Page 38 of Seduction on the Slopes

“You’ve probably forgotten what it’s like, to be so young and spry, but my dick is non-stop.”

I snort a laugh into that comfortable space between his neck and shoulder. “Oh, I’m well-aware. You’re lucky I can get it up at all, what with how ancient and decrepit I am. I’m practically dead.”

At my words, there’s a punch in my gut, and not from Crash. Pulled, so not full force and not as bad as it’s been, but still there. That kind of queasy, falling feeling of losing my entire livelihood. I could try for another, but the way my knees are killing me, there’s no way I’ll be skiing like this in four more years. I don’t want to embarrass myself. I want to go out on top. Besides, I’ve got sort of a second life with Crash. I have a feeling he’s just getting started. That I can help him get even better. If I could do that . . . well, we could have a whole heap of medals sitting on a mantelpiece. Our mantelpiece. And now he’s got no excuse to bring home anything but gold, that selfless and wildly irritating man.

The scamp has the nerve to grin at me. “Eh, you do all right for an old man. And if I wear you out, there are ways to keep going.”

Jesus. So many ways to toy with him, torture him. I want to discover them all. How better than to satisfy my greedy urges first and then make him wait, and wait, until I’m ready to go again? “You are going to be so sorry that you’re giving me ideas.”

“Maybe. But I kinda like it when you make me sorry.”

“Good. I like it, too.” I want him on his knees with how goddamn sorry he is. That’ll be fun. “And hey, you didn’t let me finish my story.”

“I don’t know if I want to hear a story that starts with how horrified you were the first time you saw me do the thing I think I’m best at.”

I sift my fingers through his floppy, sandy hair. It looks like it should be kind of coarse, but when I touch it, it’s soft. Just like the rest of Crash, I find his softness in the most surprising places. He is so surprising, and I want to know what else he’s got hidden under those layers of his. The idea that I’ve got so much time to find out is dizzying.

I don’t think I’ve earned the right to say such things to him and be believed after I hurt him the way I did. So I’ll keep the thought to myself, share it with him someday when he’s gotten more comfortable with the idea that I’m not going to leave, and that I think he’s wonderful. Just the way he is, but I think there’s an even better Crash waiting to be carved out. At least a better skier. I think I’ve got the big blocky parts off—and the mistakes I’ve made won’t ruin him forever—and now it’s time for the finer work. What did the great masters use? Tiny hammers and delicate chisels? How did they make stone look like living, breathing flesh? Lucky for me, Crash is far more forgiving and resilient than marble.

What he can take is a joke. “I wasn’t talking about blowjobs, I was talking about skiing.”

He blinks at me, those big hazel eyes round with surprise and then the edges crease with amusement.Gotcha.I’m rewarded with a face full of goose-down pillow. Fucker. Two can play at that game, and we do, until I wrestle him to his back and pin him there, hands on either side of his head, dick at attention and rubbing against mine that’s a little lazier to get up to speed. He’s like a goddamn puppy.

But when he’s figured out I’m not going to let him get away so easily, he settles and looks up at me, almost shy. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat on a swallow. Nervous. He shouldn’t be. Well, maybe a little, but I’m going to make him listen anyway, and then I’ll fuck his worries away. His eyes are round and glossy, full of faith and expectation.I won’t make you sorry for trusting me.

“So, back to my story. The first time I saw you ski, I was horrified. You had mismatched skis, mismatched poles, shin guards that looked like they were for playing soccer, you were wearing a goddamn parka for god’s sake, and your helmet was the size of Rhode Island. When you lined up at the start gate, I could barely watch, because I have this thing about second-hand embarrassment, and hell did you look like you were going to bite it.”

“I thought you said this was a nice story.”

“It is, I’m getting there.”

I summon the image in my head, of this kid who everyone was pointing at, laughing at, and how he stood there, cool as anything. Like he couldn’t hear the mocking. Now I know he could and he was probably dying inside, but he didn’t show it. Just stepped up to the gate, and when it was his turn . . .

“Your technique wasn’t all that much better than your gear, but holy shit you were fast. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I wanted to watch you . . . all day.”

I can’t bring myself to say ski, because that is not what he was doing. I don’t even know what to call it. Whatever it was, it hurt my brain. And my soul. My skier’s soul, the part of me that had been drilled with technique, artistry, and style.

“I wanted to figure out how the fuck it was that you were doing just about everything wrong, and yet you were killing it. Just absolutely murdering that course. When you finished, and I saw your time, I could believe it because I’d seen you, but I didn’t know how it had happened. What you were doing, it was actually kind of offensive. The rudest magic I’ve ever seen.”

“Rude Magic. That’s going to be the name of my reggae band.”

“You can have a reggae band in . . .” I check a watch I’m not wearing, and he rolls his eyes. “Twelve years. Anyway, my point is that you were like a goddamn wizard, and my fingers practically itched with the need to touch you when you’d finished. I wanted to make sure you were real, and more than that, I wanted to take this raw lump of talent—that’s you—and shape it. I knew you could be better. I just knew it. Have you ever seen an uncut diamond?”

He gives me this look like,Don’t be a turd blossom, Miles. Who the fuck has seen a raw diamond?

“They look like clear rocks. Nothing special. Kind of lumpy, unappealing.”

I can see it then, the kind of ring I’ll give him when I ask him to marry me. Because I’m going to. Not any time soon, because I want to be a choice he makes and not just an obligation he feels like he has. He’s so young. He needs time to figure out what he really wants, and I’ll do my damnedest in the meantime to make him sure that’s me. But when I do, ask him, it’ll be with a band of hammered gold with an inset of diamonds—some cut and polished, others left raw. Perfect.

Crash opens his mouth, probably to make another crack. “Would you just hush for another minute? I’m almost done.”

He rolls his eyes yet again and sighs, but gives me the go-ahead with a jut of his chin.

“You were already a diamond, Crash. Already a better skier than most people will ever be with all the training and fancy equipment in the world. And you’d done it all with no help. I don’t want to take that away from you, and neither does Ted, or anyone else you should work with. They should have nothing but admiration for everything you did yourself. But you know what? With a little cut and polish, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen on skis. That . . . technique you used?”

“That was hard for you to say, wasn’t it?” I silence that goofy grin with a kiss, and a rock of my hips against his, rubbing our cocks together in a way that makes him gasp, and his lids fall closed.

“Yes. Technique is a strong word for you falling with style. But the thing is, it fucking worked. So we’ll cherry pick from everything you know about yourself, and then we’ll just make use of a few more standard ways of doing things, and you’re going to be unstoppable. You’re going to dominate these mountains for the next twelve years if I have anything to say about it. And I want to.”

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