by Tracy Wolff
Feel the heat slamming through me like a comet.
“I need … I need … I need …” It’s all I can think, all I can say, those two words the mantra of everything going on inside of me.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.”
And then he gives me what I didn’t even know I needed, long, hot licks against my sex that make me cry out. Make me clutch at him. Make me clench around the emptiness inside of me as his tongue explores every part of me.
He lingers at my clit for long minutes, his tongue spinning slow, lingering circles around and around it. He pauses every once in a while to flick across the top—once, twice, a third time—before going back to the circles that are driving me out of my freaking mind.
I’ve never felt anything like this before, never imagined that it was possible to feel anything like this. I mean, sure, I’ve experimented a few times in the shower, or in bed late at night, just to see what other girls were so crazy about. But nothing I did to myself ever came close to feeling like this.
Being touched by Ash is like being touched by the sun. I’m basking in his warmth even as he burns me alive. And I can’t even complain. For all the agony, all the desire, all the aching need clawing its way through me, I wouldn’t change a thing. It just feels so good.
And then he does it, something I never expected, something I never even thought people did. He slides his tongue deep inside me, twirls it lazily against the walls of my pussy as his thumb comes up to rub at my clit.
“Ash!”
His hands pet at me soothingly, even as his tongue continues to slide in and out of me in a rhythm that has me gasping and shaking and clutching at him. I hold his shoulders tight, press myself against him, because in this moment—with the wall of the resort rough against my back and the dark, star-dotted sky spread infinitely out in front of me—it feels like Ash is the only thing keeping me grounded. The only thing keeping me from flying into a million pieces.
And I’ve spent so long fighting it, so long trying to keep myself together through cancer and chemo, through certain death and now unexpected life, that the idea of losing it, of shattering, terrifies me more than I know how to explain, even to myself.
Except Ash is there, and he’s touching me, holding me, bringing me closer to an edge I barely understand and am not sure I want to fling myself off of. But I don’t know that I have a choice either, because his mouth feels so good, he feels so good.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, the words hot against my sex. “I’ve got you, Tansy. I’ve got you, baby.”
His hands tighten on my ass, grounding me even as his tongue spears deep inside me again. It’s what I need, the reassurance along with the pleasure, the concern along with the sex. Even if it doesn’t mean anything, even if it’s only for this moment, it doesn’t matter. It’s enough.
I shatter, my body breaking into a million, beautiful pieces as feelings unlike anything I’ve ever imagined rip through me. “Ash!” I cry his name, my fingers clawing at his shoulder as he licks me through it, taking me higher, higher, higher, straight into the stars that shine so brightly above our heads.
And then it’s done and I’m falling back to earth, piece by jagged piece. And Ash is still there, putting them—putting me—back together again.
Chapter 15
Ash
God. She’s trembling, shaking, her whole body limp against mine and all I really want to do is hold her. Well, that and strip her naked and plunge inside of her. But since that second choice isn’t actually an option tonight, I settle for tugging Tansy’s leggings back into place and then folding her into my arms.
Lately it’s been that when the deed is done, I just walk away—it’s easier on both of us that way. But with Tansy, I can’t bring myself to do it. I want to take care of her nearly as much as I want to fuck her.
It’s a problem, I know it is—the old Ash would have been all over that, but I’m not that guy anymore. I don’t have time for anything but Logan right now—I owe it to him. And to my parents.
And still, knowing that, believing it with everything I am, I can’t bring myself to turn away from Tansy. I just want to keep her here, against me, for as long as she’ll let me.
She buries her face in my chest, and I can feel the cold of her nose even through my hoodie. “You okay?” I ask. “You want to go back inside?”
She tilts her head, turns wide, pleasure-dazed eyes to me. “But I haven’t—”
Her voice trails off and I try to figure out what she means. I know she came—I felt her fall apart against my mouth. But then she’s reaching for me, her fingers stroking along my dick, and I figure out what she’s getting at.
She’s come, but I haven’t.
I’m not going to lie. Her hands feel good on me, really good, even through the thick fabric of my jeans. For a second, I can’t help myself. I press my hips forward, slide through her hands a couple of times. Fuck, she feels amazing and as she starts to fumble nervously with my zipper, there’s a part of me that wants to let her finish what she’s started.
But again, she’s swaying on her feet—whether from the orgasm or the alcohol, I’m not sure—and I don’t want to take this somewhere she wouldn’t normally let it go. She’s not the snowbunny type, no matter what she’s wearing—or what she said in my kitchen last week.
Which is why, though it costs me, I shift backward, gently pull her hands from my zipper and hold them against my chest instead. “We should probably go back in,” I tell her. “Logan might wake up and need something.”
It’s the truth, but it’s also an excuse. I’m trying to be noble here, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to turn her down a second time, especially if she’s touching my cock.
“Oh, right.” She bites her lip, looks a little confused. But doesn’t say anything else, or try to touch my dick again. Which is a good thing—or at least, that’s what I tell myself. I only have so much control.
“Come on.” I rub a hand down her back. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s not like it’s a big deal. We’re on the same floor.”
“Oh. Right.” She sounds a little disappointed by that fact, which is strange considering I did just have my tongue inside her. I don’t know what’s wrong, why she went so tense when just moments ago she’d been warm and pliant in my arms. But as we walk awkwardly toward the elevator, I find myself missing the girl I just went down on. The one who sighed and gasped and called my name in a voice so sexy my dick is still hard from it.
We ride the elevator in silence after I try a couple of different gambits only to get shot down. In fact, Tansy doesn’t talk again until we get to her room and then it’s only to say a very stilted, “Thank you” as she swipes her key card and opens her door.
“For what?” I ask, more than a little mystified at this whole turn of events. How she can go from crying out my name to practically ignoring my existence—all in under ten minutes—I don’t know.
“For, you know …” Her voice trails off and she makes a weird gesture with her hand that I have no hope of understanding.
“For …?” I raise an eyebrow questioningly.
She turns bright red. “For, you know.”
I shake my head, still clueless.
“For the orgasm!” she whispers fiercely, glaring at me like it’s my fault for not knowing what she was going to say. But how could I? I’ve been with a lot of girls and none of them has actually thanked me for that before.
Still, it’s kind of charming that she does. And totally endearing, especially with how pink she is. “You’re welcome?” I answer, because really, what else am I supposed to say?
It must be the right answer, because she nods right before she dives into her room and slams the door in my face.
For long seconds, I just stand there, trying to figure out what the fuck happened. Something did, obviously, and I’m wondering if maybe I should apologize, even though I don’t k
now what for. I mean, she thanked me for going down on her, so that can’t be what’s bothering her, right? So what—
My phone buzzes, interrupting my train of thought. I pull it out, check my texts to find that Logan’s awake and wondering where I am. Shit. I thought he’d be out for the night.
I fire back a quick response, then head down the corridor to the room we share. Figuring out what’s wrong with Tansy’s going to have to wait. Logan needs me.
We hit the half-pipe early the next morning, almost before the sun is up in the sky. Normally the resort doesn’t have a half-pipe—boarding Chile is all about the Andes—but Z hired someone to build one before we even got down here, and then made sure there was someone around who actually knew how to care for it and keep it in good condition. It seems crazy to think about him spending close to fifty grand on a half-pipe for a week, but then it’s no more crazy than what he’s spent on this whole trip.
I mean it’s awesome, and I’m glad to see him putting some of the money he inherited to use to help Timmy, but still, the half-pipe seems a bit excessive on top of everything else. Unless I take into account the rest of his agenda, which is much more about me than it is about Timmy. I know he did this for Timmy because he’s a good person and he helps where he can, but he also did this because he wants to get me back on a board permanently.
He wants to make me remember how much I love snowboarding. How much I love the thrill of riding backcountry and how I love barging the half-pipe even more.
What he doesn’t know is that I’m already there. Even after everything that happened yesterday—even after the avalanche and Logan’s panic and the fact that I was very nearly buried alive—I’d board backcountry again in a second. I’d do the Andes, the Alps, the Rockies. Hell, I’d even do the death traps of Patagonia again if it meant I got a chance to ride. I don’t really give a shit where I ride as long as I ride.
Which, of course, is exactly why I can’t do it.
I used to think I had goals, plans, ambitions for my boarding. Used to think I rode because I was good at it and because it would get me an X Games medal, an Olympic medal, give me a career I both enjoyed and was good at. But now that I’ve gone seven months without boarding, I know the truth.
I board because I’m a fucking junkie. A snowboarding junkie, an adrenaline junkie. It doesn’t fucking matter. I love everything about snowboarding, the good and the bad. The exhilarating and the terrifying. Even the insane.
Yesterday was no exception. Even in the middle of that fucking avalanche, when I thought for sure I was going to buy it, there was something amazing in the ride. Something that made me feel alive like nothing else ever has.
And that’s what Z doesn’t understand.
He’s an adrenaline junkie and the most fucking talented snowboarder I’ve ever met, but boarding isn’t in his blood. Not the way it’s in mine. He does it because it gives him a rush. I do it because I don’t feel alive if I’m not on a snowboard. I don’t feel much of anything.
For most of my life snowboarding was everything to me and I know—I know—how easy it would be to slip right back into that. How easy it would be to forget, just like I did yesterday.
To forget that my snowboarding killed my parents, paralyzed my brother.
To forget that I’m responsible for Logan.
To forget how much he needs me.
To forget … everything.
I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever again. Which is why I’m going to do this week for Timmy, but that’s it. Once I get back to Park City, I’m getting rid of my gear and hanging up my snowboard boots forever.
It’s the only way.
“Hey, Ash, you ready, man?” Luc nods to the half-pipe. “It’s your turn.”
“Yeah.” I pick up my board, start the short, steep hike to the deck of the pipe while trying to look like I don’t give a shit about anything. Like my fucking stomach isn’t sinking through the ground and the thought of giving up snowboarding forever makes it hard to breathe. Hard to think.
But Timmy didn’t come all the way down here for a front row seat to my identity crisis, so I paste a smile on my face as I pass him. I even pause to bump fists with him on the way up, to ruffle his hair a little. He grins at me and I grin back. I can’t help it. The kid’s happiness is fucking infectious. Not to mention it puts all my shit in perspective. I may never get to snowboard again, but this kid—this kid is never going to get to grow up. Hell, he’s not even going to see his next birthday.
“Good luck up there, Ash!”
“Thanks, man. Any special requests?”
Timmy’s eyes go wide at the question. “Can you do a YOLO flip? I mean, if you can’t, it’s fine but—”
“That’s more Z’s specialty,” I say, cutting him off before he gets too wound up. “But I’ll try. Fair enough?”
“Yeah. That’d be totally sick!”
I turn to my brother, who’s sitting next to him on the bench. Logan’s smiling, too, though not as widely as Timmy. “How about you? Anything you want me to throw down out there?”
“How ’bout a double McTwist 1440?” he challenges.
I laugh. “I haven’t been on a half-pipe in seven months and you think I’m going to be able to bust out with that? You guys really do have me confused with Z. How about a 1260?”
Logan sighs heavily. “But you always do that one. You should try something new!”
“Yeah, so I can break my neck?” I joke before thinking better of it.
The second the words are out of my mouth, I want to call them back. Want to bury them. I’m such a fucking idiot. Logan didn’t break his neck, but he did sever part of his spinal cord—hence the irreversible paralysis. Could I get any more insensitive?
Except Logan doesn’t seem to make the connection. He just laughs along with Timmy—at least until he gets a look at my face. My guilt must be written there, because his smile fades and his eyes turn angry.
He opens his mouth to say something that I’m pretty sure will slice right through me, but Cam chooses that minute to walk up behind me. I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful for her intervention in my life.
And when she defends me, saying, “Dude, there really aren’t that many boarders in the world who can land a double McTwist 1260 let alone the 1440,” I know she heard the whole conversation and really has come to rescue me from my own stupidity.
Thank God.
“You know, I can’t,” she continues.
“That doesn’t count. No girl can do more than a 1080,” my brother tells her with an exaggerated eye roll. “Everyone knows that. You’re just not strong enough.”
“Oh, really?” Cam’s eyes turn to narrow slits. “How about we test out that theory, see how strong I really am? I bet I can kick your ass. That’s got to count for something.” She pretends to punch him in the stomach.
“Oooh, I’m so scared,” Logan mocks her. “You almost broke a nail on that one.”
“You should be scared, little man. I’m small, but I’m mighty.” She flexes her biceps, has both boys snorting with laughter. Then she lashes out again, this time lands a solid punch against Logan’s shoulder.
He jolts a little under the blow and I jump forward instinctively to steady him. “Hey! What the hell! Be careful!”
Cam looks at me in surprise. “I was just—”
“She was just playing, Ash!” Logan shoves my hands off his shoulders, glares at me. “I’m fine! Jesus, I’m not a total invalid, you know. I don’t need you to protect me every second of the day.”
“Of course I know that. I just—”
“Do you really? Because you treat me like I’m a little kid all the time. Like I’m going to fucking break if someone breathes on me wrong. And I’m not. I’m not so pathetic that I can’t still take a fake punch from a girl.”
“Hey, that was a real punch,” Cam interjects, trying to head off the fight I know she can see brewing. “I was trying to knock you over.”
Logan ro
lls his eyes. “Well then, you need to start hitting the weights, girl. Because that was pathetic.”
“Oh, yeah?” She steps forward, gets him in a headlock and starts messing up his perfectly styled hair while he laughs and pleads with her to stop.
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to intervene, not to demand that she let him go, that she stop playing so roughly. Which is ridiculous, because this is Cam. She’s been here from the very beginning, has gone through everything right along with Logan and me. She knows what he can take. I know she does.
Not to mention the fact that if I say another word about it, Logan will take my fucking head off. And I’ll deserve it. It’s just hard to remember that he’s okay when I spend so much of my time worrying about something else happening to him. About something taking him away from me.
“Logan—” I start to speak, not sure what I’m supposed to say here, but knowing that I have to say something. I can’t just leave things like this.
Except he ignores me, even after Cam stops messing with him. He actually turns his back on me, refusing to so much as acknowledge my existence even as I stand there, trying to get in his face.
“Hey,” Tansy says, as she walks over to us. “I thought we were supposed to see some snowboarding this morning.” She looks inquiringly at Cam and me. “Whose turn is it?”
“Mine. I just want to—” I break off as she shakes her head at me, her eyes understanding but firm. I can tell from her expression that she heard the whole conversation, that—like Cam—she came over to keep me from tanking things even worse than I already have.
Unlike with Cam, I listen to her. I don’t know why. It’s not like we have any real history together, not the way Cam and I do. It’s just, there’s something about her expression, something about the look in her eyes that tells me she’s been where Logan and I are. And that she somehow has a road map to get me out of it, if only I’ll listen to her.
“Well, then, get up there!” she tells me, giving me a little push toward the pipe. “I want to see a backside rodeo 1080 done the hard way. And maybe even a Lando-roll or two.”
