Page 32 of A Gold Medal in Love

“Just relax, and let me tell you how hot you were when I was spanking your ass, or when you listened to my commands, or when you called me Sir,” I purr into her ear.

She whimpers and presses back into me, wiggling her ass.

“You just can’t stop bratting, can you?” I tease in a low voice.

“You saw how wet I was for you, and you still didn’t give me any. I told you that orgasm denial is a limit for me, and here we are,” Imani whines.

“Ah, the education I have to cram into such a short time,” I whisper, trailing my hand over her thigh. “That absolutely is not what orgasm denial is, Cupcake.”

“How long are you going to make me wait, Sir?” She asks, begging evident in her voice.

“As long as it takes, Cupcake. As long as it takes.”

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

IMANI

Olympics Day9

Thursday, February 12, 2026

I adjust the lapels on my smart and feminine little suit. As with most of my wardrobe, it’s a pastel pink. I’m so fucking over the pastel pink, but I know Coach wants me to fit in with the other skaters. Blah blah blah “You’re so fucking Black” blah blah blah is all I hear when he tells me how to fit in. It’s like a racist Peanuts cartoon—which, okay, is already kind of racist. Have you noticed Franklin, y’all?

Anyway, I’m ready for the next interview, and I’ve got Blake in my head. Not the sexy Blake, because I don’t want to be distracted—no, I’ve got the educational Blake in there. I’ve got their mantras in my brain, and I feel just a tiny bit more prepared than the last time I did this.

Coach is scowling at me, but it’s not like he’s good at this portion of the event. I just need to tune him out and picture Blake smiling at me, encouraging me to do my best. I smile, thinking of their praise.

“Ah! Yes!” Coach interrupts my inner monologue. “A smile like that is what you need to give to the reporter.” He clapshis hands, takes me by the shoulders, and pushes me around to face the grim-faced white woman who is fiddling with her microphone.

I’ve had this journalist before, and I’m not at all enthused to be across from her again, but at least it’s not that jackass I told Coach was on my blacklist. No more of that douchebag.

Unfortunately, looking at the impending set kills any genuine smile from me and causes me to back up.

“Absolutely not, Imani. This is part of the deal. You’re going to go on that set, you’re going to talk to that woman, and you’re going to do a better interview than you’ve ever done,” Coach informs me and then pushes me forward.

The woman looks toward me, standing and reaching out for a handshake. My confidence shatters as she gives me a plastic smile.

I give a shaky smile as I step up to the chair, feeling like my legs could give out underneath me at any time. Feeling like my limbs no longer belong to me, I watch my hand move toward hers, and I overcompensate with aggression as I return the handshake.

Fuck my entire life.

I smooth the offensively pink skirt down as I pose delicately in the chair, turning toward her in that studied way that doesn’t cut off the camera.

The cameraman counts down with his fingers, and I internally bemoan each moment of loss before the red light flickers on, and I try to arrange my face into something resembling friendliness.

“This is Karma Daniels reporting live from the Olympic arena. Today we have Imani Gray with us to celebrate her gold medal from the team event, and to talk strategy for winning the personal gold,” she says into the camera and then turns to me.

I can’t help the outward cringe I make at having that plastic smile turned on me. It’s apparent she was shoehorned into being paired with me, and we’re supposed to sit here and pretend everything is fine?

I watch her smile flicker when she registers the cringe, but she’s determined to continue. “Say hello to the audience, Imani,” she presses through that pasted-on smile.

I laugh awkwardly, trying to brush off my deer-in-the-headlights moment. “Hi, America, it’s great to be here.” I unfold my hands, bring one of them up to do a stilted wave, but in the middle of it, I panic, thinking that it’s stupid. Blake would never be so ridiculous. So I tuck my hand back into my lap.

“Sure, sure. It’s okay, Imani. We know you aren’t great on camera unless ice is under your feet, right?” Karma laughs, but it’s not cruelly. It’s clear she’s not sure what to do with me, as much as I don’t know what to do with her.

My shoulders tighten. “I don’t think anyone can dispute that I’m a leader on the ice,” I grit through the smile that’s still staying strong on my face.