Personal Best 2 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Exclusive Excerpt

  Chapter One

  More from Sean Michael

  Readers love Personal Best by Sean Michael

  About the Author

  By Sean Michael

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  Copyright

  Personal Best 2

  By Sean Michael

  Personal Best: Book Two

  Swimmer Mike Gauliet is moving up in the elite ranks of the American swim team, despite his repetitive stress injuries. He’s hiding his pain from coach Jessy Turner, not wanting to give in to it or let his coach and lover down, and by the time he gets treatment, it’s almost too late.

  Jessy helps Mike heal, both in an out of the bedroom, and their need for each other grows as quickly as Mike’s career. They’re scorching hot and ready to go to the top competitions when another injury forces Mike to the sidelines. Jessy thinks this one is no accident, and Mike has to work hard to recover the lost ground.

  Mike needs a break from the nonstop stress of training, so they move to the coast so Mike can recuperate once again. But their struggles don’t end with getting him back in competition form, and they can’t truly call it a victory unless they can find the balance between their romantic relationship and Mike grabbing the success he’s earned.

  Chapter One

  JACKET AROUND his shoulders, Mike turned up his music, Trent Reznor screaming in his headphones. He kept his eyes closed, lost himself in his music, in the beat, and in the growl of the guitars.

  Nothing mattered right now.

  Not the meet.

  Not the crowd.

  Not the heat or the water or the competition.

  It was just him and music and being loose, being ready, being relaxed, just like Coach had taught him. Breathing and music, and that was it.

  Large, warm hands landed on his shoulders, massaging.

  Mike leaned his head forward. Four races this morning, and his times were good. Better than good, maybe. Better enough that people were starting to notice, starting to talk.

  “Stop thinking, Mike.” The low growl penetrated the music.

  “Huh?” God, how did the man know? “Sorry, Coach.”

  “Just forget about the big picture, kid. Stay in your body. Stay in the water and swim your race. Everything else’ll still be there when you hit that wall.”

  He nodded. That was right. Him and the water and the wall. That was it.

  “That’s it. Nice and loose.” Coach’s hands worked their magic, making sure there wasn’t an ounce of tension in him.

  The bell rang and he stood, stripped off his jacket and baggy shorts, handing his CD player back without looking. He was in lane four, his favorite lane. “Going to win all four, Coach, and you’re taking me for steak.”

  “The wall, kid. Focus on the wall.”

  “You know it.” He looked back at his coach, nodded. The man was a hard-ass, but what he wouldn’t give for the growly son of a bitch. “I’m up.”

  Mike settled his goggles and stepped onto the starting block. Four-hundred-meter freestyle. Let’s go.

  The buzzer sounded and he was off, slicing through the water, focusing on the wall.

  JESSY WATCHED Mike eating, hiding his grin. The kid had done good, won all four of his races, and was working on a twenty-ounce porterhouse.

  He didn’t want the kid to get too cocky, though; they were close, moving up in the ranks on the national team, and if things kept up this way, the Worlds and then the Olympics were theirs. He’d known. The minute he’d seen Mike swim, he’d known. He had a knack for that kind of thing.

  “Man, Coach. This is going to put thirty pounds on me. Maybe forty.” Dark brown eyes twinkled over at him, almost the same color as the roots of that bleached hair.

  Jessy snorted. “I’ll make you work them off.”

  He got a laugh, Mike sticking his tongue out at him. “Bastard.”

  “That’s my job.”

  He winked at Mike and waved the waiter over. “I’d like the cheesecake, please. And a cup of coffee.”

  “Oooh…. Do I get a Coke, Coach?” Mike was fighting the no-caffeine regimen for all he was worth.

  “Nope. The deal was a steak. That’s what you’ve got. The biggest one they serve.” God, the kid amused him. Among other things.

  “Damn it.” Mike dug into the steak, but Jessy could see the wheels turning. Mike kept him on his toes. Two years they’d been working together, the kid pushing, him pushing back. It was maybe a little unconventional, but it worked for them.

  He leaned back, smiling as his cheesecake and coffee were put in front of him. “Thanks.” He took a bite. Damn, that was good. “If you promise to be good, I’ll let you have a bite.”

  “Define good.”

  His mouth twitched as he fought his smile. “No complaining.”

  “About what and how long?” Dark eyebrows rose, eyes twinkling. The kid was too charming for his own good.

  “About the rules. For a week. And no back-seat coaching.” He took another forkful of the dessert, moaning a little and licking his lips.

  “Bitch. A whole week? That’s worth at least three bites.”

  “One bite and no back talk, but I’ll throw in a full-body massage.”

  “Oh.” Mike nodded, humming just a little, cheeks flushing. “It’s a deal.”

  Sweet.

  “Finish your steak first.” He took another bite of the cheesecake.

  “Don’t eat my bite, Coach.” There was no way Mike was going to finish the whole steak, no way in hell, but the kid was going to try.

  “Would I do that?” He took another bite, this one bigger than the others, leaving less than half the dessert behind.

  “You don’t leave my bite and I’m going to get Coca-Cola as my new sponsor and contract to drink a two-liter bottle a day.”

  “And kiss your chances of winning goodbye.” He shook his head. Kid knew he wouldn’t go back on his word.

  Mike chuckled and nodded, eyes happy. “I bitch, but I don’t break training, Coach. You know it.”

  He grinned. “And for the next week, you don’t bitch either.”

  “You give me a good enough rubdown and I’ll be too relaxed to bitch.” Cheeky little shit.

  “You questioning my ability to rub you down?”

  Mike arched an eyebrow. “Would I do that?”

  “Not if you want that rubdown.”

  “That’s cheating. You’re supposed to be fawning, now. Four medals. Four. In one day.”

  “You’ve got a big enough ego without me going all fanboy on you, Mike.” He leaned forward, though, and looked the kid right in the eyes. “You did good. I knew you had it in you the first day I saw you swim.”

  Mike’s dark-chocolate eyes went soft, proud, his cheeks pinking. “Thanks. Felt good. Felt damned good, Jess.”

  He nodded. “I might have bragged a bit.”

  Fact was, he was proud of the kid. Fucking proud, and he’d had to fight hard not to make a big huge fucking deal of it to the other coaches, to Mike. And it wasn’t that he was superstitious, just… well, it was too early to be getting a big head.

  A few gold medals where it really counted? A world record or two? Then they could brag.

  “Just a bit?” Mike grinned, leaned back, about three-quarters of the steak eaten. “It’s what? Two weeks ’til the next meet?”

  “Yeah.
We’ll fly home tomorrow. Most of the teams are leaving first thing, but I booked us on a later flight. You can sleep in, but the trade-off is doing laps in the hotel pool.” He took another bite of the cheesecake and passed the plate over, a very generous bite left.

  “I can handle that. You going to come down and count them?”

  “You kidding? I’m going to come down and time them.” He winked and leaned forward to put half the leftover cheesecake on his fork, holding it out for Mike. “Come on, eat up. It’s getting late.”

  Mike leaned down, snapping up the bite, eyes closing as he chewed. “Oh, yum….”

  “I’m not sure I should let you have the rest. All that sugar might keep you up all night.” The kid looked too cute not to let him have the second bite, though.

  “Man, that was good.” Mike stretched, bouncing a little. “You want to go catch a movie?”

  “Whatever you want, kid—it’s your evening.”

  Mike’s eyes smiled at him, dancing, happy. “’Course, there’s something to be said for HBO and a massage too….”

  He nodded. “Full-body massage, I believe it was.”

  “Shit. Let’s go. I can sneak out and see a movie any night.”

  “You mean I can let you sneak out to see a movie any night.” He took out his wallet and went to the front to pay for their meal.

  “Uh. Yeah. Right. Exactly what I meant.” Mike bebopped outside, looking around, snapping pictures of the restaurant, of street signs.

  “It’s not far; we can walk back to the hotel.” It was getting late, though; they’d taken their time with supper, and Mike needed a good night’s sleep after the meet.

  Mike nodded, and the long, thin body moved through the crowds easily. Jessy matched Mike’s pace, pointing out the neon signs over some of the bars, and waiting patiently whenever Mike wanted to take a picture of something.

  “Next year? We can go get a beer.” Mike was always playing, always pushing him.

  He snorted. “If you’re off the national team, sure.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Then you’ll just have to wait a few more years on that beer.”

  Some coaches let their kids cheat now and then; he didn’t. No more than a bite of cheesecake on a rare occasion. He knew it made him look like a hard bastard, but it also made him a good coach, and his swimmers were the best.

  “Hard-ass.” The word was fond, Mike snapping a picture of him.

  He frowned menacingly for show and then let his grin loose. Mike was good for him; he kept Jessy sharp, on his toes. And while the kid pushed, Mike was committed to the program. Mike lived and breathed to be in the water. Hell, his biggest challenge was to teach Mike to pace things, to quit going balls-out on every practice, every trial.

  He ducked into the hotel souvenir shop, picked up a stuffed dog wearing a shirt with “Atlanta” emblazoned across the front for the kid’s souvenir shelf, and met Mike back at the elevators, tossing the dog over.

  “Oh, cool. Aunt Kathy’s going to be talking about building a trophy case again, when we get home.” He got a warm grin, Mike bouncing again. Thank fuck he hadn’t given in on the caffeine.

  “As long as filling it doesn’t become your focus.”

  “Just visualizing the win, Coach.”

  He laughed as they got into the elevator. Brat. Mike grabbed hold of the elevator banisters, lifting his legs up, pushing himself up and down with his arms.

  He shook his head. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy. You swam qualifying rounds yesterday and won four heats today.”

  “I am. Just got energy to burn.”

  “Don’t burn too much of it, Mike. I’ve got plans for that energy.”

  Mike’s cheeks heated. “Yeah? Gonna bottle it?”

  He grinned. “Something like that.”

  Mike chuckled, heading toward their room when the doors opened. Jessy followed more slowly, admiring the lean body, the sweet ass. He was damned glad the meet was over and there wasn’t another for two weeks.

  Another swimmer met Mike in the hall, shook his hand, and congratulated him. “You’re looking good, man. Me and Andy and St. Croix are going to party. You wanna come?”

  Jessy opened the door to their room, letting Mike answer for himself. The kid was twenty, and while he rode Mike hard, Jessy didn’t want to embarrass him.

  “Shit, no. I just ate half a cow, and I’m not bar legal yet anyway. Y’all have fun.”

  He smiled, holding the door open for the kid. Good boy. Mike bounced in, throwing himself on the bed with a groan before reaching for the remote.

  “You want that massage?” Jessy asked, checking the phone for messages.

  “Uh-huh.” MTV came on, music blaring.

  He grabbed the remote and turned the TV down to a less grating volume and then pulled the covers off the bed. “Strip down.”

  “Bossy.” Mike bounced up, though, stripped down to skin, folded each piece of clothing, and put it in the suitcase.

  Jessy took off everything but his shorts and found the massage oil, before slicking up his hands and rubbing them together. Mike’s dark gaze cut to him, took a long, lingering look before Mike cuddled into the sheets.

  He fought down his reaction. Mike needed this massage, needed those hardworking muscles eased. That was their top priority right now. He straddled the tops of Mike’s thighs and started at the shoulders, digging his fingers in.

  “Uhn….” Mike groaned, head buried in the pillow.

  He grinned and kept massaging, following each arm down to Mike’s hands, working the long fingers one at a time. He didn’t hurry the process, didn’t skimp anywhere, just rubbed one body part after another. Mike was in top form—wide shoulders tapering down, not a bit of fat on him. Jess slid his fingers over the waxed skin, the oil making Mike glow.

  Once he’d made it all the way down to Mike’s feet, he smacked the pert bottom. “Flip.”

  “No, Coach. I’m Mike.” Mike rolled over, stretched up tall.

  “Brat,” he accused fondly, unable to stop the way his cock reacted to his favorite view.

  Damn, the kid looked good. Long and lean, that six-pack just firm as anything, cock long, half-hard from all the touching, skin shaved smooth.

  “You know it.” Mike parted his thighs, the motion seductive and teasing and no doubt completely unconscious.

  Jessy took a breath, counted to ten, and then concentrated on working Mike’s shoulders, glad he’d decided to leave the shorts on for this.

  “Oh…,” Jessy whispered. He worked carefully, looking for any sign of swelling, of tenderness, sighing when everything felt normal. Too many swimmers got lost to rotator cuff damage.

  He didn’t linger over the rest of Mike’s body, but he didn’t hurry the massage either. There was nothing that would make him skimp on Mike’s care.

  Mike was melted when he was done, relaxed and quiet, focused just on him.

  “Tired?” he asked casually, Mike’s foot in his hands, working the sole with his thumbs.

  “Mmm… just feel good.”

  “I could make you feel even better.” He bent, placing a soft kiss on Mike’s ankle.

  Mike moaned. “You always do, Jess.”

  He nodded. Yeah, he always did. It was his job. His desire. He kissed Mike’s calf and the back of one knee, the smooth and warm inner thigh.

  Mike slid his fingers over Jessy’s crew cut, petting and touching. “Oh, that feels…. Yeah.”

  He turned his face, catching one of Mike’s fingers in his mouth, and sucked before letting it slide out from between his lips and going back to what he was doing. He nudged Mike’s balls with his nose, licked at them, and then wrapped his lips around the pointy bit of one hip bone, sucking.

  He could smell Mike’s need, the long cock leaking, a pool of clear drops gathering under Mike’s belly button. He skirted that heat, though, sliding his tongue along the ridges of Mike’s abdomen and lapping at one little nipple, making the skin pebble up, go har
d.

  “Tease.” Mike’s hand slid down his belly, fingers drawing long, lazy circles.

  Jessy purred at the touches. “I’m gonna finish what I’m starting, Mike. A tease is someone who doesn’t.”

  “Mmm… good point. Come kiss me?”

  “I am kissing you,” he pointed out, leaving a soft one over Mike’s heart.

  Mike groaned, fingers stuttering on his skin. “Oh. Right.”

  Jessy continued up, leaving soft, sucking kisses at Mike’s shoulder, on his collarbone, his neck, his jaw. When they were face-to-face, Jessy gazed down, lips a scant space away from Mike’s.

  Mike had the most fascinating eyes, expressive and dark and happy, holding nothing back. “Hey,” Mike said.

  “Hey, Mike.” He smiled and licked at the red lips.

  Mike pushed up, taking Jessy’s mouth in a deep kiss, so impatient, so eager. He gave in to it, lowering himself along Mike’s body, dueling Mike’s tongue with his own and then pushing into the kid’s warm mouth. Mike arched, lips parting wide and letting him in, fingers tangling in his hair.

  He rubbed against the lean body, chuckling into Mike’s mouth as his damned shorts interfered. Now he was wishing he’d taken them off. Mike helped, pushing his shorts down, cupping his ass. Oh, yeah… Mike’s long fingers felt right against his skin, and he rubbed his cock alongside Mike’s and then pushed back into Mike’s hands.

  He got a low groan, Mike moving faster, driving toward the finish in this like he did in everything.

  He wrapped one hand around Mike’s cock, giving the kid something to slide through. It had been a week; taking the edge off wouldn’t hurt Mike’s ability to enjoy a good, hard fuck. He leaned in and licked at Mike’s earlobe.

  “It’s not a race,” he whispered, before biting.

  “Everything’s a fucking race, Jess. Oh. Oh, fuck.” Mike’s heels dug into the mattress, hips bucking up.

  He chuckled. “This one’s not a sprint.”

  Still that didn’t stop him from squeezing Mike’s cock, pushing his thumb against the head. Mike gasped, laughing and groaning together, heat spraying over Jessy’s fingers. He rumbled softly, spreading the come into Mike’s skin, mixing it with the oil.