Shredded: An Extreme Risk Novel: Flirt New Adult Romance

by Tracy Wolff

  “Nice, huh?” I roll her beneath me. “You know what else is nice?”

  “What?” she asks, and she’s a little breathless now—exactly the way I like her.

  I push her sweater back, pull her tank top out of the waistband of her yoga pants, and shove it up, up, up until her breasts are right there in my face. All full and gorgeous and rosy-tipped. “This.”

  I bend my head, lick my tongue over and around one sweet nipple. Then I blow on it, letting the combination of warm tongue and cool air send heat spiraling through her. It must work, because she thrusts her hands into my hair and arches beneath me, pressing her breast against my mouth. Exactly where I like it.

  “More,” she murmurs, and the sound—so husky and aroused—shoots straight to my dick.

  I give her more, sucking her nipple into my mouth and running my tongue over it hard, the way I’ve learned she likes. Ophelia moans and pulls me closer and I’m again faced with the knowledge that being with her turns me into a green kid with no chance of controlling his own body. If she moves her hips, if she so much as rubs her pussy against my dick, I’m done for.

  With that thought in mind, I ease her off my lap, settle her on the bed. She moans a little, clutches at me, so I trail soft kisses over her breasts and down her stomach in an effort to soothe her. And to calm myself down.

  It doesn’t work. She’s so gorgeous lying there, her soft, fragrant skin silky to my touch, that it only ratchets up my need until it’s a pounding in my blood. In my head. In my heart.

  I love her.

  I love this girl.

  The words and the knowledge of what they mean—what they really mean—work their way through me. They make the desperate need I have to be inside her, to feel her pussy clench around me, only more feral. And, strangely enough, more tender, too.

  Yes, I want to fuck her. To plunge inside her and take everything she has to give me. But at the same time I want nothing more than to protect her, to care for her, in whatever ways she’ll let me.

  “Z, please,” she murmurs, her hands tugging at my hair, my shoulders. “I need—” Her voice breaks.

  “I’ve got you, baby,” I whisper against her stomach as I slide onto the floor at the end of the bed. “I’ve got you.”

  The import of those words hits me for the first time, makes my hands shake as I reach for her pajama bottoms and slip them gently down her legs. She’s mine. Ophelia’s mine.

  For a second—just a second—tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them away before she can see what a total fucking pussy I’m turning into, but the overwhelming feelings that caused the tears remain. I can barely breathe, barely think, through the need, the joy, the absolute terror that comes with loving her like this.

  She must sense the crazy maelstrom inside me, or maybe I’m just doing a bad fucking job of hiding how fucking overwhelmed I am right now. Either way, Ophelia knows—she always knows—and she slips through my arms and onto the ground in front of me.

  We’re kneeling now, our faces inches apart, her eyes looking into mine, her chest to my chest, and it’s the most intense moment of my crazy, fucked-up life. For a second I think about looking away, but she won’t let me. Those gorgeous green eyes of hers are holding mine, and I can’t look away.

  “I’ve got you, too, Z,” she says, cupping my face in her hands. “I promise. I’ve got you, too.”

  And then she’s kissing me, her lips moving over mine with an intensity that erases from between us everything and everyone that came before.

  The kiss goes on forever, and by the time it ends, we’re both frantic. Both frenzied. She’s shoving at the robe, knocking it off my shoulders while I tear at her pajama top, ripping the buttons clean off in my desperate rush to be skin to skin.

  Then she’s shoving me down onto the floor and climbing over me. “I need you,” she pants as she settles herself directly over my cock. “I need—”

  We both moan as she slides over me, takes me inside her. I’ve never been with a girl like this before, never been inside anyone without a condom, and it feels amazing. For one long second I close my eyes and shudder as she lifts and lowers herself on top of me. I want to stay here, right here, like this forever. Want to drown in Ophelia and the wet heat of her that feels better than anything ever has or ever will.

  But she’s my girl and I have to protect her. Have to take care of her. Though it nearly fucking kills me, I grab her hips in my hands, still her frantic motions.

  “No!” she wails as she moves desperately against me. “Please—”

  “Condom,” I gasp, cursing my goddamned jacket for being all the way across the fucking room. And still as I separate us, as I prepare to lunge for it, I can’t stop myself from cupping her breasts and running my thumbs over her gorgeously hard nipples.

  “I’m on the pill,” she says desperately, her body moving against mine. “I have been for three years.”

  The pill. Oh thank God.

  I’ve never trusted a girl before when she’s said that. But none of those girls were Ophelia. None of them were mine. I lift her by the hips, position her over me once more. But I have to ask, just to be certain she’s really okay with this. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Fuck, yes. Z!” She’s practically sobbing now, her hands grabbing my biceps so hard that her fingernails dig into my muscles.

  The little pinch of pain is the last straw. It sends me right over the edge of sanity and, clenches around me.

  Ophelia gasps and I freeze, terrified for a moment that I’ve hurt her. That I’ve been too rough. Goddamnit. I know better—

  But then she’s moving, her hips lifting and lowering on me in a rhythm that has my eyes crossing and my breath coming in harsh, jagged pants. She’s close already. I can hear it in the way her breath catches in her throat, feel it in the way she’s trembling all around me. Thank God, because I don’t think I can last long. Not now, when she feels like this around me.

  I lift a hand to her breast, squeeze her nipple between my thumb and index finger. She moans, a strangled little sound deep in her throat that sets on end every nerve ending I’ve got. The need to come is a wild blizzard inside me, the only thing holding me back the need I have to make sure she gets off, too.

  I bring my other hand to her sweet pussy, rub circles around her clit with my thumb as she shudders and shakes. She leans forward, angling her body so that I hit a different spot inside her. The shift in position has her whimpering and me cursing as all the heat and need and pleasure—fuck, the overwhelming pleasure—whip through us.

  And then she’s coming, her slick heat clenching around me in a rhythm that strips away the last tiny bit of control I’ve got. I grab her hips, thrust into her once, twice. Then I’m coming, too, orgasm rolling over me like an avalanche, burying me in pleasure so intense it’s pain. Burying me in satisfaction. Burying me in love, until Ophelia is all I can see or feel or taste. Until she’s inside me as surely as I’m still inside her.

  She collapses on top of me, and for long seconds, minutes, we do nothing but lie tangled together as we try desperately to catch our breaths.

  “I lied,” she murmurs when our heartbeats are finally back to normal. She’s curled against me on her narrow bed, the comforter tucked tightly around us.

  My stomach jolts like I’ve just missed the best trick of my run. “About what?” I try not to sound as desperate as I feel.

  Her face is pressed against my chest, and I can feel her lips curve up into a smile. “It was a little bit about the abs.”

  The tension leaves me on a laugh, and I pull her closer, until her heart is pressed to mine. “I knew it.”

  “Well, in my defense,” she says as her hands slide over the area in question, “they’re really good abs.”

  Chapter 22

  Ophelia

  My phone vibrates as I’m serving two lattes, and I shoot a quick glance over my shoulder at Melanie, the girl I’m working with. I signal that I’m taking my break, and she nods at me. I’ve b
een waiting for this call from Z for what feels like forever.

  “Hi,” I answer as I step outside, trying to ignore the fact that it’s even colder now than when I came to work this morning.

  “Hey, baby. You sound like you’re freezing.”

  “I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I now live in the arctic.”

  “I think you’re confused. The arctic’s a few hundred miles north of Park City.”

  “Yeah, well, you couldn’t prove it by me.”

  He makes a sympathetic noise. “It’ll be better next year, once your blood thickens up a little bit.”

  “God, I hope so. Because it couldn’t get worse.”

  “Really? It couldn’t get worse?”

  He’s teasing, but I can hear a little bit of worry behind the joking, so I clarify, “The weather, not Park City.”

  He laughs, so I change the subject. “How’s Aspen?”

  “Colder than Park City,” he tells me. “Did you pack enough layers?”

  “I think so. My aunt helped me pack, so I should be good to go.”

  “I can’t wait to see you. I miss you like crazy.”

  I can’t help rolling my eyes even though he’s not there to see it. “You’ve only been gone two days, Z. I think you can handle it.”

  “I thought I could, too, but it turns out I’ve gotten used to you in my bed.”

  It’s funny, because I’ve gotten used to him, too. We’ve only been together—really together—for ten days, but it feels longer. Like it’s finally right. Which seems crazy considering this is Z I’m talking about, but it’s true. He’s been amazing. Like the perfect boyfriend, all concerned and interested and supportive. He even drove into Salt Lake City and came back with some pamphlets from the colleges there. He’s lobbying hard for me to stay in Park City at the end of the season, and while two weeks ago that never even would have been an option, now I can’t imagine being somewhere else. Somewhere that he isn’t.

  “Those are big words coming from a guy who used to sneak out the second his date fell asleep.”

  “Hey! I thought we agreed you weren’t going to listen to any more rumors about me.”

  “I’m not listening to rumors, baby. What I hear around here is pure truth.” I can’t keep the grin from my voice. He gets so flustered when I bring up his past, which I think is hilarious. It’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting into when I started dating him, after all. I even know about Stacy, the redheaded octopus, staying the night in his bed. And while that one stings a little bit, it’s not like I can blame him for it. We weren’t dating at the time, and I had pretty much emasculated him as I sent him out the door. And he didn’t even sleep with her, which is both shocking and a little charming, knowing what I do about him.

  “So, when are you leaving?”

  It’s such a blatant subject change that I can’t help laughing. But I go with it because as fun as it is to mess with Z, it’s more fun to hear his voice go all low and sweet and gravelly when he talks to me. “I get off work in an hour. We’re heading out right after.”

  “You’re coming up with Ash’s parents, right?”

  “And his brother, yes.” I might be more confident driving around here, but there’s no way I’m driving seven hours through the snowy mountains that are between here and Aspen. “Thanks for setting that up. His family seems great.”

  “They are great. His parents are the only reason I even made it through high school.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But I already know he’s not going to answer. The noise in the background has suddenly gotten a lot worse, which means he’s just gotten off the ski lift. Amazing how ten days of being with Z has turned me into an expert at all the different sounds on the mountain. Not to mention the different snowboarding tricks.

  “I got to go, baby. I’ve got one guy in front of me and then it’s my turn to throw down another practice run.”

  Nerves flutter in my tummy, but I ignore them. Z’s a snowboarder, has been all his life, and being with him means dealing with it. Which is fine, I remind myself, as long as he doesn’t do anything colossally stupid. I’m prepared for crazy—this is Z, after all—but not for blatantly suicidal. So far he’s been keeping up his end of the bargain, which means I have to keep up mine not to worry over every little thing.

  “Have fun!” I tell him. “Spin around a bunch of times.”

  He groans. “You know, you’re really going to have to learn the terms. Because ‘spin around a bunch of times’ just isn’t cutting it.”

  Which is one of the reasons I keep saying it, even now that I do know many of the terms. Messing with him is entirely too much fun. “So what should I say?”

  “You should say ‘barge your run,’ or ‘have a sick ride.’ ”

  “Okay. Have a sick ride.”

  “You too. I’ll see you in about eight hours.”

  I laugh. “We might have to stop to eat, you know. Or pee or something.”

  He sighs. “Fine. Nine hours. But not one minute later.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good,” he says with a slightly wicked laugh. “And once you get here, we’ll see what I can do.”

  It’s my turn to groan. “Good-bye, Z.”

  “Bye, Ophelia. I love you.”

  My heart stops for a second before starting to beat double time. He says it all the time, every time we talk, and it still gets to me. Still turns me inside out. I’m beginning to think it always will. “I love you, too.”

  The last hour of work drags, partly because it’s lunchtime and everyone’s at the restaurant and partly because I’m watching the clock, waiting to get on the road. Ash’s parents, Gemma and Todd, show up with his fourteen-year-old brother, Logan, about half an hour before I’m supposed to get off, so I set them up with some coffees and start counting down the seconds.

  I can’t believe how excited I am. Not just about seeing Z, which will be fun, but it really has only been two days since I saw him last. But about seeing a real live snowboarding competition that he and Ash and Luc are all competing in. And Cam—Cam’ll be competing in the women’s segments, which I’m just as excited to watch.

  I’ve caught snowboarding competitions on TV sometimes, usually around the X Games or the Olympics, but I’ve never actually had a vested interest in one before. Never known anyone who was involved or watched them practice their tricks beforehand.

  Z’s done nothing but practice this last week and a half. Well, practice and hang out with me. But I’ve been out with him a couple of times, and though the things he does freak me out on a regular basis, I know he could be doing things that are a lot worse. Like throwing himself off a mountain or not being smart about the tricks he practices.

  Ash says they’ve got this, that there’s a chance they’ll all place in the top ten, which would be totally wicked. Admittedly, I’m pulling hardest for Z. Between all the press and added sponsorships that came pouring in after that backcountry run and how much he’s been practicing lately, I really want him to do well. Really want him to see that it’s okay for things to go well for him.

  The clock that refuses to move finally strikes one, and I all but run to the employee break room, where I’ve been storing my overnight bag. And then we’re on the road, Gemma, Todd, Logan, and me, laughing and chattering about the boys like we’re old friends. Logan’s actually really cool for a fourteen-year-old and we spend much of the trip talking about music and movies and—of course—snowboarding.

  Turns out he’s determined to follow in his big brother’s footsteps. Which is no surprise. I’ve only been hanging out with Z’s friends for a couple of weeks and already I can tell what a great guy Ash is. Not as great as Z, obviously, but still pretty awesome.

  “I’m so glad you and Z are dating,” Gemma tells me a few hours into the trip, when we stop for snacks and gas. “I’ve known that boy since he was five, and I have never seen him happier than he is with you right now.”

 
; “Never?” I ask her, wondering what he was like before his mom and sister died.

  “Never,” she tells me firmly as we walk back to the car. “If you ask me, things were always a little off in that poor boy’s house, even before everything happened. The way his father reacted only proves my point.”

  “His father?” I ask. Z almost never mentions his dad, and the few times I’ve gotten up the nerve to ask about the man, he always deflects. Which is just weird. My mom and I aren’t super close, but still we talk every couple of days and I’ve told Z all about her.

  Gemma makes a rude noise. “A bigger son of a bitch has never walked the planet,” she tells me. “That man is a selfish monster, one who has put himself and his own grief above that of a young boy for too many years. I can’t even imagine where poor Z would have ended up if he didn’t have snowboarding and Luc, Cam, and Ash.”

  “Actually, he told me just this morning that he thinks you and your husband are responsible for him turning out as well as he has.”

  Her eyes fill with tears, and though she blinks them away quickly enough, I can see how much my words—Z’s words—have affected her. “I love that boy as much as if he was my own son. And I hate what he’s been through.”

  I know it’s low, but Z never talks about his family, and certainly never talks about how his mom and sister died. I really want to know—not out of idle curiosity, but because the last thing I want is to do or say something that might hurt him out of ignorance.

  But Todd and Logan finish pumping gas and climb back into the car before I can ask, and then, as the three of them chatter about what snacks she bought, the moment slips away. I refuse to let it go completely, though. Sometime soon somebody is going to need to tell me about Z’s past. I want it to be him, but at this point I’m okay with hearing it from somebody else. As long as I know how to avoid hurting him, the source doesn’t matter.

  It’s complete pandemonium when we pull up to the resort where the competition is taking place. There are reporters and snowboarders and fans everywhere, along with some pretty famous faces—both in the sport and outside it—who are there for the event. I text Z as we pull up to the valet parking, and by the time we get our luggage and walk into the hotel, he’s there.