Page 20 of Love on the Tracks
“ . . . out of control. I knew you were strong, but—Damn, girl, you’re really fucking hot.”
The catch releases into a laugh. That’s way better than someone insinuating I’m not a real girl because I have better abs than they do. In the end though, I don’t want to hear about how sexy I am. Actions, not words. So I urge him to sit up and pull his shirt over his head.
I don’t want to waste the breath to tell him he’s beautiful, and I’m sure he gets more than enough compliments from all the girls who throw themselves at him regularly, so I get on my knees and take his face in my hands, crawl forward slightly so our chests are pressed together, and kiss him again. Not breaking the connection of our lips, he comes to kneel too, threading an arm around my waist.
Jesus, the way the hair on his pecs brushes against my nipples makes me gasp. It shouldn’t surprise me that such a small detail sinks its claws into me this deep. So much of my life is spent making the smallest tweaks; a press of a shoulder here, a slight roll of a calf there. Luge is one of the most precisely timed sports in the world, thousandths of a second making the difference between winning and losing.
So this feast of the senses—how Zane tastes, the scrape of his overnight stubble against my face, how his body shapes to my own, the small sounds he makes into my mouth—it’s downright decadent and I intend to gorge myself.
He seems content to let me drive, and I don’t mind. I take what I want from him until I want more than what’s been offered, and then press my forehead to his, his bed-spiky hair pressing into my hairline and I trail my fingers along the waistband of his soft pants, close but not quite touching where he’s trapped between our hips.
“I want to touch you. Stroke you. I want your cock in my hand. Can I?”
His swallow is audible and it sends an intoxicating pulse of lust through my veins. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Me too. What I’d really like is to have you inside me though. Can we do that? Do you want to fuck me, Zane?” I’m used to not being subtle about getting it on. I’m an athlete. My body is the topic of much conversation and attention, and I don’t have time for courtship rituals. Best to be upfront, although I hope he doesn’t find me crude.
His voice doesn’t quite crack, but there’s a tremor running through it, as though it’s close. He doesn’t seem appalled though, more like entranced. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, I’d like to fuck you.”
Permission given, I slide my hand into his pants and take him in hand. He’s hot and hard and smooth, and he groans when I stroke him. “Then please, for the love of god, tell me you have condoms. I’m on the pill, but I always double down on protection.”
Partly because there’s no way in hell I’m letting myself get knocked up, and partly because I don’t want “Treat STI” on my list of things to do.
“I do. Top drawer of the nightstand on my side. I’m a little surprised, though.”
There’s some heavy breathing as I regard him, not stopping the slip slide of the grip I have on him. “About what?”
Zane hasn’t come off as the slut-shaming type, but if he says something to the contrary, despite being horny as fuck, I’m out of here. It wouldn’t be the first time I left a dude with a case of blue balls, and it won’t be the last.
“Don’t they bring in tens of thousands of condoms for you people? Why aren’t you packing?”
He winks at me, or tries, but it’s more a flash of dimples and a pained exhale as I tighten my grip slightly, trying not to laugh.
“All I have is my practice bag. I wasn’t anticipating spending the night. I’ve got a crap ton of them in my room, and if I’d known we were going to end up having a sleepover . . .” He moans as I twist my hand and jack him faster. “I would’ve grabbed a handful.”
Zane closes his eyes, and I take the opportunity to dip my head, laying my open mouth on the side of his neck, licking and sucking, though I won’t leave him marked. I think we’ve got enough gossip without him getting snapped with hickeys. I kiss and fondle him as he clutches me, holding on for dear life. I love it, feeling this powerful, and over someone like him.
“Might I suggest that if you want to fuck, you stop that? I can put in a respectable performance, swear to god, but if you keep doing that, I’m going to lose it. I’d like to not embarrass myself in front of you.”
While the idea of turning Zane on so much that I get him to spill in my hand certainly has things to recommend it, I really do want him inside of me. So I reluctantly let go and kiss him again.
“Maybe you can settle down a bit while you get me ready. I’m going to need more foreplay than this.”
Not that I’m not already wet and desperate, but I’m going to need something more before he presses inside me if I want a chance at coming.
“I highly doubt touching you is going to calm me down, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
There’s that charming grin again, and I let him push me onto my back against the mound of fluffy pillows. He grabs my pants at the sides of my hips, but before he pulls them down my legs, he looks up at me, as if he’s asking for permission. Like I’m his queen and he wants to make sure this is the way I want to be served. I am all for Zane Rivera getting in my pants, and I tell him so. “Yes. Strip me, touch me, make it good.”
He makes quick work of them after that, tugging the nylon along with the cotton of my underwear down my legs and discarding the whole bundle to the side of the bed.
I expect fingers but what I get is him scooting down the bed and hooking my knees over his shoulders before he dips his head.
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.
