Page 31 of Love on the Tracks
Which he enjoys, oh yes, he does.
“I want to play a game,” I breathe as I keep working against him. “It’s called how many times can Zane make Rowan come?”
He barks a laugh, loud and—if I’m being honest—not very sexy, but all the more attractive for being genuine.
“I am in favor of this game.”
“Perfect, me too. Now buck your hips like you did before. That felt awesome.”
He does, he does, and I’m grabbing his shoulders. It’s only a few more seconds of building pressure, building pleasure before my whole body goes tight around him and I take my bliss, fucking him as hard as I can. And there it is.
Behind my closed eyelids, the world goes blindingly white. “Yes, yes. Jesus, Zane, yes.”
When the pulses of my climax have gone from overwhelming to mere aftershocks, I collapse on top of him, and start laughing.
He nudges my shoulder and strokes my hair as well as he can—it’s still in some semblance of a ponytail, though I should definitely remember to do something about it before I step outside. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re very competitive. You could do well as a SIG athlete.”
“Only if fucking hot blondes is an event.”
“I think they’re considering it for a demonstration sport at the next games . . .”
He snorts underneath me, and I kiss his jaw, enjoying the feel of the scruff against my lips and how he smells. Human. Not some pop god on a stage too far away, but so real I can see his tiny flaws.
“If that’s the case, then I’d best start practicing now. Competition in Trondheim will be stiff. That’s only one orgasm, which frankly is a poor showing. I can do better. On your back.”
Chapter Twelve
Zane
In the end, I had one orgasm to Rowan’s four. I’m not sure she got the better end of the deal though, because by the end, I was so wound up from smelling and tasting and being inside of her I could barely tell which way was up. The only direction that mattered was which direction she was in. I swear half my brains shot out my dick when I finally let myself blow at the fifty-seven-minute mark.
When it was over, she stood, wobbly kneed, by the bed and laughed like a loon while she pulled her clothes on. I should’ve gotten up, but I think it entertained her more that I couldn’t. Could barely keep my eyes open.
“I’ll call you,” she’d said after she kissed me one last time, still giggling, and then headed out the door. I must’ve basically passed out right after that, because I woke up ten minutes ago, sticky with dried sweat, and kinda sore. That girl is a workout.
Today’s the big day, and I can’t believe Rowan’s going to race after that. Our marathon banging was my workout for at least today, maybe tomorrow too. I can barely get out of bed. When I finally do and hit the shower, I can’t get her out of my head.
There’s something about Rowan that has me obsessing over her while I scrub shampoo into my hair, wishing she was here with me. She’s busy prepping for her race, I know, so of course she can’t be here getting filthy in the shower, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it, from wanting it. Wanting her.
I’ve had girlfriends before, although I find it harder now that the band is really famous. It’s difficult to trust people. What do they want me for? And lately I’ve been avoiding serious entanglements, because LtG is the only real commitment I can handle right now. It’s a catch-22, that. Wanting more, wanting something for myself, but not being able to take it because of my duty to the guys—and then feeling so overwhelmed by the weight of it that I don’t feel capable of taking on more. Not even on a personal level. Even my family gets a smaller slice of me than I’d like for them to these days.
So though I shouldn’t fantasize about having Rowan—because a girl like that deserves way more than I can give right now—I can’t help it. She’s so . . . I don’t even know. I like girls, but she tempts me to break the promises I’ve made to myself in a way others haven’t been able to. Not even meaning to, because she wouldn’t, which makes her even more enticing.
Now I’m getting hard from thinking about her. I should finish up in the shower and see if I can’t get some more notes on songs down because in the midst of all our fun last night, I heard a melody forming in the back of my head. Not ready to come into the world yet perhaps, but there’s something there and maybe I could coax it out. At least let it know I’m listening.
Instead though, I find myself thinking of Rowan and stroking myself. Hand slick with soap, it doesn’t feel half as good as when she was riding me last night, but it’ll have to do. My Valkyrie is off preparing to do battle, she can’t be here with me. But I can’t imagine she’d mind me jerking off to thoughts of her. Especially if I tell her about it later. I get the feeling she might like that.
I lean back against the tiles of the shower stall and slip my hand from the base of my dick down to my balls and roll them in my hands, tugging gently and then harder, like Row had last night. I can’t help but imagine her doing that while she licks me, teasing, torturing, telling me to wait because she wants me inside her, and how am I supposed to please her if I’ve already shot my wad?
Before I can be inside her, she wants to taste me, feel me in her mouth, and god I want that too—her tongue slicking along the underside of the head, sucking lightly until I beg her to take me into her mouth, and she would. Swallow me down while rolling my sac, and my hands would be clenched by my sides because she’s killing me, killing me dead. Just when I was about to spill, she’d stop. Shake her head and tut at me until I’d backed off from the edge.
She’d do it again and again, and then when I was out of my fucking mind, she’d straddle me, facing my feet. At first I wouldn’t like it because I’d want to see her face, feel her against my chest, but then she’d start to move, and she can do whatever the fuck she wants because goddamn would that be amazing, and plus, her ass. Those dimples on either side of her spine like codas: go back, and back, repeat, repeat until her thighs would tighten, followed by the muscles surrounding my cock.
When she’d gotten through the first, most intense pulses of her orgasms, she’d look over her shoulder, blond hair wild and obscuring part of her face because she couldn’t be bothered to brush it back, and she’d say, “Now. Come on, Zane. Give it to me.”
If you’re smart, you don’t say no to a girl like Rowan. So in my fantasy, and under the very real spray of the shower, I let go and allow my climax to overtake me. Come spurts onto the tiles and when the first few thick ropes of it are over, drips onto my fist closed around my dick.
