Page 112 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“Just the games,” he responds, his voice soft.
“Are you nervous?”
He takes a second to answer. “I don’t know if nervous is the right word. I think I’m anxious and also sad.”
“Sad? Because this is your last go at it?”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “It’s funny, you spend your whole life trying to obtain a goal, something you’ve always wanted, and you never think about losing that chance to go for it anymore. But this is it for me. If I don’t win gold, then I will never know what it feels like to hold one in my hand, to hear the national anthem play over the speakers while I stand on the center podium. I will never experience that feeling unless I accomplish it this games. Plus, I have a public image to resurrect after the games, the main reason I’m doing this stupid show.”
“You will,” I say, squeezing him tightly. “You’ve worked so hard.”
“Yes, and I’ve worked hard every other time prior. There is always just something that fucks with me.”
“What do you mean?” I stroke his chest lightly with my fingers, trying to make him feel comfortable.
“It’s not just about swimming, Paisley. It’s not about my stroke or the position of my hand when it enters the water, or the way I dive off the block. What separates a gold medalist and a silver medalist is the mental game, and every single fucking game I’ve let my mental game crack and crumble right before a race.”
There is anger in his voice, anger I’ve never heard him use before. It’s a little startling. But along with the anger, there is a hint of anxiety, a hint of self-doubt that hurts my heart in a way I never expected. Yes, I care for Reese, and I have deep feelings for him, but I didn’t realize the extreme connection I have with him until this moment. It’s as if our bodies are one and every pleasure and pain he’s experiencing, I’m experiencing.
Before I can respond, he says, “I can’t let anything fuck with me this time. No matter what happens, I need to keep my head in the pool and my sight set on gold.” The way he says that, it’s not like he’s telling me, it’s like he’s trying to convince himself of what he needs to do.
“Do you foresee anything going wrong?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You never know. Every other situation has been unexpected. You can never really tell what might happen, that’s why I have to be on top of my mental game and make sure I flush real life out of my mind and zero in on what I need to accomplish in the pool.” He shakes his head as his fingers twirl my hair. “And knowing Bellini, something will come up. She is bound to throw some kind of tantrum, which is something I wish I didn’t have to be ready for.” He takes a deep breath and then turns to me, he cups my face with his large hand and says, “Want to know something?”
I smile at him, loving how I so easily get lost in the intensity of his eyes. “Always.”
The pad of his thumb runs across my cheekbone as he speaks. He’s so loving, so caring, so gentle, that it rips me to shreds. I’ve never been treated with so much adoration before. “Ever since I’ve met you, I’ve felt at ease. For the first time in a long time, I feel I can go into the games with a positive outlook. I can feel the victory in my bones, Paisley, and it’s from the confidence you’ve instilled in me. I want to impress you so fucking bad.”
And there it is. The last thread I was hanging on to keep me from falling head over heels in love with this man has snapped. How could I not with that kind of confession? It breaks down every wall I’ve ever erected around my heart and allows him to bury his soul deep inside mine.
“Reese, you’ve already impressed me, not just by your ability to stroke through water with a sexy finesse that turns me on every time I watch you, but with your kind and caring heart.” I press my hand to his chest and speak genuinely. “I don’t have to watch you earn a gold to be won over by you, because with or without that gold medal in your hand, you’re still the man who makes my heart beat faster with every smile caressing your ruggedly handsome face.”
Reese’s eyes soften and when I think he’s going to kiss me gently on the lips, he instead just rests his forehead against mine, conveying the need for my comfort.
“I want this so fucking bad, Paisley.” His voice is distraught, crackling, breaking apart with each syllable. It slays me.
I’ve set goals in my life before: I want to make something of my career, I want to be successful, but I don’t think I’ve ever shown the kind of passion and need to accomplish something like Reese has. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones how much Reese wants this, how much he wants to prove, not only to his country, but to himself, that he deserves to stand on the center podium. It’s evident in the way he’s practically shaking in my arm.
Instead of telling him he’s going to win and be the most amazing swimmer in the world, I hold my tongue because those are empty words. I can talk to him until I’m blue in the face but it won’t mean anything until he goes to Rio and proves himself right.
He doesn’t need words of encouragement; he needs comfort, so that’s what I give him. Moving even closer, I lightly press his lips against mine. I clamp my hand around the base of his neck and rub my thumb over the column, gently and sweetly, letting him know I’m here for him, that I believe in him, and that I know he can do this.
Our lips mate, ever so slightly pressing against each other, but never diving too deep. We keep it simple; we keep it gentle. This isn’t about ripping each other’s clothes off and fucking up against this headboard; this is something different, something deeper, something incredibly more intimate.
Reese falls into my touch, letting me take charge. It’s intoxicating that this alpha male—this tough man who always seems like he has things together—needs me. It’s astonishing how he treats me like a damn lifeline as if without me, he would easily drown.
If anything, I’ve realized that despite what happens with my job, I can bounce back from the repercussions. However, with Reese, if I ever lose him, there is no hope in filling the holes he’s punctured into my soul.
Chapter Twenty-Five
**REESE**
This will never get old.
Ever.
Standing in my country’s colors, holding up my country’s flag, and parading around a stadium with my fellow athletes while my country cheers me on. It will never ever fucking get old, and it’s something I will never take for granted.
