In Deep: Chase & Emma (All In Book 1) (24 page)

There was nothing like
the butterfly to get that high, experience the closest thing we
humans could to gliding and swooping across the water like a dolphin.
My lungs burning, every muscle in my shoulders on fire. I lit it up.
I knew without looking, I’d pulled off an amazing swim.

When I touched first, I
removed my goggles, lifted up my cap and the roar was almost
deafening. The entire arena was on its feet, going wild. I looked
over at the clock and saw it. I’d taken almost a full second off of
the world record. Even I couldn’t believe it. I shook hands with
the men in the lanes next to me, congratulating them on their swims.
I looked up to where I knew Emma was watching me. I could barely make
her out among the fans around her, all on their feet, but I caught a
glimpse of her, hands up over her mouth, and what looked like tears
streaming down her cheeks.

“We did it,” I
mouthed to her. She was looking straight at me, and I’d tell her
exactly what I’d said when I finally got to see her later. Without
her physical therapy, my shoulder could never have performed the way
it did. Without her in my life, I would not have felt like I had
actual wings lifting me through the pool. Emma had made all the
difference.

Emma

Olympic, post-gold
medal sex was really next-level. Chase and I were setting records of
our own in the bedroom. Number of orgasms in one sitting, for
example. I’d blown all previous records out of the water. There was
no medal ceremony involved, but I could really vouch for the fact
that the reward was in the process, itself.

After he not only won
gold for the 200 butterfly but shattered the world record, I’d met
his best friend Liam. Briefly. I had a great deal of interest in
getting to know him, hanging out, and becoming his friend, too. But
not right then. And he really was a true friend, because after giving
Chase a heartfelt, celebratory congratulations, he announced that he
was meeting up with some guys for a drink. Which guys? He didn’t
specify. I didn’t have a hard time believing that Liam made friends
easily. He seemed like the type who could strike up a conversation
with a cardboard cutout and manage to have a good time. But he’d
only just arrived in Rio. Seemed to me he was clearing out, giving us
a little time together.

Which was all right
with me and Chase. You might think he’d be tired after a race that
epic. A mortal man might have been. But not my Olympic athlete.

He pulled me into the
back of the limo outside the arena, straight onto his lap. He locked
the privacy screen between us and the driver. I straddled him and
kissed him with all the emotion I was experiencing, the thrill of
adrenaline and elation I still felt from watching him win.

“I saw you in the
stands,” he told me, his hand cupped along the back of my neck, his
thumb grazing the curve of my breasts. I rocked against him, opening
my legs wide and pushing where I could feel him growing hard. I wore
a short skirt and it rode right up, leaving only my panties and his
shorts between us. My hands cupped his massive shoulders, delighting
in his strength, his packed muscle.

“Could you tell what
I said to you after I won?” he asked.

I shook my head no. I’d
seen him look straight at me and mouth some words, but he’d been
too far away.

Leaning in, he
whispered in my ear, “We did it.”

“Chase,” I threw my
arms around him, tears coming to my eyes.

“I love seeing you in
the stands.”

“I hate watching you
swim,” I nearly sobbed, so full of emotion, but then I burst into a
laugh watching his dismayed reaction. “No, I mean I love watching
you. But my heart gets tied in knots. I’m such a hot mess when you
swim.”

“Are you all worked
up?” he asked with a slow smile, definitely with something on his
mind. His reached under my T-shirt, sweeping up my bare skin to play
with my breasts. Every inch of me felt so sensitive, alert and alive
and I squirmed under his touch.

“Do you need some
release, baby?” he asked, finding one of my pebbled nipples and
toying with it between his thumb and forefinger. I panted, expectant,
knowing how hot he could make me feel with his words and his fingers.
“You want me to make you feel good?” As he asked, he tweaked my
nipple, brief and sharp, and it sent a jolt straight down to my
pussy.

“Ah, yes,” I
moaned, pushing my clit against him, grinding into him. I felt a rush
of wet heat, my need building fast.

“We’re going to
have to get rid of these, then.” He reached up and tore my panties
off of me, literally ripping them at the seam.

“What—?” I began
asking, startled.

“I’ll buy you
another pair,” he assured me, pulling down his shorts and
positioning me over him again. I straddled him and in one swift
motion, sank right down onto his cock. Slick and slippery as I was,
he still stretched me so full it made me gasp.

“That’s it,” he
groaned, hands on my hips, working me down along his length. “I
love watching you take me all the way in.” He thrust up in me to
the hilt. The sensation was so overwhelming, so overpowering, I threw
my head back, eyes closed. I braced myself on his broad, hard chest,
palms against his pecs, as I adjusted, starting to ride him. Up, then
down full and hard, then up, angling it just right so he hit my clit
every time. I felt crazed, like an animal with my lust boiling over
me, picking up the pace, heart racing.

He grabbed my shirt and
pulled it over my head, unclasped my bra and grabbed my breasts in
his hands, moaning as he cupped them. He dipped down, taking a nipple
into his mouth. As I ground down on him, he gave me a suck and a
bite. I dug my fingers into his T-shirt, frustrated he still had it
on but I lacked his skills. I could only do one thing at a time. He
could undress me and still fuck me so good at the same time that I
was a mess of grunts and groans. I could barely manage to cling onto
him, he felt so massive, and still I wanted more, riding him wild.

“Uh, Emma.” He
gazed down at where our bodies met, my pussy taking in his long,
hard, slick cock again and again. “That’s it, work for it. Show
me how you want it.”

My pussy clenched
around him at his words, his demands. As always I took great pleasure
in following his orders, showing him exactly how much I wanted it as
I rode him so good. His hands on my hips, he held me tight and hard,
guiding me in a fast rhythm that brought us both right up to climax.

“I want to watch you
when you come for me.” He brought a hand up to one of my breasts,
squeezing it, pinching the sensitive tip. “You’re close aren’t
you, baby?”

Incoherent, sweaty, I
couldn’t manage a reply other than to groan and work to keep the
rhythm. And I brought a hand down to my slick clit where I rubbed
myself like a naughty girl.

“Oh, God, like that,”
he groaned and I could feel him swell even bigger inside me, which I
hadn’t thought possible. “Show me how you get yourself off.”
Eyes closed, I arched back, holding on with one hand at his shoulder,
my other circling my swollen clit as he thrust hard up into me again
and again, matching my pace, my rhythm.

“Come, Emma. Come for
me!” His rough voice, hoarse with need, sent me over the edge and I
came just like he wanted, only for him, my Chase. Heart pounding,
sweaty and wild, I rode out my orgasm and his in the backseat of the
limo.

That’s what sex after
winning a gold medal was like.

§

Back at his rental
house, post shower, a hint of reality hit me once again. I still felt
slight residual panic over the conversation Chase and I had had
yesterday, when he’d told me that a blog had published a smear
story on him. I’d nearly thrown up. I’d worried that Tori had
grown impatient. Tired of waiting, I’d feared she’d decided to
make something up about him. Thankfully the story wasn’t on
Scoop’d, it was on some other blog.

But that was it, the kick in the
pants I needed to finally do it. Chase headed into the kitchen to eat
some high-calorie something or other, probably a hot fudge, ice
cream, peanut butter smoothie. I picked up my phone and I got after
Tori like a dog after a bone. I called her and left a message. Then I
texted.

Emma: I need to talk to you. When
are you free?

Nothing. So an hour later I left a
voicemail and sent another text.

Emma: It can’t wait, I have to
talk to you today. Let me know when.

No reply. She was probably pissed
that we hadn’t seen much of each other at the games. When we’d
talked about coming to the Olympics, we’d imagined it differently,
the two of us heading off together to watch competitions every day
and hitting the nightlife together every night. I knew I’d dropped
the ball on that, but she’d barely gotten in touch with me, either.
She’d arrived in Rio a week and a half before me and, in true Tori
style, she’d hit the ground running. By the time I’d arrived, the
Tori party was already in full swing. Whether I joined in or not was
irrelevant. At least, that was how it seemed to me.

Emma: Please, Tori. 4pm? I’ll meet
you anywhere.

Finally, she responded.

Tori: Condo? 4:30?

I agreed, though it
would likely mean missing Chase swim in a qualifying semifinals
event. I knew he’d qualify. Everyone knew he’d qualify. I still
wanted to watch him. But how much better would it feel to go be with
him after I’d had the talk with Tori?

It didn’t make it any
harder for me to quit now that I knew what an amazing scoop it would
be, telling the whole Chase Carter story. It had all the elements of
a page-turner: drama, fear and intrigue blended with selfless acts of
heroism. I bet Liam, Jax and Ian had their sides of the story as
well. It would probably be fascinating to catch up with each of them,
see what their experience of it all had been and where their lives
had taken them since.

But it wouldn’t be me
doing it. I wouldn’t be blogging about Chase. In fact, I’d
decided yesterday, I wasn’t going to blog anymore. I’d continue
writing, and maybe online, but not for Scooop’d. I’d outgrown it,
and it had never fit me all that well in the first place. It was
really Tori’s baby, Tori’s dream, and it was time to hand it over
to her full-time.

From what I’d seen,
she was doing well on her own building an audience. Plus, she’d
pulled in some guest bloggers for the games and they were doing a
great job, keeping it sassy and scandalously fun. Scoop’d was
taking off. The thing was, so was I, but in a different direction.

“You!” Tori rushed
at me as she bustled in the door of the condo at around five o’clock.
She gave me a huge hug. “Where have you been? You’ve been missing
everything! Last night, were you even watching the gymnastics? Is
swimming all you care about now? Or should I say one particular
swimmer?” She gave me a knowing look.

“Yeah, we are
dating.” I did not share her teasing tone. I needed to cut to the
chase. “Listen, Tori, I’m not going to write the feature on
Chase.”

“What?” her tone
dropped, not happy.

“I can’t do it.”

“Don’t do this to
me.” She shook her head and walked into the kitchenette. I heard a
cabinet slam and the faucet run as she poured herself a glass of
water. “Before you start with this shit, Emma, I need some Advil!”

I checked in the
bathroom for her and, sure enough, she had a bottle of her drug of
choice in the medicine cabinet. I brought out two orange pills and
she swallowed them, then looked me in the eye.

“What. The. Hell.”

“I can’t write
anything about Chase. I won’t do it.”

“But this is our big
chance! Do you know how big an audience I’ve built around this? How
much I’ve been hyping it? I nearly barfed when I saw some other
blog had scooped him yesterday. Did you see that?”

“Yes, I did.”

“But they didn’t
get the real story. That thing was Swiss cheese it had so many holes
in it. Not like the kinds of pieces you write.”

She was trying to
butter me up, flatter me into writing the piece. It wasn’t going to
work. “I’m not doing it. In fact”—I took a deep breath,
squaring my shoulders. I hated doing this to her, but I had to—“I’m
quitting the blog.”

“What!?!” Tori’s
eyes bugged out and she threw her hands up in the air like a
spectator infuriated over an outrageous call by a referee. “You
can’t do this to me!”

“I have to do this.”

“Wait.” She eyed
me, suspicious. “Are you just freaking out because you haven’t
gotten the full story yet? Because that’s OK. We can still string
people along while the games are in play. We have, like, a whole
’nother two weeks. You two should go on some romantic vacation
together. Screw his brains out. He’ll tell you everything.”

“Tori, don’t talk
about him like that.”

“Oh, it’s like
that, is it?” Each time one of us spoke, the volume escalated.

“Like I care about
him? Yes, I do.”

“So now you’re Miss
High and Mighty. You know, you’ve always had a bug up your ass
about this blog. It wouldn’t be anywhere near what it is today
without my content. I’m the one who’s built it. I’m the one
who’s made it a success.”

“You’re right,” I
surprised her by agreeing. I didn’t like her vindictive, venomous
tone, but every word she said was true.

“Hold on.” She
looked at me, suspicious again. “Are you giving the story to
another blog?”

“Tori, that’s
ridiculous.” I had the exasperated tone now. “I’m sorry I’m
doing this—”

“Then don’t do it!
You have the scoop, don’t you? You know what happened that night he
almost drowned.” She came at me, her voice a conspiratorial octave
lower. “Did he break the law? Is Chase a criminal?”

“I think I’m done
with this conversation.”