were the one you were dancing for.” His hand slid up my leg, around my knee, pushing my legs open even wider. The outsides of my knees hit the beam and I swallowed, knowing what I looked like to him. I was on display.

  His sensual mouth tipped up on the right side as he stepped close and glided his fingers up the inside of my thigh to the few inches of leotard protecting me from him.

  He curled his finger, brushing his knuckle against me, up and down. Up and down. It was hardly there at all. I squeezed my eyes closed and tipped my head back, trying to hang on to the tiny sparks spreading from where his knuckle brushed against me.

  His other hand wound around my neck, keeping me from tipping all the way back. He pressed a line of kisses down my neck until he hit the top of my leotard.

  I’d been whispering, begging for more without realizing it. He slipped a finger underneath the soft material that arced along my side and traced the path of my hip bone from front to back. After his knuckle slowly completed its course, he paused, letting the sensation build.

  “Like this?” he asked, finally hooking a finger around the thin front of my leotard and pulling it to the side.

  My stomach quivered and my breathy moans came out shaky and wild. There was no stopping the sensations rolling through me. He’d lit the fuse and I was so close to going up in flames. My cheeks flushed with how little he had to do, how easy it was for him to bend me to his will.

  His middle finger slid inside me, bringing my wetness up around my clit, circling it until I was clenching my thighs around him, trying to steal back control. It was too much. I was going to shatter.

  When his finger sunk inside me again, his lips connected with my breast beneath my leotard, using the velvet material to tease me. I squeezed my eyes closed so tight it hurt and when my fingers went numb, I realized I’d been gripping the beam beside my hips, trying to hang on for dear life.

  I glanced down, taking in my white knuckles before I moved up and gripped his biceps.

  “More,” I begged.

  He was so hard inside his jeans. I stared down at him, nearly bursting against his zipper as he dragged his finger in and out of me po

  “First, I want you to come like this…” He wasn’t meeting my eye; he was staring down, watching the way my body reacted to him.

  “Can you do that for me, baby?”

  With the way his finger was dipping inside me, he didn’t need to ask. I could feel myself clench around him, getting so close, but I hung on, trying to extend those little bursts of pleasure that came before I fell off the edge. They were pure seduction.

  “You’re so fucking tight. I know you’re close.”

  He added another finger and I lost balance. He leaned me against his chest and I glanced down, watching his fingers slip in and out. He liked me watching and kept his grip around my neck so I couldn’t look away from what he was doing to my body.

  “Let go,” he demanded, curling his fingers inside me and rubbing my clit with his thumb until I shuddered against him

  “Erik,” I whispered, gripping his t-shirt in my fingers as my body started to quake.

  Even before I’d finished my orgasm, he was unzipping his jeans. He ripped a condom out of his wallet, tearing open the package and reaching down to hold himself steady so I could roll it on. I was in such a rush, about to explode with need, but then I had him in my hand and I heard the guttural growl that slipped past his lips. The tables were turned. I was ready to roll the condom onto him, but I waited, stroking his length and building the heat between my legs even more. I was so turned on, I knew I’d come again quickly, just from his thumb swirling across me.

  “I didn’t make you wait.”

  I smirked.

  “Maybe you need to learn a little patience,” I quipped, slowly gliding my palm down him, resisting the urge to push forward and brush the tip of him against me. I knew he’d feel like heaven. The second he sank into me it’d be game over. He’d own me for good.


  He gripped my ponytail in his hands and tilted my head back. His mouth hit mine hard as his hips start thrusting. He was fucking my hand and I was going to lose my mind.

  Two strokes.


  Then he ripped out of my hold and positioned himself before me, breaking our kiss to watch me as he slowly slipped in the first inch.

  “Focus on this,” he moaned against my lips.

  I squeezed my legs tight, trying to protect myself, but it was no use. One of his hands was guiding him inside me and the other was pushing my legs apart, forcing me to feel every single inch of him.

  I gripped his neck, pulling him back down for a kiss as he filled me completely. He stilled there, letting me get used to him, but I still wasn’t ready when he started moving. His hips were strong and he was still standing; he had the advantage. When I asked him to slow down, to take it easy, he took my bottom lip into his mouth and pumped his hips harder.


  “You need this, Brie. You begged for this.”

  I was sweating, could feel the beads rolling down my body. He ripped my hand from his neck and told me to hold open my leotard for him. It was too late to strip it off; we’d have to make do. I hooked my finger inside it and cried out as his thumb hit my clit.

  “Hold on,” he said, squeezing my hand on his neck.

  He was lifting me, pulling me off the beam and dropping me back onto the mat with my legs spread.

  His hands hit my bent knees, using them as leverage so he could roll his hips against me.

  My mouth dropped open, but there was no sound.

  There was nothing.

  The new angle was too much; his rhythm was too much. He was fucking me, curling his hips, and grinding my ass into the mat with hard strokes.

  When his hand slipped between our bodies, brushing against me, there was nothing but blackness.

  I was gone.

  In the stars.

  “Every time I see you walk into the gym I dream of doing this. I dream about what you look like beneath this leotard.”

  His grip on my thighs was relentless. I could feel my muscles starting to cramp, but I breathed through it, loving the sting of pain.

  “Do you dream about spreading those legs for me?”

  He bent low so his next words were whispered against my ear.

  “For your coach?”

  My back arched off the mat, bringing him another inch deeper.


  He knew I got off on the fantasy, the taboo. His provocative words and the relentless roll of his hips made the fall inevitable. He kissed every inch of me, dragging his mouth across my nipples and teasing me as I started to shake beneath him. I knew he liked the feeling of being inside me, but it couldn’t compare to how I felt, how deeply he stroked me, how insane it felt to clench around him and lose control as he pumped into me.

  He groaned with pleasure and I opened my eyes, watching him find his own release. His brows clenched. His jaw tightened and his mouth fell open just a few millimeters so I could hear the dark groans slip out of him. It was the single sexiest thing in the world and I didn’t blink once, trying to hold on to the moment for as long as possible.

  Erik made love to me on that gym floor. Though we’d never spoken the words aloud, I felt it in his movements, in the way his hips rolled into me, in the way his hands squeezed my thighs, in the way my name slipped out of his lips. There was no denying how I felt for him in that moment. In my dirtiest moment I felt as if I’d been washed clean. I was laid bare for Erik and he didn’t shy away; he drew me closer and held me tight. I was so thankful he couldn’t see my face as the tears started to spill down my cheeks.

  I was in love with the enemy.

  Chapter Thirty-One


  There was a small bathroom in the back corner of the training facility; Brie had disappeared into it a few minutes earlier and I stood staring at the closed door, wondering what she was thinking. I’d disposed of the condom and cleaned myself up, but Brie had been quiet after I pulled out of her, mumbling about needing to clean up before locking herself behind the flimsy door. I wanted to knock and make sure she was okay, but the light flickered off and the door creaked open before I could.

  She met my eye as she walked out and then glanced away, back to the row of beams behind us.

  “So I think if I do a few more routines, I should be okay.”

  Her voice was distant and small, nothing like the girl who’d just come apart underneath me.

  “Routines?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

  It was late. She should have already been back at the village.

  She nodded and moved past me toward the bars.

  I knew the last hour had gotten through to her, but instead of continuing to confide in me, she’d gone into the bathroom and tucked her emotions away again. She’d fixed her hair and twisted it up onto the top of her head, but she couldn’t erase the flush covering her neck and chest. There was still a red handprint on her thigh from where I’d been holding her as I came. Jesus. She couldn’t just pull away like that.

  “Brie, I think we should—”

  She held up her hand to stop me. “Please don’t. Not right now. I appreciate everything you said, I just…I need to work through these routines. That’s it.”

  Small, fragile Brie was carrying the world on her shoulders and breaking my heart in the process.

  “I don’t regret what just happened,” I said, trying to reassure her.

  She nodded, once, and then turned away, indifferent. “I know. I need to get back to work.”

  If I hadn’t just been buried inside her, hearing her moan and beg for me to touch her, I would have thought she despised me. This was her: hot and cold, distant when I wanted her close, impossible to resist when she wanted to be.

  I didn’t try to push her to go home; she was struggling, and if she wanted to finish a few more routines, I’d let her.

  She adjusted her grips and took the bars, practicing a few release moves while I stood beneath her, ready to catch her if she fell. I watched her move across the bars, tight and in control. She l
ooked better than she had in weeks, relaxed and confident. I could have watched her up there for hours.

  On her fourth routine, she gained momentum, spun faster and faster around the bar, and then released up into the air in a tight ball, completing two full turns before her feet hit the ground. No step. Perfect landing.

  “Good,” I said, stepping off the mat. “You look ready.”

  She brushed the chalk off her grips and nodded, no hint of a smile on her full lips.

  After we gathered our things in silence, I caught a cab and guided her in first. She shoved her gym bag at her feet and pulled her jacket tighter around her, crossing her arms over her chest to keep it in place. Her gaze was focused out on the world and the deep lines marring her forehead proved how far she was from focusing on the competition the next day.

  I stared down at my phone, trying to scroll through emails and give her the privacy she so desperately desired, but then her small voice filled the silent cab.

  “Gold medals come with a $25,000 check. Did you know that?”

  I glanced up, surprised by her voice. “Yes.”

  She kept her gaze out the window. “I have six chances to place first. That’s $150,000 up for grabs—not to mention if I come in first that many times, companies will be knocking down my door and…well, I would finally be in a position to help my mom.”

  She sounded determined.

  “But if I come in last, if I fall or stutter in the next few days, I go home a nobody…and my mom will have sacrificed her life for nothing.”


  She shook her head, defiant. “I don’t expect you to understand. You hate your family, your father.”

  I reared back, shocked that she would bring him up. “For good reason. He loved a son who could compete in the Olympics. When I was no longer capable of that, I wasn’t worth his time.”

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