Page 23 of Seduction on the Slopes

I’m on a roll now, gesturing with my hands, trying to make him understand. It’s not an easy concept to grasp, even for people who have been racing for a long time, even for people who’ve been coached. Crash is at a decided disadvantage because he’s never had to learn this stuff from words, but only concentrating on things that feel right. “You have to make your ankles active, and use them to create these soft turns. You don’t want your skis coming off the snow, right?”

He shakes his head, because he knows that much. “Okay, so the best way to keep contact is to sort of . . .” How to explain this? “Look, think about it this way. When we’re fooling around, would you rather have me glide my hand firmly over you or kind of karate chop you?”

His wrinkled nose gives him away. “The first one.”

“All right. Well, that’s what the snow likes, too. It likes contact with the skis. You have to use your skis to caress the snow, not . . . thrash it.” I wave my hands like crazy and he laughs.

“You want me to make sweet, sweet love to the snow?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. Pour it a glass of wine before you get started, make it feel good. Seduce the snow, Crash. Develop an intimacy with it. Not just wham, bam, thank you man. Snow doesn’t like that. You have to start early on your turns. You know, ease in, not just punch it.”

The look on Crash’s face is priceless. He’s half trying to keep from laughing his ass off at me and half on the edge of his seat, drinking it all in. But I figured I’d have better luck trying to make him entice the snow into inappropriate activities than using technical jargon. As long as he’s not snickering his way down the course, I think it’ll work. I think I got to him.

“Was that helpful? Do you get it now?”

He nods, and then gets this devious look in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s better, thank you. But you know what I think would really help? Some uh, hands on demonstrations. Since there’s not any snow I can get my skis on at the moment, maybe I could practice on you?”

This is Crash being charming, and fuck me if it doesn’t work. Well, actually fuck me if it does work, because that’s precisely what’s going to happen right now. Since my unplanned orgasm yesterday, I’ve been looking out for signs that it was a mistake. Maybe even hoping to find some.

I haven’t. All I’ve felt is . . . good. During my runs today I felt looser, more fluid. And while I feared it might affect my time, it hadn’t. I’d even shaved off a few hundredths of a second from my best times to date. This whole having-sex-before-races thing doesn’t seem to be so bad. And I’d like to do it again. Shake off some of the tension that had dissipated during my run but now is creeping back.

“I consider it my patriotic duty to help you learn how to beguile powder.” And damn does he have the best grin in the whole world. Time for some moreexplicitinstruction.

Crash

Yeah, I mostly like to bottom, but sometimes it’s fun to be on the other end of things, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted by Miles’s superfine ass. Not to mention, if he actually lets me do what I think he’s going to let me do, I would be flattered. Which is weird in a way, because I can go either way, and apparently so can Miles “Control Freak” Palmer, but for him to let me inside of him? For him to trust me to not hurt him? Miles is a precision instrument. He’s spent years tuning his body to top condition, which makes him awesome at what he does, but kinda fragile like a racehorse, too. Probably the smallest ache or pain throws off his performance, and someone giving your ass a serious reaming can leave you feeling it for days, not always in a good way, either. But he trusts me to not ruin him, believes I’m not a complete and utter fuck-up, that I’m worthy of his faith, his confidence, and not just on the slalom course. How ri-goddamn-diculous is that?

I want this. To seduce Miles. To show him he’s right about me, that I can be trusted. That I will hold him more carefully than I’ve ever held myself. Also that I’m a damn fine lay no matter where I’m lying, but that’s really bonus points over all that other stuff.

So I turn, put a hand on his thigh, and the other one to his cheek, turn his head, tip mine just so, and kiss him. Press my mouth against his and nip at his bottom lip. Miles tastes better than any person has a right to. Which is what makes me sling a leg over his lap so I’m straddling him, letting me kiss him deeper. Giving me better access to his mouth, and yeah, freeing up my hands to roam his back, his shoulders, his neck.

Also to sculpt one of my hands around the base of his skull and hold him there for me to explore. Mostly I let Miles do what he likes, which is fine, because I like it, too, and clearly guy knows what he’s doing at all times in all the things. But sometimes I find myself wanting to linger more than he’s inclined to, and this gives me the chance to do whatever the fuck I want with him. Which means kissing him like crazy.

His hands have slipped under my shirt, his pinkies teasing the waistband of my pants.You want it that way? Fine.

I let my knees slip wider to lower my pelvis, and oh yeah. I got Miles hard from kissing him. And I’m going to get him harder by rocking up against him, pressing my dick against his, and letting the not-enough-friction that’s getting through all the layers in between us make us crazy with want. Make him want to rip my clothes off. His clothes off. All the clothes, all of them off.

But part of making him crazy is going to involve trying his patience. Which he won’t like now, but he will like later. So, against his clear intentions to move this along—his hands grabbing and kneading my ass might have something to do with how I got that idea—I resist. No further, not yet. I keep him at bay with kissing and roaming hands until he bites my lip, hard, and urges my forehead against his while keeping our mouths apart.

“Enough already. Get on with it.”

His breath on my lips is hot and sultry, and I like the way he’s breathing hard. I’d like to make Miles break a sweat. “I thought I was supposed to be seducing you. Not wham, bam, thank you, man?”

“Seduction complete, now I’d like to get off.”

I laugh. Not a smooth, sexy knowing chuckle either. It’s a good thing Miles has heard me laugh like a goddamn loon before, so I know my cackling won’t turn him off enough to give up on this. Also, I’m glad he’s explicitly asked for this. I wasn’t sure how he’d feel after yesterday when he came kinda unintentionally. He hadn’t seemed all that upset about it, maybe even like he’d chilled out a bit, but I wasn’t sure he’d want to do it again. Now I know—he does. “You’re like the most patient guy I know, but you can’t bear a few minutes of foreplay?”

“I have borne them. Now I’m ready. I was trying to teach you to seduce the snow, Delaney. And how long is a run, huh?”

He uses his grip on my ass to grind my cock against his and it makes my breath short out. When I can muster a breath, I answer him. “Not that long.”

“That’s right. You don’t have all day. So chop, chop, come in for your victory lap, unless that’s not something that appeals to you?”

It’s tempting, to give this over to him now that I’ve proven a point. It would be less stressful for me to get fucked than it will be on the other side, but now I’ve got my heart and my dick set on it. More my heart, though. This is an opportunity to prove myself, and goddammit, I want to. I’m not going to make Miles sorry he offered this to me.

“It does. I want to fuck you.”

“Okay, then.”

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