Page 30 of Seduction on the Slopes

And instead of popping off like I expect, the jackass grips the base of my cock with his hand, and keeps working me over with quick, shallow dips of his head, his lips sealed against my sensitive skin, and using his tongue to give an extra flick on the underside of my head which makes my heart stutter, and I gasp his name when I’m in fact trying to scold him.

I am now bemoaning my agreement to fuck him, because what I wouldn’t give to come just like this. Wouldn’t take much more. I could wrap my own hand over his, and with a few jerks, I could be coming in his mouth. But no. I’ve got self-control. Useful in my profession, and it stuns me anew that Crash has gotten as far as he has, because self-control isn’t something he’s overburdened with.

When I can’t take it anymore, I grab a fistful of his hair and draw him gently away. His knowing smile when he looks into my eyes just about makes me come right on his face. Can’t blame him for being smug, though, dude gives fantastic head. And now I’m going to give him something in return.

“Lie down, on your back.”

We haven’t fucked face to face before—what on earth is possessing me to do it now? It’s very . . . personal, for people who started fooling around as a stopgap measure, a way to get Crash to stop throwing up so he won’t lose weight he can’t afford to and get dehydrated and so he won’t get kicked off the team for being late or completely absent from press obligations. Yes, I am absolutely planning to leave him in my powder dust, but I’d also like for him to do the same to everyone who isn’t me.

His head’s resting on the pillow, hair sprawled on the uniform white linen, and he’s already pink—his face, especially at his cheeks, but splotchy all the way down to his chest, and looking further, his cock is a darker red than it was before. I bet I could get him off with just a few well-placed pulls, but what fun would that be for either of us? None. Well, okay,some,but my way’s going to be better.

The lube and the condoms are in the drawer where they always are—thank you, SIG committee, for your foresight—and I’m so ready for him that I almost fumble them. Luckily, I manage to rip open the packet without ripping the latex even as I’m shredding my nerves. I roll it over myself as he watches, and it’s tight around my swollen cock. I’m aching for him. He’s going to be mine.

I snap the cover of the lube open, and pour a generous amount onto my fingers before I settle myself between his legs.

“Spread.”

His face gets even redder as he does, but he follows the instructions, taking his knees in his hands and pulling them back until he’s wide open for me.

What he’s offering me is beyond anything I ever expected to find with him, and I have to remind myself that this isn’t for keeps. It’s almost over, actually, because we’re not going to fuck once the races have started. So I take a mental snapshot of him like this, bared to me, and tuck it away for when I need an image of a lover to take the edge off or to get me through yet another wank session.

I work a finger into him as gently as I can, taking care because I’m determined not to hurt him. Guy’s tough as nails, but no one wants to ski with their asshole on fire. Makes concentrating extremely difficult. As would the kind of really good fucking I’d like to give him—the kind that makes it hard to sit down or walk for days, never mind be in peak condition to perform against some of the world’s greatest athletes. I may be a competitive jerk, but at least I’m an honest one.

Speaking of, just feeling how tight and hot he is around my finger makes me want to get inside him five minutes ago, but he needs more prep. One more finger, and then two, because I really do want to make this comfortable for him. Then I’m looming over him, pressing the head of my cock which I’ve slicked with the lube still on my fingers, into his hole.

“Relax.”

He nods, but he’s not. Not for real. I can tell by how fast his chest is rising and falling, and how tight he is. It feels amazing, and I’m giving my instructions through gritted teeth because there’s little that I’d like more than to slide right into him and pump away, but . . . ngh, guy’s killing me.

“Crash. Come on. I know you can do it. Relax for me, let me in. You know I’ll make you feel good. Do it now.” After issuing my instructions, I lean down and take his mouth, not scrimping on the teeth for biting his bottom lip, or the tongue I thrust into his mouth like I’d like to be thrusting my dick into his ass.Come on, come on.My patience is wearing thin, but he can’t see that, because I won’t let him.

After a minute of fierce persuasion, I feel it. His hole loosens enough that I can work my way inside. While he sucks air between his teeth, he doesn’t tense around me again. It helps, too, that I kiss him again. Kiss him until he’s breathless and begging me for more with his whole body.

I’m all yours. For now.At the moment, I can leave all the conditions on the table and just enjoy him, enjoy this. The feeling of being connected to another person, his body encompassing me, his hips rocking against mine, his hands clutching at my ass, and his hoarse voice saying around forceful kisses, “More. More. I want more, Miles. Please. Fuck me like you mean it.”

So I do, until I’m on the edge. Right before I’m about to blow, I lean up and take his cock in my hand and jerk him a few times until his come is spurting first against my stomach and then his own. His head is pressed back into the pillow, tendons in his neck stretched out in taut lines of overwhelming pleasure, his throat bared in carnal surrender. That’s all I need to blow my own load, straight into him, deep into his very core. I hope he can feel the heat, the force of it, but the condom probably prevents that.

Too bad, because I want him to know and I can barely find the words. “I mean it. It’s yours. Take it. Take it all. Fuck, it’s all yours.”

As soon as I’ve spent everything I have into him, I collapse, not worrying that I’ll crush him. He’s tough, and if I’m too heavy, he’ll tell me so. For now, I’ll enjoy the slick evidence of our pleasure sliding between us, and then sealing us together as I rest my head alongside his, taking in a breath of his still damp hair.

Chapter Sixteen

Crash

I have to scoot over in order for Miles to roll off me when we’re done. Half of me expects him to pat me on the head and lope off to the shower, but he doesn’t. He shifts to the space I’ve made for him on this ridiculous single bed and lays an arm over my ribs. Heavy and possessive, it’s almost better than the fucking itself. Almost.

We lie there in silence for a few minutes, staring at the sloped ceiling. I’m . . . not honestly sure what to do next? I’m used to casual sex with other guys where we’d shower one at a time, do a friendly fist bump or an awkward hug, say we’d text, knowing we never will, and then never see each other again. I’m less used to, but still experienced in, having a boyfriend who I’d lie in bed with. Cuddle. Smoke with. Talk to. Maybe shower with.

This thing with Miles isn’t like either of those things, though, so I wait for him to make the call. I’m happy to be next to him, bare naked and satisfied. He’s also not bad to look at. If you like that kind of thing. Who doesn’t though? The man’s got a ridiculous body, he barely looks real. But he feels real, heat radiating off him, and fuck if he didn’t feel real when he was inside me.

“Better?”

His question is loud in the quiet even though his voice is soft. Better? Right. I’d told him something I’ve never said to anyone before, not even my boyfriends. They’ve, to a man, loved my parents, thought they were awesome, asked on the regular when they’d be coming through town again. I’d have to grit my teeth and tell them I didn’t know. Because I didn’t. Mostly my family would just . . . show up. Or I’d find out months later they’d been in the next town over and didn’t bother to drive the extra five miles.

“Yeah.” Even as I say it, my muscles tense and Miles must notice.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I just . . .”

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