The Winter Games

by Sharp, Dr. Rebecca

  “Yeah, well, sometimes people do things that make no fucking sense to anyone who cares about them; you taught me that one, J-bird.” The flicker of anger in his eyes took the breath from me and my arms dropped beneath the surface of the water to hold my chest.

  “Chance—“

  “Don’t.” His tone was hard and harsh and I quickly swallowed my explanation for the second time tonight. He didn’t want to hear about what happened between us. He’d already made up his mind about what I’d done and why I’d done it. And what was to be my punishment for it.

  I washed down the bitter taste that thought left in my mouth with another sip of the alcohol that I was definitely starting to feel.

  And then, surprisingly, he continued, “I left partly because of Channing. She would have held herself back out of guilt because she could still compete and I couldn’t. She would have blamed herself and all sorts of ridiculous shit.” He shook his head. He was right. Channing would have punished herself just as surely as if she’d been the one who’d broken his knee. “And I left because what else could I do? What else did I have here that didn’t revolve around snowboarding? Aside from my sisters…”

  The silence that followed magnified the slow crumbling of my heart. I wanted to go to him. To hold him. To kiss him. To tell him that he could have me. I’d do anything to make him feel like he had something worth living for.

  “The mountain. The house. The SnowmassHoles. Everything belonged to a life that I wasn’t going to have again.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, the heartbreak that he was revealing. “So, I went and found a new life that resembled nothing like this one to make sure that I didn’t get any grand ideas about what I should no longer hope for.”

  “Where did you go?” The question tumbled shakily from my lips. I needed to know more about the life he’d found.

  I watched the beautifully carved features of his face process my request. My sex clenched seeing the way his chiseled jaw flexed when he clenched it. And the thing about his gaze was that there were days I swore he could make me come just by holding my stare—that was how much I could feel from the looks in his eyes.

  Today might have been one of those days.

  I shifted slightly so that one of the jets began to pulse against my ass.

  “California.”

  My eyes widened in shock. I would have guessed Wyoming or Montana—somewhere in the wilderness.

  “Where?”

  “Los Angeles… and then a few weeks up north in Carmel Cove.”

  I blinked dumbly, wondering again if I had misheard. He’d gone not only somewhere warm, but to one of the most crowded, congested, and overwhelmingly superficial cities in the country?

  “What did I tell you about leaving your mouth open, J-bird?”

  I winced as my teeth slammed against each other.

  “Why California?”

  “Why not?” He shrugged. My silence begged for more. His lips closed on the rim of his glass again as he drained almost all of what was left. “It was the complete opposite of here. Sun. Sand. Ocean. Everyone trying to be something they’re not.”

  “Were you?”

  “No, I was forced to be something that I wasn’t.”

  Hearing his pain killed me. All the little, patched-up pieces of my heart ached at the seams for the one who’d broken it.

  “What did you do?”

  “A fuck-ton of weed. And a lot of women.”

  “So, nothing?”

  “I learned how to surf.”

  “With a broken knee?” I screeched and his laugh told me that he’d said that on purpose just to get a rise out of me

  “Calm down. I wasn’t that high.” He paused. “Well, I probably was, but I didn’t think of it at the time.”

  I groaned. This was not what he should be telling his physical therapist.

  “I had to do something, Jessa. Look at me…” Oh, he didn’t have to tell me twice. I was already looking there, Pride. Don’t you worry about that. “I started with swimming. Pools. The ocean. Any body of water really. It was the only thing—the only activity—that I could really do at first that didn’t hurt. And the sensation of being submerged—of being surrounded by something that could easily kill me—was a familiarity that I needed.”

  “Drowning is a bit more of a sure method of death than snowboarding,” I interjected wryly. What was it with men and the need to live on the edge?

  “Exactly.” Again, there was a silence between us—a stillness that was only magnified by our surroundings—and I saw what he meant. We were so small compared to the vastness of nature around us. The mountain, the sea… both easily able to take the life from us. “You need some risk in order to be able to enjoy the ride.”

  But even though they could take life, they couldn’t take what was between us; that could not be broken or drowned, suffocated or shattered. It was that radiating power that drew me—not to him—but to us. It was that power that made me believe that we could survive anything.

  “At some point, I ended up swimming for hours a day in the ocean—practicing with some guys who were going to attempt the Burbank Ironman. I ended up rooming with one of them—Eli.” He paused again and looked at me as though he were debating if he should really say what he was about to. “He was from Carmel. He invited me to stay a few weeks up there which is where I was right before I came back.”

  My heart pounded slow and steady, listening as Chance opened up to me about the months that he hadn’t talked about to anyone.

  “Before that, this guy, Leroy, got me a part-time gig coaching swimmers at one of the local gyms.”

  “Wait, seriously?”

  He’d just spent months working as a teacher and had still thought it was reasonable to say that he wouldn’t make a good instructor at the school?

  “It’s not the same, Jessa. It’s not snowboarding.”

  “Teaching is teaching, Chance. And if you were hired to teach something that you just learned to do, I don’t want to hear another word about how you aren’t qualified to teach something that you’ve spent your whole life perfecting.” Setting my empty cup on the ledge, I was about to cross my arms when I realized that might cause a wardrobe malfunction.

  He just shrugged and drained the last of his glass. Had I really finished my drink before him? Crap.

  “What else?”

  I raised an eyebrow. Was he really asking me to continue with my questions?

  I chewed on my lower lip. “Did you really learn to surf?”

  His face broke into a grin. “A little. Nothing impressive. I told you, I was in Carmel when I got the call from Ally—the one where she asked me to come home and I could hear that there was something more going on; I didn’t find out about Channing and the X Games until a few weeks later.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Ally left me a message that Channing was going to do something stupid. The same day, Frost texted me a link to a local news station that briefly mentioned that Chance Ryder would be competing in Slopestyle. I don’t know too many other Chance Ryders from Aspen.” He laughed ruefully. We both did, remembering how his twin decided to impersonate him for the X Games.

  I listened to him but found myself becoming more and more distracted by the way the water was moving against his chest, lapping and crashing against the planes of his muscles and then drawing back to where his tanned nipples were visible for just a split second. He had both of his arms extended along the edge of the tub and the way he looked at me, I felt like he was using the Jedi Force to pull me to him.

  Crossing my legs—tightly—I tried to meet his gaze and remain unaffected. The alcohol was really doing its job well though. The world around me became less and less about what I saw and more and more about what I felt. My eyes drifted shut as I took a deep breath of the cold, yet steam-moistened air. And then my mind began to replay through the last night we’d spent in this hot tub and my legs began to drift apart again.

  “I was walking on the beac
h—one just at the start of Big Sur drive when her message came through. She sounded sad. I hate when she sounds sad. And when I looked up I was in front of this little shed where you could rent surf boards. There was a sun on it and it made me think of her.” As he spoke, I could hear his voice getting hoarser and I could feel his eyes on me—mostly on my tits as the water rose and fell precariously over them. “You’ll be happy to know that it wasn’t open so I didn’t go out.”

  “Mmm… good,” I moaned.

  “What are you thinking about, J-bird?”

  My eyes fluttered open. “Nothing.” Complete lie. His hands on me. His tongue inside of me. Water everywhere. “J-just about what you are t-telling me.”

  It was the most unnerving sensation—to be both burning and freezing at once.

  Hot and cold. Fire and Ice.

  “You want to know what I’m thinking about?” he asked.

  “I can take a guess.”

  “Oh yeah? Are you sure?” His hands slipped down underneath the water. It began to pulse up and down—much more than what the jets were doing. My eyelids became heavy, knowing he was stroking himself beneath the surface.

  Gulp.

  “Well, your eyes seem to be trying to see beneath the surface,” I replied shakily.

  He grinned devilishly and said, “So are yours.”

  And then he stood up and my breath caught and froze in my throat watching the water running off of him, back down to the warmth below before they became a frosted trail over his chest. The water stopped less than an inch below the waistline of his trunks. Not low enough for me to see what he’d been working up a minute ago, but low enough for my pulse to trip over itself hoping for more.

  He stepped in front of me and it took every ounce of will to tip my head up.

  “Stand up, Jessa.”

  “Why? It’s freezing.” My mouth was so dry.

  His hand slid through the water and I gasped as he pinched my nipple. “Don’t think your tits can get any harder, J-bird.”

  Literally, the parts of me beneath the surface of the water were burning up from its heat; the parts above the water though were cold—so cold that droplets of steam collecting in my hair froze in the temperature outside. But more than that, the way he looked at me had my body burning with desire and my heart icy with dread. This man had the power to destroy me. He had that power because I’d given it to him—because I wanted to give it to him.

  It was time to accept the fact that I wanted to be destroyed. At least it was going to burn so good before it hurt so bad.

  Looking up at him from underneath my eyelids, I smiled and leaned forward in a slow attempt to stand… and then I gave into the one thing on my mind from the second that eight-pack appeared in front of my face.

  My tongue touched just above the waistline of his swimsuit and then began its journey sliding up over the hard ridges of his stomach, along his sternum, and then between his pecks. This is what happened when I got too close to him; I overdosed on any fantasy that came to mind.

  Now, I was standing and there was hardly any space between us—mostly steam that I was pretty sure was coming off of us and not the water.

  His eyes held mine, one hand clamping my waist while the other trailed up to my breast. Pinching the fabric, he yanked it an inch to the side, exposing my heavy tit and tight nipple to the cold. Still, he held my gaze.

  “Always a fucking tease,” he growled, moving the fabric back and forth from one side of my nipple to the other. Each movement stoked the fire that was inside of me, sending bursts of sparks and embers throughout my body

  I was panting and if he couldn’t hear it, he could definitely see it in the puffs of steam that came from my mouth. They were the same puffs that came from his. In sync, what he breathed out, I breathed in; what I breathed out, he breathed in. Only it was the same thing. Desire. The only thing our bodies survived on.

  “What are you thinking about?” I rasped. I couldn’t take the need in his eyes anymore, I had to hear it.

  Tell me how far I’m going to fall. Tell me how hard it’s going to hurt.

  Tell me… I’ll fall apart anyway.

  His head bent down, his cheek against mine for a moment before he began to bite his way along my jawline to my ear—his hand still rubbing the suit over my hot, aching nipple.

  I moaned into the silence and the sound was what he had been waiting for. “Everything that I’m going to do to you. Everything that I’ve dreamt of doing to you. Fuck, how I’ve missed your ass.” I quivered against him as the hand on my waist slipped down and began to toy with the back edge of the bikini bottom, one finger dipping underneath and into the crevice between my ass cheeks.

  I groaned. So, this is where we were headed. We always searched for the edge—he and I. We always took everything to the next step—the one that wasn’t completely sound or solid or safe. But it was the one that promises the most incredible experience if you get it right; it’s the only one that really lets you enjoy the ride.

  “You think it’s cold out here? I’m going to fuck your ass so goddamn hard that your orgasm alone could be responsible for global-fucking-warming.”

  “Chan—“ His mouth attacked mine—already open and waiting—and those embers inside of me combusted into full-on flames.

  Tongue against tongue. Angry. Hard. Demanding. It was an interrogation—how much did I want him? How much was I going to take?

  The hand that had been resting right at the base of my spine now gripped hard into the flesh of my ass—the jet that had been blowing against me effectively turning the bottoms of my suit into a thong. His other hand skated up along my already goosebumped flesh to the back of my neck, untying the suit with a flick of his wrist—the wet material briefly sticking to my skin before dropping and completely exposing my chest to him. My back arched, pushing my heavy breasts to him—an offering. A plea.

  He was right. If it was cold out here, I didn’t feel it.

  All I felt was him.

  His mouth devoured mine. His hand kneaded my breast, thumbing over my nipple that had already been tortured beyond reason.

  Some people feel passion as a wave that builds and builds and builds inside of them. Not me. Not with him. With Chance there was an all-out war that happened inside my body from the second he touched me between hot and cold. Not mild—but the extreme versions that were both pleasurable and painful. Both too much, yet not enough. His touch heated me beyond all reasonable description; in the morning, I wouldn’t have bruises, I would have burn marks. Everywhere he wasn’t touching was cold—and not because we were outside and it was below freezing. No, the cold those cells felt came from internally—it came from the part of me that withered and died without his touch.

  “Cold yet, J-bird?” he growled against my neck, his lips ravaging a path down to my collarbone. Teeth, tongue, lips—each marking their own path down to my chest.

  “Burning,” I gasped as both his hands grabbed my tits, squeezing almost to the point of pain before flicking over my nipples.

  “Bend.” The slightest pressure against my chest had me bending back, my hands sliding back against the edge of the tub to support myself as my chest arched up towards him. The movement now pressing my hips against him—and his cock.

  God. I bit back a groan as my core clenched so hard I thought I might pull a muscle.

  Was that even possible to do inside of your vagina?

  I knew all about pulling muscles and in my professional opinion, the answer to this was definitely yes.

  “You know how many times I’ve dreamt about these tits?” His mouth licked and nipped along the top of one swell, seemingly in sync with the pounding of my heart.

  Probably as many times as I’d dreamt about the sight before me.

  Hazarding a glance at my own peril, I watched him move over my skin, his beard rubbing first over my flesh—pre-emptive sensitization—before his lips followed. Vaguely, I heard him swear before his lips closed over my nipple.

&nb
sp; My head fell back and the moans that slipped from my mouth became a symphony in the silence. He wasn’t kind or gentle. It had been eight years. He devoured my tit accordingly.

  I barely heard the splash of the water before I felt his hand pulling the bikini bottoms to the side and two fingers pushed inside of me, immediately curling into the spot where the fires of hell broke loose inside of my body.

  “Chance…”

  I was too close, too fast. Like drinking four shots of vodka in four minutes instead of over four hours, I’d skipped right over the stages of being buzzed and slowly disintegrating inhibitions and was full-on, disgustingly drunk on him and this moment.

  I felt him rubbing his cock against my leg and I knew that tonight, I wasn’t the only one walking away satisfied.

  My breath caught… and caught again.

  “Chance… I can’t…” his fingers flicked inside me once more as his teeth bit down on my nipple.

  I was going to come—and in a way that my body hadn’t for years.

  And then everything stopped—his fingers, his mouth, the world—and air rushed into my lungs. What happened? Was he doing this to punish me? There was no way…

  My eyelids peeled open to meet blue flames. “You can’t… without me.” His groan was tortured as I pressed my sex against him. I literally knew nothing else but how much I needed this man right now.

  “Over.” His instruction was more like a curse as he spun my body, my hands still resting on the edge of the tub only now my ass was pressed against the hard length of him.

  I wanted to see him. To see the hard length that I’d swallowed the other night. I wanted to see it swollen and tie-dyed red and purple with the need to explode inside of me. But I also needed him inside of me, so I obeyed.

  His hands rubbed over my ass cheeks, kneading them for a moment before he ripped at the ties holding the scrap of a swimsuit together. Tugging it off of me, he whipped it behind him. The splash of the water where it landed blended in with the sound of the jets.

  His hands gripped my ass and spread my cheeks apart. He kneaded the flesh before rasping, “Anyone else?”