AmericasDarlings Read Online Free Page A

I was trained for! I could do it! Benson lowered his head and sucked my nipple then raised it again and sucked my lip. I held my breath, squeezing his cock as hard as I could with my powerful Kegel muscles.
    He moaned.
    Benson mashed his belly into mine. He pushed his cock further within me, further, further, further … Then, without missing a beat, he moved a hand over my stomach and let a finger touch my clit.
    Oh! Oh!
    Now I was the one moaning.
    So close, so close!
    Benson moved in me and I moved with him. He clutched me around the waist, holding me tight as his cock thrust faster and faster, wilder and wilder, his finger rubbing glorious circles on the most sensitive part of my body.
    Now! Now!
    In a rush of heat, in an orgiastic fog, we completed the dismount. Benson and I leaped apart from each other in back handsprings—still feeling the shivers of orgasm—and landed squarely on our feet, sticking the landing beautifully. Panting, both of us.
    It was over.
    We bowed to Coach Bob—tomorrow it would be a bow for the judges. We bowed to each other. Then we walked off the mat.
    Steven, the team’s personal groomer, met us. “Nice job,” he said as he pulled two swabs from the kit he carried. “You’ll blow them away tomorrow.”
    I spread my legs.
    Deftly he wielded a swab—he used the blue ones on me, at my request, because I was convinced they were softer than the yellow ones—over my genitals and down my inner thighs, cleaning away sex juices and lubricant and sweat and Benson’s cum. It was over in seconds.
    He did the same for Benson.
    “Thanks,” I said and collapsed near the wall, still breathing heavily. I felt lightheaded—dizzy, drained—yet euphoric. I always felt that way after a dismount. Let’s be clear—after an orgasm . It had been a good rehearsal. A very good rehearsal. Not perfect but close enough. We were as ready for tomorrow as we would ever be.
    Benson flopped down beside me, back to his regular self again. The stranger I’d just coupled with was gone. He ran a hand through his curly blond hair and frowned. “I screwed up the Crouching Lion , didn’t I?”
    “No. You were fine.”
    “Was not. Give me a kiss.”
    “Why?”
    “For tomorrow. A good-luck kiss.”
    I kissed him. I needed all the luck I could get.

Chapter Two
     
    Two and a half hours later, showered, massaged, wearing our official parade uniforms, Benson and I were at the broadcast center in the very middle of the Olympic Village, waiting. In just over seven minutes we were scheduled for an interview with the Olympic News Network’s lead sportscaster, Ryan Markham.
    Ryan Markham!
    I would have to be sure to thank him for giving us our name.
    Benson and I sat in the crowded green room with Coach Debbie. Also with us—their interview was scheduled fifteen minutes after ours—were the eight gold medal-winning men from the American rowing team. Absurdly good-looking, every one of them.
    “Stop it,” said Benson, turning to me.
    “Stop what?”
    Coach Debbie put her hand on my knee. “You’re bouncing, honey. You must be nervous.”
    “It’s annoying,” said Benson.
    I stood up and walked to the windows on the far side of the room and looked down on the Olympic Village. I could easily see the Central Plaza and the lanes radiating from it—the Wagon Wheel, it was called—and that bizarre statue in its center. I made out the Oostif and our quarters. If I craned my head and peered to the left, I could see the gymnastics venue. In the distance, its trademark spires reaching toward the sky, hunkered the squat shape of the main Olympic stadium.
    “Leah,” Coach Debbie said, coming to stand beside me, resting her hand lightly on the small of my back, “I think you and Benson will go all the way. I do.”
    I turned to her.
    “I think you’ll win the gold medal.”
    “Really?”
    She nodded. Her almond-shaped eyes regarded me, the lids half closed. The corners of her lips curled upward in a slight smile. Her