Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
“So obedient,” he murmurs. “I like this new Gigi.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re pushing your luck.”
“Nah.” He shifts closer. “Luck has nothing to do with this.”
Then his hand is under my dress again, seeking out the warm, aching spot between my thighs. He rubs me with the pads of his index and middle finger. The first contact makes me gasp.
“Quiet,” he warns. “Or I’ll stop.”
“Stop now, and I’ll rip your head off.”
“You’re so violent. I love it. Spread your legs a little.”
I can hardly hear the command over the sudden wailing below. Delilah’s voice rises in pitch, the music gathering, building to a crescendo. Meanwhile, Ryder strokes my pussy until I’m quivering in my chair, a live wire about to explode. He pushes his fingers inside me, hitting spots that make me impossibly wetter. Bringing me closer and closer toward orgasm.
His lips are at my ear again. “Say my name when you come.”
“What—”
Then the heel of his palm applies pressure on my clit, and I shatter, reflexively giving him what he ordered.
“Ryder.”
The sound of his name is drowned out by the aria below and the thunder of my pulse in my ears. I come hard enough my vision wavers.
When I crash back to earth, I find him grinning at me. Satisfied with himself.
“Should we bail on this and go back to the hotel?”
I finally manage to find my voice. “Yes.”
Later, we lie tangled together in his sheets, sated and sleepy after the best sex of my life. Because every time with Ryder is the best sex of my life. I’ve stopped trying to figure that out. I just know I’m addicted to it.
I tell him about running into Al Dustin, trying to not be too hopeful, to curb my excitement. Though I can’t fight my happy grin as I say, “It’s not a done deal yet, but he sounded pretty confident Fairlee was going to pick me.”
“Told you he would.” He strokes my lower back, pressing his lips to the top of my head. “Olympic gold, here we come.”
His words remind me of something, triggering a confession that’s been nagging at me for a while now. A flash of reluctant comprehension I hadn’t wanted to put into words yet. Because it still feels like…betrayal, I guess.
“Do you remember the last time we talked about the Olympics?” I run my fingers over the defined muscles of his chest. “You asked me why I’m so desperate to make the team. Whether it’s for me or my dad.”
“I remember.”
“Well, it’s been bothering me ever since. I thought about it. A lot.” I lick my dry lips, still hesitant. But I’ve already come this far, so I force the rest out. “I want something he doesn’t have.”
Ryder tenses slightly, as if surprised to hear it. Hell, I’m surprised to say it.
“I’ve never said it out loud. I don’t know if I’ve ever even thought that deep into it, but… He has everything. The Cup, the awards, the all-time records, MVP titles, almost-certain Hall of Fame induction. I will never come close to achieving even half of that.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “But one thing he never did was compete for Team USA. And that’s the one thing I can do.”
Ryder rolls over so we’re lying face to face. He watches me, his expression indecipherable.
Sometimes I hate that he’s able to draw things out of me without even trying. He doesn’t ask or beg or push me to talk to him. It just happens when he’s around. All my secrets spilling out with abandon.
“I want…to feel important in my own life,” I admit. “Achieving this is a way for me to finally step out of his shadow. I can be an Olympic gold medalist. Something my dad will never be.” I groan in desperation. “It feels so petty to say it. Is that awful?”
“Depends on whether it’s the only reason you want to compete. Is this nothing but a Fuck you, look at my medal, old man?”
“Of course not.” I flinch. “It’s like the teeniest part of it. A sliver of a percentage that pokes at the back of my mind sometimes. Competing on the world stage is so much bigger than him. It’s exciting.”
“Good. Focus on the excitement. But also acknowledge that the sliver exists.”
“I feel bad acknowledging it,” I admit, closing my eyes.
I jerk when I feel his thumb stroking my chin.
“You really need to get over this,” he says gruffly.
I frown. “Wow. I just shared something really important and—”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” He shakes his head at me. “You need to stop feeling bad about the way you feel. You hate that chick Emma and feel bad about hating her. You want something your father doesn’t have and feel bad wanting it.”
For some reason, my throat tightens. The sting of tears burns my eyes. Oh my God, I better not cry.