The Summer Games: Settling the Score

by R.S. Grey

ANDIE WAS COILED around me so tight I nearly had to rip her dress to get it over her head. I tossed it aside and pushed her up against my bedroom door. I gripped her hips and felt the dimples in her lower back as she rolled herself against me, teasing me. She was so accepting of my attack, no fight at all. I’d have welcomed a fight; it might have slowed me down.

  I could feel her through my clothes. Her body was soft and her hands were tugging me closer, dipping into my shirt and dragging against my skin.

  “Guys!” Thom called. “Food’s here!”

  “Piss off,” I yelled through the door.

  “It’s going to get cold. And—I’m quite lonely at this shite party.”

  Andie laughed against my neck and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Should we eat?” she asked with a wicked smile.

  I yanked my shirt off over my head and tossed it aside. “We’re not leaving this room.”

  Her eyes skimmed down my chest and the wicked smile disappeared, replaced with dark, hot desire. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and her hands reached out to touch me. My stomach flexed when her finger dragged along the top of my jeans, and then she popped the button and met my gaze with a wicked gleam.

  “I hope you have a condom in these jeans, Freddie.”

  I laughed, and it was the sound of a wild man, one so far beyond the edges of control, he was hardly recognizable.

  She slid her palm flush against my abs, pushed past my boxers, and continued down until she had me gripped in her palm. I squeezed her hips, needing something to hold on to as her soft hand stroked me up and down.

  “Oh,” she whispered with a teasing tone. “Olympic-sized.”

  I laughed right before her lips found mine again. I had a condom in my wallet I needed to grab, but I couldn’t pull my hands off her. I reached for her bra and unclasped it, letting the soft material drag off her shoulders.

  That first moment her naked chest hit mine was the moment my groan turned to a growl. She was tiny in my arms, receptive and eager. So much had separated us until now, and as she pressed her naked breasts flush against me, I knew she was appreciating the skin on skin just as much as I was.

  I took her earlobe in my mouth and whispered everything I wanted to do to her…against that door…on the floor…in my bed. Her eyes fluttered closed as she listened to me, but I couldn’t stop. I needed her to know how far she’d unwound me.

  “What?” she asked, confused as I set her legs on the ground.

  I pressed my hand against her stomach, feeling it quiver beneath my touch. I kept my gaze on her as I slid down to my knees, registering her surprise with a smirk.

  “Are you—”

  Her question was cut off when my hand trailed up her calf, gently massaging her muscles. I bent forward and pressed a kiss against her hip. I could nearly taste her through the silky material, but I wanted it gone. I yanked down her knickers until they were on the ground and she was kicking them aside.

  She held her hand in front of her waist, trying to conceal herself from my view. I looked up and met her eye.

  “Nervous?”

  She let her head fall back against the door and laughed. “Overwhelmed. You’re like right…”

  I let my hand drag up her thigh.

  “Here?”

  “Yup. Right there.” She reached up to cover her eyes just as a rosy blush spread across her chest and neck.

  “Have you ever been kissed here?” I said, reaching forward to lick the inside of her thigh.

  “Oh sweet Jesus.”

  I kissed her again, this time a little higher, and her hips bucked forward. I pressed harder against her stomach, keeping her still as I dragged my tongue along the inside of her thigh.

  “I…oh…god.”

  She sounded drunk with it, with us.

  “Should we slow down?” I asked.

  She yanked her hand away from her eyes and stared down at me. “Please don’t,” she begged, her voice nearly going hoarse.

  She’d barely managed the last syllable before my mouth was on her again. She bit her lip to keep quiet, but I didn’t care if she made noise. I slid one finger inside of her before leaning forward and gliding my tongue across her silk.

  Her hands strung through my hair, tugging hard as I slid another finger inside, pumping them both slowly in and out. I owned her then. She was mine. She rolled her hips, sliding herself up and down my fingers, begging for more.

  I dragged my tongue across her and I didn’t slow down until she was withering against the door, her pussy quivering around my fingers. She nearly ripped my hair out as she came and I let her rock herself against my mouth, taking her pleasure in her own hands. It was the sexiest bloody thing I’d ever seen.

  I lost track of us after that. Her mouth was fire burning across my skin. My hands were everywhere, teasing and touching every patch of skin until I knew I could have fucked her with my eyes closed.

  We put music on after Thom yelled, “They can hear you in São Paulo!”

  I rolled on a condom, watching her walk back across the room, naked and flushed. I wished I could have stopped time to memorize every inch of her—that flat stomach, that slight gap in her thighs, her toned legs.

  When she reached me, she drew close for a kiss. Before our lips could meet, I gripped her arm and spun her against the wall. She braced herself as I stepped behind her. One of my hands wrapped around her neck, so she couldn’t turn away from me, and the other gripped her tiny waist.

  “Freddie?” she asked as I caged her in with my hips, rolling my hardness against her. She was confused for only a moment before she tilted her ass back to meet me like a greedy little minx. I kicked her foot out to spread her legs and bent low to angle myself so I could slip inside of her.

  “Ahh.”

  Her head fell back against my chest and her eyes rolled closed. I could feel her rising onto her tiptoes, making it easier for me to sink all the way inside of her. With one quick thrust, she was mine.

  I reached up to cup her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers as I pumped in and out of her.

  “Fuck,” she groaned. “I can’t...”

  She leaned back and wove her fingers through my hair, whispering how I was going to destroy her. I smirked and slid a finger down to stroke her.

  “I already have.”

  She leaned forward and I forced her palms flat against the wall and told her to stay there. “Don’t move.”

  With her in that position, I dragged a hand down her spine, feeling her shake from the sensation. Her back bowed and her head fell forward. She was weak and hungry for another orgasm. I wrapped a hand around her waist to support her, and then I tilted back to watch as I sank back into her.

  “Like heaven,” I whispered, closing my eyes and letting myself adjust to the feel of her wrapped around me. I’d never grow tired of it.

  “Should we go to the bed?” she asked, bringing me back to life.

  I wanted to keep her up against that wall and have my wicked way with her, but I’d let her decide.

  “If you wish.”

  In lieu of an answer, she rolled her hips in a slow circle, teasing me until there was no other option. I slowly pulled out, gripped her hair in my hand, and then sank back into her with one hard thrust. She cried out and collapsed forward, but I caught her before she hit the wall.

  Her hands clenched into tight fists and her toes started to curl. I watched as beads of sweat dripped from her shoulder blades down to the small of her back.

  I wanted to be gentle with her, but when she turned to look at me over her shoulder, I could see the wicked gleam in her eyes. She held my gaze as she moved a hand from the wall and dropped it to her neck, then lower. She slid it down her chest and cupped one of her breasts. I wanted to rip her hand away and replace it with my mouth, but she continued her descent before I could.

  I knew what she was doing as she slid her palm past her navel. The idea of her touching herself while I was inside of her made it nearly impo
ssible to take it slow.

  “More,” she whispered as I slid in and out. She was still getting used to me; I didn’t want to hurt her. “Please. I’m so close.”

  She circled her fingers faster, moaning with need. Andie was the sexiest thing I’d ever felt. She was confident and sure of herself. After that shy moment against the door, there was no hiding her body. Everything she had was mine to touch and in return, I gave her everything I could. I pumped in and out of her so fucking hard. Her body shifted closer to the wall with every thrust and I reveled in it, loving how tight she felt around my dick. By the end, she was completely flush with the wall as I pounded into her from behind.

  Our breaths echoed each other’s, sweat dripped down my chest, and when she finally came undone around me, I pulled my mouth back to listen to every single sound that slipped past her lips. It was all it took to push me over the edge.

  “Andie,” I whispered, spent.

  “Just give me a second,” she said, letting her head fall against my shoulder.

  I slid down to the floor and sat with her in my arms as we caught our breaths.

  “My wrist hurts,” she said.

  “My shoulder hurts,” I said.

  “My lips hurt.”

  “I think we ought to do it again.”

  She laughed. “Obviously.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Andie

  I WAS INFATUATED with Freddie. I was hopelessly obsessed with him. No matter how much I tried to get myself ready for my game, I kept replaying our night. Every time one of my Americanisms had confused him, he glanced up at me with an arched brow and I had to remind myself not to gape. For a man who regularly induced gawks and whispers from random passersby, he acted so normal.

  “You have PRINCE HARRY’S phone number?” I asked as we lay on his bed.

  He shrugged. “Prat hardly ever rings back.”

  I held up my hands, my mouth hanging open. I blinked and blinked again. My brain was short-circuiting and Freddie sat there, amused.

  “So it’s true then? You’re a count, or prince or something?”

  He reclaimed his spot beside me in bed, tossing the blankets over us and getting comfortable, leaving me hanging for what felt like a thousand hours.

  “Freddie!”

  He laughed. “No, I’m not a prince. My father was a duke, which made me a lord. My brother, as the eldest, was an earl, before he inherited the dukedom, but now—”

  “You say it like it’s so normal!”

  “Andie, non-royal dukes aren’t even in line for the throne. It hardly means anything anymore.”

  It was just like Freddie to downplay the glamour of his life. He wanted to be Freddie, just another normal swimmer, but he was Frederick, handsome duke with a phone full of numbers I could only dream of having.

  “May we text him?” I asked politely, royally.

  He glanced over. “Harry?”

  “No! Baby George.”

  “Tired?” Kinsley asked from across the aisle of the bus, tearing me from my thoughts.

  I shifted in my seat and shrugged. “No, not really.”

  “What time did you get in?”

  I thought back to the night before when Freddie had yanked the clock off his nightstand and showed me the blinking red lights. “12:01 AM and I promised I’d have you back by 9:00 PM.” I’d begged him to keep going, promising that great sex was a close enough approximation of a good night’s sleep, but he’d kissed my head and pushed me out as politely as possible. He knew I needed rest. He knew that if I had an off game, he’d be the first person I blamed. So even though I would have happily stayed in his room all night, I’d reluctantly dragged myself back to my condo and slept alone. Luckily, I was so physically spent that I fell asleep the instant my head hit the pillow.

  “Andie?” Kinsley asked.

  “Oh.” I shook away my thoughts. “Not late,” I promised.

  “Did you have fun?”

  I tried desperately to keep the slow-crawling blush from staining my cheeks. “Yup,” I said nonchalantly, turning back toward the window.

  “Ten more minutes!” our coach yelled from the front of the bus. “Time to get your heads in the game, ladies!”

  Shit.

  Coach Decker was right. I needed to focus. I plugged my headphones into my iPod and turned the volume as high as it would go. “Drive” by Halsey blasted everything else to the wayside.

  The game against Colombia wouldn’t be easy. They were rumored to be one of the best national teams in South America, and they’d proven it by knocking out Mexico in the qualifying tournament. The day before, we’d spent hours watching game footage, and I still wasn’t sure our defense would be enough to stop their fast-paced onslaught on the goal.

  I rolled my wrist left and right, getting a feel for the pain. The swelling had gone down since the last game, but I knew it’d puff right back up by the end of the day. I didn’t have a choice though. I’d tape it and deal with the pain.

  I propped it up on my left knee and gently massaged it, feeling my nerves start to eat away at me. Colombia was sure to break through at least a dozen times, and Liam said they averaged about six shots on goal per game. There was no option. My wrist couldn’t take the day off.

  THERE WAS NO getting around it. The team from Colombia was made up of superhuman cyborgs. They seemed to be built on size, each of them a giant, pumped-up killer I didn’t want to see close up. I SWORE one of them had a mustache (and I’m not talking about a couple stray whiskers—homegirl was rivaling Ron Swanson).

  My defenders had played stout defense through the first half, only allowing the Colombians to test my reflexes twice before the whistle. Their defense proved to be just as good up until the 42nd minute, when Kinsley finally scored with a crafty header. By the intermission, my wrist was on fire. The constant throb hadn’t been as easily overcome by adrenaline as I’d hoped. Each time I connected for a block, I winced, and any attempt at covering up the injury was long gone. Coach Decker had pestered me about it during halftime.

  “How bad is it on a scale of one to ten?”

  Seven.

  “Not bad. A three,” I lied.

  “Are you prepared to play the second half? Should I put Hollis in that goal?”

  “No. I can handle it. I’m fine.”

  Fifteen minutes into the second half, my wrist had gone from a seven to an eight. The sound from the stands was deafening, made worse by the large Colombian contingent echoing Spanish chants all around me. There was a group of men, twenty or thirty of them, who’d made it their mission to taunt me. Their voices boomed behind me with thick Spanish accents. I wanted to win the game, but I also wanted them to shut the hell up. Fortunately, nothing would cut off their chants quicker than the taste of defeat.

  I used their annoying-ass taunting as fuel to keep going.

  My wrist is fine. Deep breath. Block. Deep breath.

  At last, the 89th minute came and the score was still sitting at 1-0. I couldn’t let Colombia score. A few more minutes and we win. The guys behind me were getting louder and Colombia had the ball. I stayed in the net, watching our defense try to keep up. Their legs were tired. Kinsley and Becca had played the entire game and clean tackles they’d made with ease in the first half were proving more difficult.

  The ball was passing from one player to another so fast my eyes could hardly keep up. I watched as the ball kept falling in Colombia’s favor, and I braced myself for the coming storm. I’d made every save so far. No matter the time on the clock, I could make one more.

  28 seconds.

  I’d studied their offensive schemes in the previous days. I knew Mustache Girl would be the primary scoring option in this last ditch effort, and I also knew that more often than not, she chose the bottom left corner of the net as her target.

  I watched a midfielder set up the play and I loaded my weight onto my toes, shifting rapidly from side to side as she pivoted, striking inward behind her defender toward the penalty mark
. Mustache Girl’s eyes glanced up to mine. Her eye contact lasted less than a millisecond, but I saw them flick to my left. She was desperate for a goal and I debated whether she was mapping her shot or bluffing.

  Fuck.

  She reared back to kick and I dove to cover the left side of the goal. The entire stadium held its breath as the soccer ball sailed through the air. I’d guessed the direction correctly, but she’d kicked it higher than usual. Time slowed even further, and I could almost visualize the ball slipping past me for the goal. As the ball zoomed toward the top of the goal, I reached up with all my might. The ball grazed the tips of my fingers, deflecting up over the white crossbar and landing out of bounds.

  I had a fleeting moment of internal celebration right before my body hit the ground and pain sliced through me.

  White.

  Hot.

  Searing pain.

  It was the sharpest, most acute sensation I’d ever felt. It brought vomit to my throat and blurred the world around me. I squeezed my eyes closed and collapsed back onto the turf, rocking back and forth with my wrist clutched against my chest. Curse words slipped from my lips, but I couldn’t hear them. I cradled my wrist and tried to keep the vomit down, but it was no use. The pain gripped hold of me so tight I couldn’t see past it.

  “ANDIE!” Kinsley shouted. “Andie!”

  I opened my eyes to see her crouched over me, concerned, but too happy to wipe the smile from her face. “WE WON! YOU DID IT!”

  Becca was right behind her, and together, they tried to wedge themselves beneath me so I could stand. I was crying heavy tears I hadn’t noticed until they started to slip off my chin and drop onto my sweaty jersey.

  “Guys, I think…” I tried to get the words out, but I was out of breath and scared.

  I can’t…

  If I said what I was thinking aloud, it would become reality.

  My wrist is broken.

  Done.

  My Olympic career is over.

  I ONLY REMEMBERED bits and pieces of them helping me off the field. A doctor inspected my wrist in the locker room, carefully removing the tape so the bruises hidden beneath were finally revealed to my coach. It looked bad, black and blue and so much worse than it had before the game.