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I can feel the shiver that runs through her at the word. My teeth graze her neck, my voice firmer. “Mine.” Her wide eyes seek mine as her lips form the breathless reply, “Yours.”
“Mmmm, good girl.” I begin massaging the tiredness of the week from her weary muscles. My hands are small but strong, my fingers skillful as they find each knot and free her from its bonds. The relaxing scents and sounds surround us and my hands venture ever further. My soft palms cup her full breasts, thumbs tease hardening nipples, hinting at pleasures yet to come.
I stand and walk around the tub, a robe of white silk clings to my body as I move. I can feel her eyes on me even before I turn to face her, my beautiful girl, how she makes my heart race. I watch her reactions carefully as I untie the belt at my waist, as the fabric parts revealing lightly tanned skin dusted with freckles, as I shrug it from my shoulders and let it fall forgotten to the floor.
I pause for a moment to admire her, the elegant lines of her body, the curve of her lips, the depth of her eyes, the way stray wisps of hair curl around her face in the steamy air. Returning to her side, I bend and brush my lips over hers before kneeling next to the tub. My hand slips under the bubbles, fingers find the smoothness of her shin and travel higher.
Higher and higher, along her inner thigh, feeling the soft shivers under my fingertips until finally, they press gently against her sex, her heat challenging that of the bath. I watch her face intently as my thumb circles against her clit, as I slip a finger inside her. And then another. Slow and steady, massaging her most intimate places, the ones I know will make her moan.
My eyes never leave Dahlia’s as my fingers move inside, curling gently, coaxing her toward blissful release. Her slickness arouses my own and my attentions become more urgent. She tightens around me, encouraging my touch, and I smile, pulling my fingers from inside her to stroke her gently, prolonging her pleasure. Her eyes plead with me and I happily give in to her desire.
My fingers slide easily back into her needy sex, my palm pressed firmly against her clit. It pulses beneath my hand as fingers pull her toward the edge of release, calling her orgasm from her core. Smiling softly when I feel her start to tremble and quake. “That’s right, Dahlia. Come for me. Let it go, baby.”
Her body tenses for a moment, suspended on the precipice before tumbling into gasping, blinding oblivion. I hold her tight as each wave washes through her, flooding over my hand. “Good girl, baby. Sweet perfect girl.” Again, I slowly withdraw my fingers, gently stroking her sex before leaning forward to kiss her nose. Standing, I slip into the tub behind her and wrap my arms around her, sighing happily as we relax together.
Her hands lightly wander but I am not looking for my own release, I don’t seek the highs of my climax. It is high enough just to hold her tight in my arms and feel her skin on mine.
“It doesn’t matter what happens tomorrow,” she whispers with a dreamy sigh. “I love you with or without the gold.”
And suddenly, it feels like I have already won all I have ever wanted.
16
“Grandmama, this is my friend Dahlia,” I introduce her with caution, but I needn’t bother. Dahlia steps in and swoops her up in a long deep hug that envelopes my grandmother’s frail old bones in a wrap of warmth, and I know she is instantly bathed in the electric heat of what it feels like to be in Dahlia’s presence.
“Thank you for the television wizardry you did for me. It was very kind of you. The nice gentleman even helped me record it. Watched her win that race at least five times this week.” My Grandmama smiles and I blush.
“Just the heats,” I correct her, “I still need to win the race today.”
We are at the family and friends’ enclosure; I had made my own way to the track with Andy for last-minute prep and strategy talk. Grandmama had taken a private car sent by Dahlia, but Dahlia had made her own way incognito so as to try and not draw attention to the fact she was here.
I could see her a mile away—no dark clothes, sunnies, or dark Nike cap could hide her distinctive body and smile, but it seemed to be working. People were not exactly expecting a Hollywood movie star at the women’s European athletics 10k final.
The next hour passes for me in a blur. I have to switch off from my thoughts of Dahlia. I can’t process that she and my Grandmama are sitting together, talking, chatting, watching from the sidelines. I have to focus. This is my dream. This is what I have worked for for so many years.
It is different to run in a stadium. For me, it is the best way to compete in a final. The adrenaline the crowd gives you is unparalleled. When you are street running, you see the pavements lined with supporters but your loved ones only get a glimpse. For only a few seconds, you can hear them; you listen for their tone, their voice through the cheers and it gives you a huge push.
In the stadium, you can’t single them out, but you know they are there the whole time. You can feel their eyes on you, following every step that you take. For some people, they zone that out, it brings nerves and pressure and deflects from the focus needed to win.
But today I felt empowered, bolstered by the fact that the only two people in the world that I loved were here, together, side by side, watching me.
I complete my testing, go through the pre-race checks and make my way to the start line. Running a 10k is 25 laps around the stadium. It doesn’t seem so many… but it is, I will feel every grueling second.
We line up with no real order. It is always the way in the longer distance races. Take a spot on the line then fall into the inner curve. The gun goes and I feel the bang vibrate through my bones, but I am moving instantly without a thought.
I find the rhythm. The place in my mind to retreat to. It is all I can do now—let my race instinct kick in whilst I follow the race strategy. I am confident in my stride and keep my body tight as I make my way to the front pack. This first lap is crucial in sitting in the right position and I find it perfectly.
My coach was right. The group is bigger this time. Eleven of us and I am sitting on the edge around sixth. It has its advantages. I am less likely to be clipped, I am not trapped in the inside. But for every lap, I run further than the others and that will catch up with me quickly. So, I have to keep on the heels of Leticia and force her to keep a faster pace so that the punishing early speed will make a few drop off.
The pace is intense. I feel the burn from the third lap. Sweat runs down my body and glistens on my skin as I feel my Lycra slicken with perspiration. But I keep up, I keep the push on Leticia, and she responds. She wants that gold too and she tries to outpace me, make me falter early so she can breeze across the line.
But, I want it more. This time around I want it more than I ever have. I don’t want to be the ‘nearly’ athlete anymore.
The pace is blistering and the pack segments. Eleven becomes eight, and then by the fifteenth lap we are down to six. It is unheard of for this distance. We are running a race of unknowns. Leticia begins to falter and I think she knows she can’t hold on. She slows, but it is too early for me to take the lead according to my plan. Too early for Leticia to fade according to everyone else’s race plan too I imagine. There is a stumble, a moment of uncertainty. Heels are clipped, ripples of shock spread through the crowds, but I keep to my spot on the outer edge. There is a fall. I don’t know who. I can’t process. I just have to keep running. Keep going.
Jansen takes the lead. She is Dutch. A gold medal favorite, but I can tell it is a reluctant action from her to take the lead so early. She, too, is running the same race as me and she now has two options. Set a hard fast pace and shake the four of us that remain in the group with her, or conserve her energy and hope she has enough to outsprint us in the final two.
She does exactly what I would do in her position. Which I know my coach would scream at me for after. She goes for it.
