Page 16 of Seduction on the Slopes

He flinches, his whole body tightening convulsively, and then letting go, his fists pulsing. But I don’t think he’s afraid. There’s certainly no reason for him to be afraid. All wound up, his muscles taut with want because I’m teasing him to within an inch of his life, sure, but there’s no threat here, only promise.

“Are you ready, Crash? What do you think it would take to get you off right now? I doubt I’d even have to touch your cock.”

There’s a faint groan, and even from my place in the crook of his neck, I can picture his face, the way he must be squeezing his eyes shut at the same time his mouth is falling open, and the back of his shaggy head hits the cheap plywood door.

“Maybe if I just . . . kissed you. Here.” Stupidly, I lean in, close the gap, and let my lips touch his skin.

Softer than I was expecting. It’s all I can do not to part my lips and let my tongue slick over him because I want the quintessence of the tempered, muted version I’ve been inhaling.

I’m only a little disappointed he doesn’t spill. That just means I get to tease him more which I’m enjoying more than I ought. “Or how about if I . . . bit?”

I let myself indulge then, open my mouth and sink my teeth into his flesh. Not hard, not nearly as hard as I’d like, but hard enough that he whimpers, and his cock jerks. My mouth and the rise of his trapezius are the only point of contact between us, and it’s as ifbecauseit’s the only connection that the intensity is out of control.

“Miles . . .”

The sound of my name coming out of his mouth, the way his lips would have to wrap around his teeth to hum the first beat, the same way he’d have to cover the sharp surfaces in order to suck my cock, it’s . . .

That thought’s out of control. It’s too much. That’s not what this is about. That’s not the relationship we have. I’ll get Crash through his press obligations without spilling his breakfasts on any more sound stages, and then it’ll be over. I’ll find someone else to celebrate with when all of my races are over, and no doubt he’ll do the same. Probably multiple partners if the looks he gets around the village are any indication. There’s one German slider in particular who eyes Crash’s ass like he’d like to sink his teeth into it, and I can’t blame him.

But at the moment, my name is the one dropping from Crash’s mouth, and it’s a prayer. One I’m willing and able to answer. One that also feels like it’s creeping toward far too personal. So I grab him by the shoulders, turn him around and use a grip on his neck to press his cheek to the door. With my other hand, I reach around his hip and wrap my fingers around the base of his dick. Squeeze. Pump a few times, none too gently, and that’s all he needs.

Crash lets out a small cry at the same time the spurts of come are leaving his body. I can feel them through the smooth skin and hardness of his erection which is pulsing in my hand. After a few beats, the vigor of his orgasm diminishes. He’s still coming, but not in hard sprays against the wall—yeah, that’s going to leave a mark—but throbbing weakly in my hand, his come sliding down the side of his dick and onto my hand. A hot, sticky reminder of what I’ve done to him. How I’ve made him feel.

In that moment, there’s a warmth in my chest, and I have to resist the urge to lean in and rest my forehead against his neck. The only thing I allow myself is a small rock of my stiff-as-hell dick against him, pressing into the cleft that divides his shapely ass.

It’s not enough. I want to do more for him than this one fleeting moment, this transient, ephemeral pleasure. So while he’s still in my grip, under my care, I lean in one more time.

“Listen to me very carefully. I know you get twitchy about people talking about how you used to steal stuff. Which I get, I do. It’s not something you’re proud of, it’s not something you’d do again, and it’s not something you would’ve resorted to if you’d had any other choice. But the thing is . . . if this is how you got to be one of the best people in the world—and you are, make no mistake—don’t be ashamed of how you got here. Like, yeah, donate to a foundation that helps kids learn how to ski, drop off a check or offer to do some promo spots gratis for those places, but it’s over now. Over, and you don’t need to feel guilty or embarrassed anymore.”

He’s been listening to me assiduously, not speaking, not moving. His cheek that’s not pinned to the door has gone a more saturated pink than it had been solely from his climax. Hopefully I haven’t undone the work I just did and he’ll still be able to get through this press gauntlet intact. I’ll feel crappy if I’ve made him feel worse, but I think it was worth a shot. Let him hear me say that in his ear when someone no doubt brings this up sometime in the next few days. Let him hear it and believe me.

“Do you understand me?”

Crash opens his mouth to speak, then thinks better of it and nods before closing his eyes and nodding again. The thing is, I believe him.

Chapter Ten

Miles

Standing there with my arms crossed over my chest, I watch as Crash practically charms the pants off Eric Colton, who I’m pretty sure is straight. Or was, before meeting Crash and his sheepdog magnetism. Kid is doing really well, and I take some pride in knowing some of that was my doing.

Ted’s been watching all the one-on-ones, making sure none of us fuck up too badly, and making sure time limits get respected so we don’t miss any of our time on the slopes. He’s been standing aside and only tossing the occasional glance to the stage, but his attention is more focused now that Crash is on. Don’t blame him, Crash is the one most likely to bring trouble down on his head. Or all of our heads.

Ted sidles up next to me, leans back against the wall and crosses his arms same way mine are. Our elbows practically touch. Normally I wouldn’t think anything of it, but he’s giving off this air of having something he wants to poke me with. What’s he got to say?

“I don’t know what you’ve been doing to Crash—”No, Ted, you really don’t. And you really don’t want to.“But whatever it is keep doing it. With gusto.”

Oh my god. With gusto? The only way I could do Crash with more enthusiasm is if I were actually, you know, doing him. Which I can’t. Because I don’t.

I don’t do that before races. No matter what. No matter how hot the guy, no matter if it’ll be a missed opportunity. I don’t do that, I’ve never done that, and who knows if that’s been the secret to my success? Keeping all that pent-up . . . energy . . . pent up. And if it has been—really, Miles? The secret to your gold medals has been not blowing your load before races? Going to tell that to Sports Illustrated? That’ll make fabulous cover copy, moron—then I’m not going to risk it all for a roll in the hay with Crash.

Yes, I’ve come to want him quite badly, and yes, I’ve laid awake at night wishing I could jerk off because orgasming is a good way to relieve stress and get to sleep, but fucking Crash is not the answer. If he wants to fuck after this is over—and it wouldn’t be at all surprising if he did—then we can fuck each other for all we’re worth. But for right now, I’m going to keep my cock where it belongs—in my own pants, and achy with having been slightly hard for days now.

Never has my self-imposed celibacy bothered me so much. If I’d known this was going to become a superstition, I should’ve made sure to rub one out or fuck someone before every race. Then I wouldn’t have this goddamn problem. But no, Past Miles was perfectly happy being a monk. Because Past Miles A, was an idiot, and B, didn’t see Crash Delaney coming. But I can hardly blame myself for B. No one saw Crash coming. No one.

Then I do see Crash, waving at me. No, not waving—beckoning me onstage. What the hell? I’m up next and we only have a limited amount of time to chat. He shouldn’t be giving his away to me, especially since he needs all the screen time he can get, and I turn things down because I get offered too much. But he’s flailing pretty good now, and making faces, not appearing like he’s going to stop anytime soon either. I’m already wired up, so why the hell not?

I step out onto the makeshift stage, wave and smile at the camera. I’ve been on this stage already this season, so I have a good idea of the setup, and I give Eric a winning smile and a shake.

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