Fifty First Times

by Molly McAdams

  I bite my lip to keep from telling him how overpriced everything is—and from begging him to kiss me. But he seems almost as nervous as I am. He’s awkward and clumsy, tripping over the luggage stand, when Gage is never awkward. Never clumsy. His perfect balance is what makes him such an amazing snowboarder.

  “No, thanks.”

  He nods solemnly, then strips off his jacket and tosses it across the chair. I do the same.

  And then, since it seems like he’s just going to stand there looking at me worriedly, I kick off my boots and jump straight into the center of the bed.

  “Come on,” I tell him. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  He grins at me—thank God, there’s the Gage I know—as he kicks off his own boots. But instead of joining me on the bed, he pulls me up and walks me over to the sliding glass door and the balcony that overlooks all of Taos.

  He stands behind me, props his chin on my shoulder, and when he speaks, it tickles my ear. “Three years ago, I never could have imagined standing here with you. I never would have dreamed it was possible.”

  “I did. I always knew you’d be a famous snowboarder someday.”

  He laughs. “Not famous yet.”

  I want to argue, but he’s pressing gentle kisses up and down the nape of my neck. As he licks his way behind my ear, I can barely remember my own name let alone what I wanted to say to him.

  I relax into him, relishing the contact as I rest my body against his lean, hard one. I’ve always loved Gage’s body, his crazy muscles and pale skin, so different from my own. When we were dating I’d spend hours curled up against him, pretending to be sleeping just so I could feel his heart beat against my own.

  “You smell so good,” he murmurs, blowing softly in my ear, and I giggle. I can’t help myself, any more than I can help myself from being thrilled that he seems to remember everything that I like.

  The kisses on my neck, the nibbling on my earlobe, his warm breath in my ear. Heat streaks through me and I turn to him, cupping his face in my hands and I stare into his crazy, mismatched eyes. One pure jade green, one clear Pacific blue, they’ve always been the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

  He smiles at me, that crooked, half grin of his that’s graced the covers of a dozen sports magazines and made my heart flutter with every one I saw.

  I rub my thumb over his perfect lips, shudder a little as he pulls it into his mouth and bites down softly.

  Trail my fingers over the stubble on his sharp cheekbones and chin, loving the feel of it. Loving the feel of him.

  Press my forehead to his and breathe. Just breathe.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I whisper to him.

  “I think that’s my line,” he tells me, dropping kisses on my mouth, my cheeks, my chin.

  “No. It’s not. You’ve always been the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” Inside and out. That’s why it’s been so hard to live without him, harder still to forget him.

  “That’s how I feel about you,” he says, and for the first time I realize his voice isn’t steady. Just like I realize that the newest wave of trembling isn’t coming from me. It’s coming from him.

  The realization banishes the last traces of my own nervousness, the knowledge that I can affect this strong, beautiful man so strongly.

  “Gage, I—”

  He doesn’t let me finish, his mouth taking mine in a kiss so soft and sweet and desperate that I know I’ll never forget it.

  My knees tremble, turn to gelatin, and I grab on to his shoulders to keep myself from going down. He laughs a little, but it’s not at me, like I thought it would be. No, his laugh is filled with the same joy, the same relief, that is rocketing around inside of me as well.

  He pulls me more tightly against him and I go, thrilled at the chance to feel every part of him against every part of me. I slide my hands up the solid warmth of his chest until my arms are around his neck. As my hands lock into place on his hard, tense shoulders, everything that has been off-kilter inside of me also shifts into place. All my worries, all my fears, all my regrets disappear until it is just Gage and me and the incredible rightness between us.

  He kisses me again, his lips skimming lightly down my throat to the edge of my turtleneck. When it gets in the way, he growls low in his throat and then pulls it off, flinging it across the room. He stares at me for a moment, his eyes running over my red tank top greedily. And then he’s kissing me and I’m running my fingers through his shaggy blond hair. He tastes so good, like honey and oranges and bright winter sunshine. I press closer, wanting more of him. Wanting all of him.

  I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.

  He must feel the same way because he kisses me and kisses me and kisses me. Until my lips are swollen and I’m dying for him to touch me, to slide inside me.

  Frustrated, I press my lower body to his, relishing the feel of him cradled against my thighs. I can feel him even through the snowboarding pants, hard and hot and as ready for me as I am for him.

  “Please,” I tell him. “Please, Gage. I need—” My voice breaks as the frustration overwhelms me.

  “Shh,” he murmurs, maneuvering me over to the bed. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

  “I know.”

  And then we’re stretched out on the bed, with Gage on top of me. He’s touching me everywhere, kissing me everywhere, until I’m nothing but a seething mass of sensation.

  “Please,” I tell him as he eases my tank top over my shoulders.

  “Please,” I murmur as he nuzzles my breast before pulling my nipple into his mouth.

  “Please,” I beg as he traces his tongue around my navel again and again and again. “I can’t take it. I need—”

  “I know.” His voice is huskier, harsher than I’ve ever heard it, and somehow that only ratchets up my need.

  Then he’s stripping my jeans and panties off, burying his head between my thighs, and licking me to my very first orgasm. Maybe I should be embarrassed at how fast it happens, but I swear, the second his tongue finds me I go off like a rocket, clutching his hair in my hands and begging him for more. Begging him for everything.

  He laughs, a low, dark sound that works its way up my spine. And then he starts all over again, building my need to fever pitch.

  By the time he’s satisfied, I’ve come three times and am somehow still desperate for more. Desperate for him, inside me. Except he murmurs, “I forgot. I don’t have any condoms.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, reaching into the bottom drawer of the nightstand. The resort always provides a three-pack for its guests—for a small fee, of course.

  “How did you know . . .”

  I run my hands over his hair. “I work here now.”

  He rears back, regret flashing in his eyes. I know he’s thinking about all the places he’s been, all the money he’s starting to make, but none of that matters to me. I’m not sad, I have no regrets, and I want him to know that. I need him to know that.

  “I love you, Gage,” I tell him, the first time I’ve ever said it to anyone who wasn’t a family member.

  It hits him like an arrow, his strong, powerful body arching against mine. And then he’s stripping off his pants, reaching for the condoms. Slipping inside of me.

  And though it hurts more than I thought it would, I wouldn’t change a thing about this moment.

  “I’m sorry,” Gage whispers when I cry out.

  “I’m not,” I tell him, wrapping my legs around him and holding him tightly to me.

  “I love you,” he murmurs to me, as he starts to move. “I love you, Dyani. I’ve always loved you.”

  I turn my head so he can’t see the tears leaking down my face. Not of pain, but of joy in this one perfect moment.

  The pain dissipates, and though I’m not expecting it, the pleasure starts to build again. Gage seems to know, because he reaches between us and strokes me until I come again.

  When it’s done, Gage collapses on the bed beside me,
petting and kissing and touching me. I’m doing the same to him, memorizing him for the long weeks and months and years ahead.

  “I can’t leave you,” he says. “Not ever again.”

  For a second, just a second, my heart trembles in my chest. But then reality sets in and I know these moments are all we can ever have. He has a bright, bright future ahead of him—the X Games, the Olympics, everything he’s ever wanted. And I, I have a family who needs me.

  “You have to,” I whisper, stroking my hand down the perfect muscles of his back.

  “I don’t.” He sits up then, glares at me. “When I left when I was seventeen, I had nothing. No prospects, no money, nothing but a hundred-dollar snowboard and the hope of one day being good enough.”

  “And now you have everything. It’s all right there, waiting for you to take it.”

  “It is. I know it is.” He leans over, kisses my forehead. “But that includes you.”

  “Gage—”

  “Dyani.” He mimics my tone perfectly. “We can make this work. Sure, during the season it’ll be tough. But there are six whole months where snow isn’t on the ground and there aren’t any competitions. I can be here with you, then.”

  “You hate Taos.”

  “But I love you. Enough to come back here for you again and again and again.”

  “You came back for the competition, not for me.”

  “Oh, but I wanted you. I was sitting up there on that damn boulder trying to work up the nerve to call you and beg your forgiveness.”

  “There was never anything to forgive, Gage.”

  “You and I don’t see things the same way.”

  “Obviously.”

  He presses his lips to my shoulder, draws a little infinity sign around my belly button. “Let me try, Dyani. That’s all I’m asking. That you let me try.”

  And because I’ve never been able to say no to this man—this beautiful, perfect man whom I love more than my own life—I nod. We’re two parts of the same whole, two souls with the same origin. I don’t know if we’ll be able to walk the same path, am terrified that life and circumstances will rip us apart, but I want to try.

  I need to try.

  “I love you,” I tell him, pressing my lips to his.

  “I’ve always loved you,” he answers.

  And for now, for today, that’s good enough. The future can take care of itself.

  About the Author

  National bestselling author TRACY WOLFF collects books, English degrees, and lipsticks, and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her life-long love. Now an English professor at her local community college, she writes romances that run the gamut from sweet contemporary to erotica, from paranormal to Urban Fantasy and from young adult to new adult.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Copyright

  This is a collection of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  “The Corner of First and Second.” Copyright © 2014 by Gennifer Albin.

  “Daylight.” Copyright © 2014 by Julie Cross.

  “A Little Too Scarred.” Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Desrochers.

  “Once Bitten.” Copyright © 2014 by Cole Gibsen.

  “Crash.” Copyright © 2014 by Sharie Kohler.

  “Under the Seryn Moon.” Copyright © 2014 by Melissa Landers.

  “How to Be a Heart Breaker.” Copyright © 2014 by Lauren Layne.

  “Two in the Morning.” Copyright © 2014 by Roni Loren.

  “Believe in Me.” Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer L. Armentrout.

  “Sharing Firsts.” Copyright © 2014 by Molly Jester.

  “Strike Out.” Copyright © 2014 by Myra McEntire.

  “This Is My Sign.” Copyright © 2014 by Hannah Moskowitz.

  “Going for Broke.” Copyright © 2014 by Lyla Payne.

  “For the Sake of Science.” Copyright © 2014 by Mark Perini.

  “Love in an Elevator.” Copyright © 2014 by Carrie Ryan.

  “Bunga Bunga.” Copyright © 2014 by Andrew Shaffer.

  “With the Lights On.” Copyright © 2014 by Alessandra Thomas.

  “Field Emotions.” Copyright © 2014 by Melissa West.

  “Grind.” Copyright © 2014 by Tracy Wolff.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPub Edition MARCH 2014 ISBN: 9780062329707

  Print Edition ISBN: 9780062329714

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