Road Games

by Road Games [Bold Strokes FF] (retail) (epub)

  “Please,” I said, hoping she wasn’t going to think better of this, and ran one hand up her left calf.

  She cupped her breasts in both hands and squeezed them. My breathing grew ragged as she rolled her nipples between her fingers, then tugged at them. Her eyes fluttered shut; her hips began to rise and fall in rhythm with the movement of her hands.

  I moved forward and kissed the skin of Sarah’s stomach, then gently peeled the flannel pajamas from her body. The bunk was warm—very warm—and the scent of Sarah’s arousal lingered in the air.

  “God, baby,” I said. “You smell so good.”

  I rested my cheek on her thigh, enjoying her scent, and slipped one finger into her silky heat.

  “Am I wet?”

  “God, yes.” I stroked her again before dipping inside her. “So wet.” I pressed one finger, then two, into the slick heat. “So good.”

  I turned my head so that I could taste her. Almost immediately her clit pulsed and she tightened around my fingers. “So close already?” I murmured.

  “Please,” she said, draping her legs around my shoulders and squeezing them. “Don’t stop.”

  My fingers moved in and out of her pussy as I flicked my tongue back and forth against her clit. She was unbelievably hot and wet, and she came all too quickly, her muscles pulsing around my fingers and her legs tight around my shoulders. I stayed where I was, enjoying the aftershocks as her body calmed.

  “Kiss me,” Sarah said, and I moved up beside her. Her kisses were long and slow, and the arousal that had simmered in me all evening flared anew. Together we pulled off my sweats, and at the first touch of her fingers, my hips jerked forward.

  Sarah moaned and pushed me down onto my back, and I closed my eyes as her mouth burned a trail down my neck and along my collarbone. I whimpered when she pulled away.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” I said, but I tugged on my sweats anyway.

  Sarah pulled up the bed sheet. “I thought I heard—”

  There was a tap on the door, then the conductor poked her head into our compartment, backlit by the dim illumination in the corridor.

  For a moment I froze. Had she heard us? Not that it mattered; all she had to do was look at us to know what was going on. Sarah’s mouth was kiss-bruised, and I was certain my frustrated arousal was obvious. Oh God, what if she threw us off the train?

  I moved closer to the door, blocking the shaft of light that fell directly onto the bunk—and Sarah.

  “Tickets, please,” the conductor said, a hint of amusement in her voice and in her eyes.

  “Oh. Right.” I rummaged around in Sarah’s backpack, then produced the tickets. “Here you go.”

  The conductor punched the tickets, then handed them back to me. “Sorry to have...disturbed you,” she said. “Dobranoc. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  My legs almost buckled when the door closed, and I couldn’t help laughing.

  “It’s not funny,” Sarah said. “If I hadn’t heard something—”

  “But you did,” I said. “And it’s fine. She didn’t see anything.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she groused. “You’re dressed.”

  “So I am.” I quickly undressed and slipped back into the bunk. “Now, where were we?”

  “Oh no,” she said. “There’s no way.”

  “Come on. She’s already taken the tickets, she’s not going to come in again. And nobody’s going to get on a train this late. We’ve got the compartment to ourselves.”

  I pressed up against her, her breasts just below mine, barely able to resist the urge to grind myself to orgasm against her thigh.

  “Really, baby, I can’t,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s just try to get some sleep.” She turned on her side and I curled up behind her.

  I tried to go to sleep, but it just wasn’t possible. The memory of Sarah’s scent, of her taste, was too fresh. Not wanting to keep her awake, I slid out from under her warm body, pulled her pajama top on, and sat down on the seat, looking out the window. The countryside was absolutely still. I half expected the moonlight to reflect off the snowy fields, but they were eerily dark.

  Unfortunately, my attempt at distracting myself failed. The rhythmic sound of the train, combined with the swaying motion as we glided along the tracks, was a counterpoint to my arousal. My clit was so hard it almost hurt. I had to do something to relieve the tension. I shifted slightly and pressed my thighs together.

  "What you looking at?"

  I jumped and turned around. Sarah stood in front of me, wearing my sweatshirt, her hair tumbled across her face.

  "Just outside." I patted the seat next to me. "The contrast."

  She sat, curling against my side. "In what way?"

  "The cities are so urban, you know? The huge apartment blocks and factories right in the middle of town."

  She nodded.

  "And then you get out here, and it's like it's not even been touched."

  "Come back to bed."

  I leaned forward, tracing her cheekbones with my thumbs as I kissed her. “I don’t think so,” I said. “We have some unfinished business.”

  “But the conductor—”

  I grabbed her hand and put it between my legs. “I don’t care.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh God.”

  I pulled off the pajama top, and immediately Sarah dropped to her knees in front of the sofa. Her mouth closed hot and wet on one nipple, and her fingers rolled the other one, tugging it until I felt the fire shooting straight to my clit.

  “Please,” I said. “Please.” I was swollen with need, and it was all I could do not to press her hand against me until I came.

  “Mmm.” She stroked me once, then lifted her finger to her mouth and sucked it. “God, you taste good.”

  I grew still wetter as I watched her, and my clit throbbed. I wanted her inside me; I wanted—I needed—her mouth on me.

  My head dropped back against the cushions when she opened me, and the first swirl of her tongue almost pushed me over the edge.

  “Easy,” she murmured. “I’m not going to let you come just yet.”

  She slid two fingers inside me, then pulled them out, slowly repeating the motion. My hips rose to meet each thrust, and my legs were spread impossibly wide.

  “I love how open you are for me,” Sarah said. “I love watching the way you move.”

  “Feels so good,” I said. “I love when you fuck me.”

  I heard her sharp intake of breath, then felt her mouth on my thigh. She was taking her time, kissing my inner thighs, keeping up the gentle thrust of her hand.

  “Wait,” she said. “I think I hear—”

  “It’s nothing.” Which was true, but even if there was someone in the corridor, I didn’t care. There was no way I was letting her stop now. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “But—”

  “Please, baby, I need you.”

  I pushed my hips up against her, and her mouth closed on me again. I reached down for her free hand. My eyes closed as our fingers entwined. Her tongue was just where I liked it—above my clit, moving back and forth, hard and fast. I was so close—I opened my eyes and looked directly into the eyes of the conductor. She glanced down at Sarah, then back up at me—and I came, loud and hard, a series of waves that went on and on. When I opened my eyes again, the door was closed and Sarah was curled up on the sofa beside me.

  “That was incredible,” she said. “You were amazing.”

  Dumbly, I nodded, still a bit hazy and completely unsure of what had just happened. “Sleep,” was all I managed to say.

  The compartment had cooled down considerably and I pulled on my sweats before lying down on the bunk. Sarah had just snuggled up against me when there was a knock at the door.

  “Passport control.” The conductor, brisk and efficient, gave no sign that she’d opened the door minutes before. She stamped our passports and handed them back, then closed the door.

/>   Now hopelessly confused—had I really just imagined it?—I drifted off to sleep.

  We woke up late, then hurried to get ready, knowing we'd reach Warsaw in about half an hour. It was a crisp, cold day, the sunlight bright against a crystal blue sky. We stared out the window, silent, then closed the curtain and finished packing up our things. The train's whistle gave a shrill cry when we pulled into the station.

  Sarah hadn’t said anything about the conductor’s presence in our room last night, and I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. I picked up my backpack and followed her out into the corridor.

  As soon as the door opened, Sarah jumped down onto the platform. The conductor winked at me as she helped me step down. "Have a wonderful time in our lovely city," she said.

  Box and One

  Nell Stark

  At the shrill of the whistle, I pulled up from my practice drive to the basket and popped a quick jump shot. Swish—a good omen. Heather snagged the ball with one hand and gave me a thumbs-up with another.

  "Go time," I said. And then I took a deep breath, because I knew that when I turned around, I'd see Jordan Cassidy waiting for me at center court.

  I had resisted the urge to look at her during our warm-up. Would her hair still be as long as it had been last semester? Would I spot a new tattoo peeking tantalizingly out from beneath her jersey? Would she still look at me the way she had four months ago?

  I turned around. She stood next to the ref, palming the game ball and surveying the court as though she were its queen. Which made me the general of an invading force, sworn to defeat her even as I couldn't help but admire her greatness. And her beauty.

  I jogged to the parley. My hands were clammy.

  "Casey," she said. "Good to see you again." The grin that curved her lips told me that what she really meant was that it would be good to fuck me again, once all of this was over. I found myself wishing, as I had every time we'd played State since my freshman fall, that the ref and our teammates would just disappear.

  "Likewise." I tried to outwardly keep my cool. Her sweat-slicked skin glimmered beneath the harsh neon lights. When I licked my lips, she laughed softly.

  The ref was oblivious. "You ladies know the drill by now, yes?"

  "Yes," I said, holding out my hand. Her palm was calloused and hot as it slid against mine.

  She used her grip on my hand to pull me a little closer. "Same rules as always, I presume."

  My fingers trembled against hers. I cleared my throat. "Works for me."

  "Glad to hear it," she said, her teeth flashing. "Good luck."

  "And you."

  As I jogged back to the sidelines, I thought back to my first game against State freshman year. Jordan Cassidy had wreaked havoc on our defense during the first quarter of that game, until our captain had us switch to a box and one. She chose me as the one, telling me in no uncertain terms to stick to Jordan like glue and shut her down.

  So I did. And by the end of the game, I was utterly, hopelessly in lust. I can still remember how the butterflies churned in my gut when she winked at me after the final whistle. I didn't care that despite my valiant efforts, we'd lost—I just wanted to feel her body pressing me into...anything. A bed, a wall, the backseat of a car—nothing mattered but her.

  I must have been about as transparent as glass, because I got my wish later that night in her dorm room. And that was the beginning. Every semester since then, we've played a box and one against State. If we win, Jordan's in charge for the night...and if they win, I am.

  It's a beautiful, beautiful system.

  At our bench, Heather handed me a water bottle. I took a long swig, then adjusted my headband. "Same old, same old," I said. "I've got Jordan."

  A few people snickered. Our center, Val, wolf-whistled. I rolled my eyes at them and stuck my tongue out at her. "Let's kick some ass, okay?"

  "You sure it's kicking you want to do with her ass?" Val persisted.

  I refused to rise to the bait. "For now," I said.

  That earned me a laugh, and I bounced on my toes as that pre-game rush of adrenaline kicked in. It was finally time for the showdown—the last time I'd ever play State. The last time I'd ever face off on a court against Jordan Cassidy. I tried not to think about how it was also probably the last time I'd ever be in her bed. Not now. Focus.

  I squared my shoulders. "All right, girls. Let's get out there."

  *

  "One minute!" someone shouted from the sidelines. I resisted the urge to wipe my stinging eyes and focused warily on Jordan, who had just received the ball at the three-point line. This was the kind of moment every player lived for—a tied ball game with less than a minute to go.

  Shut her down. The mantra beat inside my head in time with my racing pulse. Shut her down.

  I watched her eyes. Dark blue, almost black—they were mesmerizing. But I resisted their hypnotic pull, drawing strength from the solid box of my teammates' zone behind me. Shut her down.

  And then the air around me changed as someone rushed up to set a pick. I spun aside just as Jordan began her drive. Her perfect eyebrows arched in surprise when she found me still with her, and she pulled up sharply. A head fake. A pump fake. But I was still watching her eyes, and I could tell when she finally settled her attention on the basket.

  The world slowed down as I jumped. Somehow, my fingertips grazed the ball just enough to interrupt its perfect arc—just enough to let Val step in and fiercely grab the rebound.

  I sprinted across the court, ignoring the burn of the lactic acid in my quads. Jordan stuck with me, of course, so close to me that it was impossible to tell her ragged breathing from mine. I went down deep as Heather brought the ball across center court, then I darted back toward the top of the key.

  Her pass was immaculate. I caught the ball in front of my body, then brought it down to shield it from Jordan's wily hands. My fingertips slid over the bumps of its surface, gently caressing its grooves. Taming it—lovingly bending it to my will. Making it one with me, an extension of my palm.

  Left. I had to pivot left. She wouldn't expect that.

  I faked right. I spun. Caught off guard, she jumped immediately—and I waited for her to fall. As I cradled the ball and bent my knees, I remembered what I was fighting for: the right to be beneath her, tonight. The right to surrender.

  I jumped as her shoes hit the floor. The ball rolled off my fingertips, spinning unimpeded toward the hoop. Crescendo, decrescendo.

  Swish.

  A second later, the buzzer drowned out the cheers from our bench. Heather and Val sandwiched me, hugging me tightly and shouting in my ear. When I could get my arms free, I high-fived them triumphantly before making the hand-shaking rounds with our opposition.

  Jordan and I saved each other for last, of course.

  "Nice shot, Case," she said, pulling me into a hug. She caressed the taut muscles of my back, and I tightened inside at the sensuous promise of what was to come.

  "It was a sweet game," I murmured against her shoulder. God, her body felt so good pressed up against mine—lean and soft and slick.

  As we pulled apart, I watched a smug grin curve her lips. I shivered. She noticed, and the grin grew wider.

  "Better put a sweatshirt on, champ. And once you've showered, meet me outside the gym."

  "Okay," I said, loving to obey her. "See you soon."

  She looked me up and down and I watched those dark eyes go hazy. She hummed deep in the back of her throat. "Yes. Hurry."

  *

  I showered in record time, then dressed in khakis, a white oxford shirt, and loafers. I left two buttons of the shirt undone to show a little cleavage—and to make it easier for Jordan to take off. When I stepped into the cool, early spring air, I saw her slouching against the wall, both hands jammed in the pockets of her well-worn leather jacket. Her dark hair curled around the collar in damp waves.

  "Hi," I said.

  "Hey. You look nice."

  I was about to echo her when I reali
zed that nice was a completely inappropriate adjective. "And you look dangerous."

  She laughed and sauntered toward me. "Just the way you like me?"

  It was my turn to hum. Unfortunately, before I could elaborate, several of her teammates exited the gym.

  "Yo, Jordan, you guys coming to Ronnie's?"

  Jordan looked me over again. She didn't turn back to face her girls. "Don't think we'll make it this time," she said. "Have fun, though."

  I was mildly surprised. Ronnie's was the local pizza place and a favorite post-game hangout. Usually, we made a token appearance there before retreating to Jordan's apartment...but tonight, apparently, she had other ideas.

  Once the others had moved away, she stepped closer to me. "If you're starving, we can stop by," she murmured. "But to be honest, I don't want to share you with anybody tonight."

  My throat went dry at her possessive words. "You're in charge," I said hoarsely.

  "Damn right I am." She took my hand and tugged. "Let's get out of here."

  We didn't speak as we walked. Jordan drew circles with her thumb on the back of my hand, and with every stroke, I felt myself become wetter, more swollen. She was previewing how she'd touch me, and I knew it.

  When we finally reached her apartment, she led me straight to the bedroom—then shut the door and pressed me up against it. I groaned softly and rested my head against the wood as her hands found my breasts. She kneaded them firmly through my shirt.

  "I love how you dress," she said. Her voice was harsh and ragged as she unveiled the force of her desire. "So proper and preppy—you fool everyone. But I know what you're like when you're naked with me...wild, so fucking responsive...I know."

  And then she slid one thigh between my legs and kissed me, hard. Her tongue slid past my teeth, thrusting in time with each squeeze of her hands. She pinched my nipples through the fabric and I cried out against her mouth.

  My knees buckled when she brought her lips to my ear and sucked my sensitive lobe. "I'm going to fuck you," she whispered, her breath hot and moist. "Gonna fuck you as hard as you played today."