Love on the Tracks Page 8

  For the love of all that is holy, singing is not the only thing Zane Rivera’s mouth is good for.

  Zane

  Going down on Rowan is intense. The taste and smell of her is agreeably pungent, strong like the rest of her, and her enthusiasm is a delight. Some of the girls I’ve been with haven’t wanted me to do this, or were inhibited about it, but Rowan is none of those things.

  She’s got her fingers clutching my hair, not shy of directing my mouth where she’d like it, and praising me when I’ve done something she enjoys. Apparently, sex is another area in which she’s confident, and it’s to-die-for hot.

  “God, yes, Zane. Do that again. Again. Again.”

  Gladly. I would gladly make her come like this, feel the pulse of her orgasm against my tongue and receive the cant of her hips as she rocks into me, savoring the last throbs she can wring out of it against my face.

  As I’m pushing her toward the edge, she pulls on my hair, harder than would signal a switch from having my tongue inside her to going back to teasing her clit with licks and gentle bites. I look up, hoping she’ll keep rolling with the instructions, and when I do, she tugs me again, drawing me further up her body, still between her thighs.

  “Now. I want to fuck you now.”

  What kind of idiot would argue with that? Not this kind. So I reach over to the drawer, luckily close enough I don’t have to clamber out from between her legs, and rip a condom off the strip.

  “Give me that.”

  My bossy Valkyrie. She rips the foil and then grips me again, making my eyes close and my abs contract.

  “Some other time I’ll suck you, but I don’t have the patience for it right now.”

  I laugh, an embarrassing sound that’s half bark and half groan. This woman is going to be the death of me. The thought of her taking me in her demanding mouth makes my eyes roll back in my head and I almost die when she fits the latex over me. Fingers gentle but determined, I can only imagine what she’d be like with her mouth. Probably a good thing I don’t get to find out yet because I wouldn’t last more than ten seconds.

  When it’s done, she grabs my ass and draws me toward her, boldly taking hold of my cock and steering me inside of her. Girl has to be aggressive to go rocketing down a tunnel of ice at insane speeds, but this I wasn’t expecting. She angles her hips to take me deep, and I press inside her, not seeking permission because she so clearly wants this.

  It’s only a couple of seconds before I’m in her to the hilt and it’s everything I expected. Hot, tight, and slick inside of her, and the blatant pleasure breaking across her features as we find our rhythm. Her fingers grip my butt, urging me into a tempo I hope is going to get her there. She might be leaving bruises in the shape of fingerprints on my ass and the thought only makes me go at her harder.

  Fucking Rowan is an exquisite collision. Brutal in a way, but also achingly sweet, and hard-sought from both sides. As if with every thrust, we’re telling each other, This is how much I want you. I want you more than words can say, so I’ll tell you with my body. More, more, more. Yes.

  I don’t think I can ever get enough of my skin to touch hers: she’s soft, but underneath she’s all steel, and there’s some kind of alchemy that’s happening with the way she smells and moves, and hell, the way she goddamn breathes. It’s intoxicating, and I want to drink her all up.

  That’s when her hands move from my butt up to my shoulder blades and she claws at me, scoring the skin of my back with her short nails, and snapping her hips hard against me. The impact is jarring but in this dizzyingly sexy way especially because with every thrust against me, I know she’s taking what she wants form my body.

  She doesn’t have one of those theatrical orgasms, the ones I can never quite trust, because it seems as though maybe they’ve been learned from a movie, and this is what you’re supposed to sound like when you climax, yes? Rowan’s is a short, startled cry followed by half-swallowed moans, because she can’t catch her breath.

  The regular pulsing of her muscles around me makes me loosen the tight grip I have on the last ounce of my control, and I lose it. Just fucking lose it and spill in her, burying my head in her neck and breathing her in as I go lightheaded because I’ve never come quite that hard.

  In the last moments of our respective climaxes, I kiss and nuzzle her neck, enjoying the smell of her having slept in my bed. After a kiss to her forehead, I roll off and collapse beside her. On my way, I can’t help but notice the dreamy smile on her face. Way to go Rivera, self-high five.

  We lay in silence for a few minutes—well, not quite silence with our breaths mingling until they’ve evened out, and then she’s rolling to her side and propping her head up with a hand.

  “That was awesome.”

  I smile, because she’s so blunt. None of this worshipful “Oh, Zane, you’re the best I’ve ever had,” blah blah blah, but acknowledgement that yeah, that was fucking awesome, pun entirely intended.

  “Totally.”

  She moves toward me, and I take her under my arm, loving the solidness of her against me. She lays her head on my shoulder and a hand on the cut of my hip and I stroke her arm. Downy, barely-there hair and soft skin over cut muscles.

  “Where’d you learn to sing?”

  She giggles, a shy sound that’s surprising after what we’ve done, but surprisingly sweet. We just fucked like whoa and she’s going to be shy about singing?

  “I can’t sing.”

  Affection wells in me and I can’t help but lay a kiss on the top of her head. “Yes you can. If someone in this bed is an expert on singing, is it you or me? You can sing. Not on Broadway maybe, but you can more than carry a tune. And harmonize. You, Rowan Andrews, can sing.”

  She snuggles further into me, and scritches lightly at my stomach. “Before I started training hardcore, when I was still in regular school instead of having tutors, I was in the school chorus. I liked it. Now the only places I sing are in my car or in the shower.”

  Lucky them, getting to enjoy stealthy performances. And the idea of Rowan sudsing up her long blond hair while she hums one of my songs is a small, pleasant ache. I would pay good money to see that.

  I kiss her again and hold her to me. “Well, thank you. For last night. That song’s been stuck, and you shook something loose. I’ve got it now. Almost. I need to nail the end.”

  “I think you nailed the end just fine.”

  There’s that goddamn giggle again and I laugh with her. Please let this be not the last time I get to be in bed with her. I totally underestimated this girl, and I’d like to rectify that. Let her show me exactly what else she’s capable of. I want it all, at least while I can have it.

  Her head comes up and she eyes the clock. “I hate to do this, but I’ve got to get going. I need to get back to my room before our team run, otherwise someone might notice I didn’t exactly change from yesterday.”

  “Yeah, of course. I’m surprised you could stay this long. I mean, I’m glad you did, but I get it. I hope though—”

  Can I ask for this? Sex is not why she’s here, and tomorrow’s a big day for her. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I still want her to know how I feel. No misunderstandings.

  “I’d like to see you again, but I don’t want to interfere. So, if you want to get together again, you tell me when and where and for how long, and I’ll make it happen. Outside of our, you know, dating for the cameras.”

  She rolls her lips between her teeth and gets pink. Is that what her cheeks look like when she’s aced the track? Pulling up on the front of her sled after a satisfying run? I hope so. I’d like to scoop her up and kiss her silly after her race, but I’ll be respectful of her wishes, whatever those are. I’m not going to cost her this opportunity. I won’t. And I’m not going to let myself fall too hard for her. There’s an expiration date on us, and it’ll go up in smoke as soon as the closing ceremony is done, as soon as Denver goes back to business as usual.

  “I’d like that. I can’t stay up la
te tonight, but maybe we could do something this afternoon? I’ll text you.”

  She leans down, plants a kiss on my mouth. It’s not sexy, but it’s big and silly. Affectionate.

  “Sounds good.”

  Rowan climbs out of bed, all power and economy of movement. I watch her as she gets dressed, pulling her clothes on, and before she heads out, she bounces onto the bed, putting her hands to the sides of my head and kissing me again. “Later.”

  “Definitely.”

  Then she’s gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Rowan

  “And where the fuck were you?”

  “Somewhere that didn’t have a sock on the door.” My hedging earns me quite the side-eye from Kate, and then she’s looking me up and down as if she’ll find a piece of evidence clinging to my clothing about where I’ve been. She won’t. I don’t think.

  “You were with him, weren’t you? Zane, I mean. Because if you’d been with your dad or Angie and Lola, you would’ve said. Or you were banging someone else in the village, but I don’t think so. You were with your fake boyfriend.”

  I throw my shirt at her before stripping off my bra and pulling a different one on over my head, along with yet another Team USA T-shirt. One nice thing about being on the team? A shit ton of clothes I’ll hopefully get to swap for some of the more stylish ones at the end of the games. It’s SIG tradition to trade a bunch of your wardrobe with other athletes. The Nordic countries have way better stuff than we do, and I’m hoping to score a hat from Norway and a jacket from Sweden, or Sverige as it will say. Yellow’s not my color, but the blue will look nice.

  For the moment, though, I’ve got my American wardrobe, and we’ll all be rocking our team colors while we work out.

  Kate snatches the balled-up shirt out of the air and tosses it toward our laundry pile before pointing at me accusingly. “That’s it, isn’t it? You had a sleepover with Zane, didn’t you? Well, all I have to say is you’re welcome.”

  “Just because it worked out doesn’t mean you can pull that shit for the rest of the time we’re here, okay? I need to be in bed early tonight.”

  Kate raises an eyebrow.

  “In my own bed, by myself, and without a Russian going at you like an - all - you - can - drink vodka bar.”

  She huffs and pulls on her own leggings. “His first event is tomorrow, so no worries. We can be nuns tonight, and then either celebrate our runs or drown our sorrows night after tomorrow. Fair?”

  “Fair.”

  Our training run is, on the scale of things, easy. No sense in wearing us out with a marathon before the big races, but the physical activity of a brisk jog, putting one foot in front of the other, focuses me, gives me something to think about besides the race tomorrow. It also gives me time to review the track in my head, rehearsing the course and repeating the key turns and tricks we’ve picked up and shared with each other.

  We hear that a Latvian slider had a crash on the last turn today, which isn’t surprising. Everyone’s been cautious on that turn because it’s a treacherous one. We’ll have to be more aggressive in the timed runnings, but yeah, it’s scary. It’s not clear whether he’s going to be able to compete, and we all wince, suck air through our teeth or otherwise express sympathetic dismay. There but by the grace of god and all that.

  Most of my team heads back to the village to eat in the dining hall, but I go to meet my dad a few blocks away, after I’ve gotten cleaned up and changed out of my team gear. At the restaurant, he looks at me the same expectant way Kate had.

  “How’s everything?”

  “Good.” I try to dull his expectations of more of an answer by chugging my water, but then it’s all gone and he’s still looking at me.

  “How are things with Zane?”

  “Fine. I’m supposed to meet him this afternoon, but I don’t know what we’re doing yet.”

  Where is that waitress so I can order more water? And then excuse myself to the ladies’ room, because I don’t want to deal with this right now. I should’ve gone back with my team, then the talk would’ve been different. Not that there wouldn’t be any teasing or other comments about Zane, because it’s not every day one of us meets someone quite that famous, but by now it would’ve gotten old and we’d be stuffing our faces full of food while dishing on our strategies for getting out of that last turn alive and at speed.

  While I can’t do that, my phone cooperates by dinging. My dad is usually grumpy about phones at the meal table, but now he looks as though he might reach over the table and pick up the phone himself. “Are you going to get that?”

  I shrug, enjoying the advantage while I have it. “It’s probably Kate.”

  “I don’t think so. Didn’t you just say you’re supposed to see Zane this afternoon but you don’t know what you’re doing? I bet that’s him. Why aren’t you answering it?”

  My dad has somehow turned from a solidly middle-aged professional man into a gossipy middle school girl in the cafeteria. It’s cute. “Why exactly are you so keen on Zane Rivera all of a sudden? Have you finally turned into a Gamer?”

  He scoffs. “You know that crap you insist on listening to makes my ears bleed, it’s . . .”

  In general, my dad’s a pretty goofy guy. He doesn’t take a heck of a lot too seriously, because the one time he did, he ended up getting his heart broken. He loved my mom with everything he had, and when she died it’s like a piece of him died too. He tries to keep our life upbeat and, outside of luge, easygoing, but when he gets serious like this I can practically see my mom sitting beside him. “I don’t know that you understand what this could mean for you. In the long run. I didn’t want to say anything, because you’ve got enough on your plate, but you wouldn’t believe the sponsors I’m getting calls from. People who probably didn’t know what the fuck luge was two weeks ago, and now they’re offering you money that . . . well, let’s just say we wouldn’t have to worry about how to pay for your next sled.”

  Oh. I knew, of course, that this was the point of “dating” Zane—to draw attention to myself. I just had no idea it would work so well or so quickly.

  “So, I’m trying to make sure you’re taking advantage of him.”

  “Dad! I’m not taking advantage of him.” All sorts of dirty things fly through my mind, my morning in bed with Zane coming back full force with all the delicious things we did. I don’t want to take advantage of him.

  My dad waves me off. “You know what I mean. Take advantage of this opportunity, is that better?”

  “Yes.” My mutter is grumpy, but I find my fingers edging toward my phone, and finally I pick it up. There’s only so much time left in the day, and given how long it can take to get around, with all the construction and security and traffic, I probably have a fairly narrow window to meet up with Zane. If it even is Zane. If he even wants to meet up with me.

  But of course it’s him.

  There’s not much going on today, but my manager scored us tickets to mixed doubles curling. You game?

  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  My dad’s giddy interrogation makes me stick out my tongue before going back to my phone.

  I actually love curling, and I’ve never seen mixed doubles. Does that count as PR bait? I can’t imagine there’s going to be tons of press there.

  A few seconds later, he’s replying. Apparently his thumbs are as dexterous as his tongue, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I listened to him play last night.

  There won’t be, but it’s close to the hockey and figure skating arenas, and there will be press milling around there. I thought we could pretend to be sneaking off to the curling. You know, make them think we’re trying to keep this under wraps. Everyone loves an undercover romance.

  I should be put off because he’s clearly practiced at this—I can’t help but wonder how many women in his parade of past girlfriends were press props like me—but I can’t be. Means I don’t have to think about it, and I really do love curling.

  Game on.
>
  Zane

  When Rowan meets me at the entrance to the park, I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face. She’s wrangled her long hair into braided pigtails that are draped over the front of the vest she’s wearing. She’s also got on tight jeans that show off her legs, and fur-topped boots that are frigging adorable. When she’s not looking like she could fly into battle, make life-and-death decisions in a split second, she’s cute as pie, my Valkyrie.

  She looks around as she approaches and I tip my head to a crowd of photogs waiting to get into the hockey rink. We want to get their attention without seeming like we want their attention. I half wish Rowan were wearing some of her team gear, but this is better for appearing like we’re sneaking around.

  I’ve got my hands shoved in my pockets because I’m a freaking moron who didn’t bring gloves to the SIGs. I mean, come on, it’s going to be cold. It’s right in the name: Snow. Ice. But I’m kinda glad when she walks up to me, close enough to kiss, and hell if I’m not going to RSVP to that invitation.

  Her neck is cool, but I can feel her pulse beating beneath her skin and that makes the stupidity worth it. This morning was frigging phenomenal, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t jerk off in the shower after she left. Because I totally did. Thinking of her. Thinking of the other things I’d like to do with her.

  When we part, she takes my hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and ducks her head, although I can tell—the photographers saw us and now some of them are snapping pictures while others point and try to figure out if we’re worth photographing. The answer is yes, fellows, and I want to put up a neon sign over our heads for the walk to the curling center, even though I’m hoping that once we get there, we’ll mostly be left alone.

  Once we’re inside, we find our seats, and Rowan unzips her vest, showing off a tight off-white turtleneck sweater.

  If I don’t start talking to her, I’m just going to stare and she’s totally going to know I’m scheming about when I can get under her sweater again. Think, Rivera. Conversation. Have it. “So, were you serious when you said you liked curling? It’s hard to catch tone over texting.”