Page 20 of Seduction on the Slopes

Waits for me to get accustomed to him, and doesn’t press forward until my fingers loosen in my sheets. Then he presses again, using a hand to anchor himself to my hip in a way that makes me feel safe and present, and also so very his.

I breathe, breathe, and then he slides home, making me feel at once split open but whole. It’s so fucking good. I’ve done this before, but it’s never made me feel so . . . exposed. Vulnerable. Which is how I feel while he’s settled inside me, god, so far inside me. I’ll take as much of Miles inside my body as he has to give, but it’s unnerving and my stomach clenches.

Miles must notice I’ve tensed, because he rubs the back of my neck, slips his hand down to my shoulder to run his thumb over my trapezius. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Hard swallow, tight nod of my head, straining not to drop my face into the pillow and jerk my hips back to get as much of him as humanly possible inside me.

“You sure? Because you feel fantastic, but I don’t want to hurt you. And if you want to stop, just tell me.”

“I don’t want to stop. I want . . . Jesus, Miles, just fuck me, please? I’m dying here.”

I’ve surprised a laugh out of him, and then it’s my turn to be surprised when he digs his strong fingers into my hips and thrusts forward so hard I feel his balls knock against me. Dear god, I have died and gone to ass-pounding heaven. And it’s a pounding I get, Miles driving into me in a way that knocks the air from my lungs with each thrust.

The blood is rushing loud in my ears, like I’m drowning in him, like he’s consuming me, and it’s . . . I can’t even think because he’s taking up all the oxygen in the room, demanding every bit of my attention.

“You feel so good,” he grinds out, each word punctuated by a thrust. “So tight. You test my control.”

I press back against him then, feeling brave and gluttonous. “More, I want more.”

Miles has never been stingy with anything except praise—which he makes me fucking earn—and he’s not tightfisted now. No, that’s not quite the word for it, because he leans over my back and threads an arm under my pelvis so he can grab my dick and give it a few ragged pulls.

It should hurt, and it does kind of, but it also makes my balls tighten and then I’m coming. Really hard. So hard it’s painful in a blinding kind of way, and I can’t believe how many times the jizz spurts out of my dick. It feels at once like he’s wrung me out, but also like it’ll never stop, especially when he digs his fingers even harder into my hip and lets out this sexy as all hell growl. Like monster roar, and then I feel it, Miles’s cock pulsing in my ass, pumping his own come inside me. The thought makes my eyes roll back in my head.

Miles

I’m collapsed over Crash’s back, and while I’d normally feel bad about having my full weight on someone, Crash can take it. And can apparently take a good deep-dicking, too.

When he’d said he wanted all the things, I’d had no intention of giving him this. But something got the better of me and I let it. That isn’t something I usually do. Most of my indiscretions are reserved for when my parents have been to Europe and bring me back Swiss chocolate and German marzipan. Never have I gorged myself on sex like this, especially not when I’m supposed to be abstaining.

Thing is, I don’t feel enervated like I’d always thought I would if I had sex before a race. More like replete. I should be sorry, or angry, or disappointed in myself. I try, in fact, really hard to locate those emotions but can’t find them anywhere. If I feel that way later I’ll marshal some of that control I’m famous for and not let this happen again. But I don’t see it coming. Not even far off on the horizon. Maybe I’m wrong because my brains have drained out of me along with my release, but I just feel . . . good. Maybe I should’ve started doing this a long time ago.

Finally I find it in me to push up on my elbows and knees, and Crash’s ribs expand beneath me with his first real breath in minutes. “I thought you might’ve passed out back there.”

Not so far from the truth. I feel a little like I’m coming to. “No, I’m fine. How are you?”

It occurs to me that he’s likely going to be sore. That was a very enthusiastic fuck. He doesn’t seem sorry though, more like smug as I pull out and he rolls over, putting his hands behind his head. “I feel like I could go on Oprah or some shit.”

Right, of course. That’s why we were ostensibly doing this. So he’d be okay to go onTalk Americathis morning, which we should really get going for. Any second now, I’ll get up and get in the shower, make myself presentable to go talk to more people. But not just yet. And why not? I’ve fulfilled my obligation, and it’s not like we . . . cuddle after these whatever-they-ares. Services rendered?

The thought makes me cringe. That’s all this is, and that’s all I am to Crash. And sure, I’m fond of the kid, but this doesn’t extend beyond that, for either of us. Best for it not to, in fact. I’ve always shaken my head at couples who are both SIG athletes, or one spouse who coaches the other. Shouldn’t one of you be a teacher or something? Maybe a postal worker or an accountant? It’s not a good idea to have two competitive people in a relationship, because someone’s always going to lose.

Lucky for me, this is only a professional relationship, and our business is winning. I’m just doing my part for the team. And if I like the way a freshly fucked Crash smells, and smiles lazily, well, then, I do, but it’s no big thing. Nope. Not at all. Just a perk.

So I pinch my perk just under his ribcage where I can barely grab enough skin to do it. “I’m getting in the shower. Get your stuff ready to go, and then we’ll switch. Don’t want all my hard work to go to waste and have you be all worked up again by the time we get to the studio. Chop, chop.”

He gives me the most indolent salute I’ve ever seen and it makes me want to fuck him all over again, but instead I turn around and head to our bathroom, because I’ve gone above and beyond my patriotic duty for today, and there’d be no sense in any more . . . tom-foolery. Also I shouldn’t get used to this. Or him. Especially him, because it’s going to be my job to thrash him on the course in a few days, and sometimes friendships don’t survive that, never mind obligatory seed-spilling buddies.

Best to get the job done and move on, pretend I don’t hear him humming in a way that makes my heart squeeze as I close the door.

Chapter Twelve

Crash

This afternoon is the last big press event before the races start. Like, yeah, I’ll have to do more of them, but not one of this size again. Not unless I’m bringing home a medal or two, anyway, and then hopefully I’ll be so happy I won’t even care what the hell they want to talk about.

We were out on the slopes this morning, learning the course and getting our last few runs in. I felt pretty good about it, and my times were great. But not quite great enough. Miles is still finishing ahead of me eighty percent of the time. Which, hell, I should be happy with that, right?

Guy’s hands-down the best skier on the planet right now, has been for over a decade, so why should I think an upstart like me could knock him off his mountain? But there’s a little voice inside me saying I could do better.

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