Deep End(113)

Self-professed belonging.

“Lukas.” Despair and heat spill into me.

“Sweetheart. I’m here to pick you up,” he whispers. “Fuck you into a thousand little pieces, and then put them back together. You don’t need me to do it, but it’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to fix you?” It’s horrifying, the truth of it. Even more so when I feel his lips against my ear, a whisper rolling out of his mouth. “You want to come, baby?”

I nod. I’m almost there, and yet a million miles away.

“I could make you wait for it. I could force you to tell me all the things you cannot say.” His hand slides between my hip bone and the mattress. “But I won’t. You know why?” He finds my swollen clit. Index and middle fingers draw circles around it. A tap that makes me shiver. “Because I know all of them already.”

A wet explosion in my brain. I burst just like that, wedged between his hand and his chest, clenching around his cock until I’m so narrow, he almost slips outside of me. His groan rolls through me—There you go, such a good, beautiful girl—and when I’m mellow again, he orders, “Be nice and quiet while I finish, okay?”

He can’t manage proper thrusts, but he drags his movements out anyway, like he doesn’t want this to end. I lie patiently, loving every second of it—being his, being used, being wanted, it’s all a contented, indistinguishable hum reverberating inside my body. His pleasure makes him speechless, a handful of noiseless grunts and foreign words and my name, hands gripping my breasts and teeth holding my neck. He throbs and jerks, and then we lie there, waiting, catching our breaths.

Then he lifts my hips up, knees wide on the bed. I feel his gaze on me, studying, memorizing, and I’m about to beg him to stop, when his mouth is suddenly there, tongue lazy and broad against my clit, painful bites where my ass joins my thigh. Orgasms sweep over me, and I’m sobbing, choking on my own cries. He’s the one to push my face into the blanket and remind me that I have to hush, c’mon, Scarlett, just bite here and you’re fucking ruining me, and then I’m coming again.

I’m outside my body. It’s the best and worst thing I’ve ever felt. I space away. Perfect. Perfect.

Afterward, he disappears in the bathroom, door open, not bothering to turn on the lights. I watch him, boneless, sweat slowly drying on my spine. When he comes back to clean me up, little tears pebble under my eyes, and he wipes them away with his thumb. Tucks me into bed. Doesn’t join me .

Instead he crouches by my pillow, holds my hand to his lips, and asks, “What are you scared of, Scarlett?” His eyes look . . . sad, maybe. I’m not sure. Traces of emotions crease the corners.

“Everything.”

A deep sigh. “When it comes to what matters, you’re fearless. Try to remember that, okay?”

I make no promises. Instead, I snooze. Dip in and out of sleep, but Lukas stays there, watching me, for what feels like a long time. Then he presses a kiss against my forehead, turns off the light, and lets himself out.

The following week, Pac-12 starts.





CHAPTER 59


PAC-12 SWIMMING AND DIVING ARE SEPARATE EVENTS, ONE after the other. Lukas and I are out of town at nonoverlapping intervals: while he’s flying back from Seattle, I’m waiting for one of the assistant coaches to drive me to the airport, trying to decide what polish to pack in case I get time to do my nails.

However.

“I think the guys’ plane just landed,” Pen announces while we’re waiting at SFO, sitting up in a burst of excitement. “The gate’s five minutes from here—shall we go say hi?”

“Yes!” Bella says, followed by Bree’s blasé, “Sure.”

In a plot twist rom-com writers can only aspire to achieve, Bree and Dale broke up over a yet-to-be-revealed conflict, while Bella and Devin are still dating. Once again: so many questions, and absolutely zero way of asking them in a tactful way.

Pen’s eyes meet mine in one of the many I guess we cannot speculate about this now, but boy, will we be discussing later looks that we exchange on a daily basis. “Let’s go.”

“Should we bring our bag?” Bree asks.

“Good question.” Pen turns to me. “Do you mind keeping an eye out? ”

I shake my head, pretending it doesn’t make my stomach feel like it’s full of metamorphic rocks. When the girls return, I don’t ask who they met, or how it went.



It feels a little like the first meet of my career.

Weird, when I’ve recently returned from a world championship, but my mindset has evolved more in the last few weeks than in the previous three years. New, more intentional choices. No perfect-or-nothing mentality. My brain, finally able to go quiet.

When I started out the academic year, my dream was to qualify for the NCAA tournament. I’ll have done good if I manage, I told myself. And poorly if I don’t.

I’m not sure I still believe that. In fact, I’m certain that I don’t need to qualify for anything to consider this year a success. “The real NCAA qualification spot was the mental health we gained along the way.”

“What did you say, Vandy?”

“Oh, nothing.” I finish warming up my quads and smile at Pen. “Ready?”

We place first in the ten-meter synchro event.