Page 45 of A Gold Medal in Love

I only get a flash of warning from her devious eyes before she’s biting down on my fingers. My eyes narrow as I pull them free, start fucking her (both of us, fuck, this feels so good) with a punishing pace, and hit her across the cheek.

There’s no immediate mark, of course, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get instant gratification. Imani’s mouth drops into a wide “o” of surprise, her eyes turn into dinner plates, and—yes! That’s it—I hear sloppy sounds come from that delicious cunt.

“Oh, you don’t like the consequences of your actions, Cupcake?” I laugh cruelly, digging my hands into her svelte thighs in order to pound into her with abandon.

“I’m a good girl!” Imani protests, a bratty whine in her voice. “I don’t like it when you hit me!”

Removing my right hand from her thigh, I slap her again on the other cheek. “I thought I instructed you not to lie to me, mm?” And sheislying. Further, she knows how to stop me if she really doesn’t want it, and I know she will after she called yellow at the beginning of this scene.

Unfortunately for me, Imani has been rendered non-verbal after the last slap. What can I say? I’m a sucker for her bratting. That’s how we ended up in this position, after all. I’d much rather have her fight me as I fuck her into a puddle of mush. I guess I’ll just have to merely do the latter.

My reward is not only the way I’m barreling toward my own orgasm, but watching her fall apart for me. I can’t look away from her as I fuck us both into oblivion. Christ. She’s so beautiful, and I find myself thinking that, of course that fuckwad interviewer ascribes her stunning routines to a paramour, instead of understanding that Imani is just brimming with passion. Of course she had to be acreative, of course she needed a place to put all that love of life. She’s radiant, and she doesn’t even know how much. Sure, she’s successful because of raw talent, but what’s going to win her that gold is the life shebreathes into her routines. I can already tell. And I get to be here to watch it unfold.

How magnificent. I don’t only get to watch her take the Olympics by storm, I get to worship her every night. I get to see her the way that no one has ever gotten to see her before. I get hersubmission.And that’s no small thing.

Unable to take it anymore, I fall atop her, one hand reaching for hers as the other cradles her head, my lips seeking hers. Our mouths devour one another as we shatter apart, finding solace in stolen breath.

“Fuck that was hot. I want to fuck you in a costume next. I’ll come away covered with your cum and your glitter,” I breathe, running my knuckles over Imani’s heated cheeks.

The only response I receive is a pathetic whimper, making me chuckle.

Smiling down at my wrecked girl, I give her a forehead kiss before I tear the dildo out of us and release her from the four cuffs.

I lie down, pulling her sweaty leotard and tights-covered body to my sports bra-clad one, letting Imani slump into me as I begin massaging her arms and legs. Her poor joints and limbs have been put through the wringer today, and I need to make sure she isn’t numb when she can talk.

That’s not yet, though. Currently, I have a panting puddle in my lap.

I massage her for a while, but finally I have to interrupt her thoughts or attempts at sleep before she passes out on me. “Hey, any lingering numbness, Cupcake?”

Imani’s head lolls on my chest before she dazedly tilts it up to look at me. I can’t breathe for the look she’s bestowing on me right now, but I don’t dare dissect it, an unusual thought for me, to be sure.

“I’m…” she sighs. “Perfect.” Shit. Those are goddamn stars in her eyes. That was clearly some fuck.

Keeping my cool, I throw her a grin. “That’s my good girl.”

“How can you see through me?” Imani shivers.

I give her the only honest answer I can. “Because I was once invisible too.”

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

BLAKE

Olympics Day12

Sunday, February 15, 2026

Imani’s hand slips out of mine as we walk into Piazza della Scala square.

“Cupcake,” I begin in a warning tone, looking to her ethereal form. She’s dressed up for me in an elegant black A-line dress. “Give me that hand back right now.”

Imani stomps a shiny black heel on the ground, but then slides her delicate brown hand into my large calloused palm. “I can’t fight with you when you’re wearing a motherfucking suit and bow tie.”

“Are you trying to say I don’t normally make your heart race?” I tease, rubbing my thumb over her pulse as I always like to do, and feeling the effect I have on her.

“Ugh. Shut up. You know how much I always want you, much to my chagrin,” Imani admits with a whine.