His Last Race

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

“A lot of athletes retire and I hear they take up hobbies. Like kayaking, or painting, or maybe yoga.”

  His face scrunches up. “I’ll pick up a hobby, but it will involve you, a bed, and me, all day.”

  “You sure you don’t want to think about kayaking?” I ask. It’s worth a shot.

  “Absolutely sure. But to be positive we should probably practice this new hobby today.”

  “The kayaking?”

  “No, the sexing,” he says. Leaning down, Remi’s tongue trails across my collarbone, dipping in and out of the hollowed space between my neck and shoulder.

  I moan before I can stop myself and quickly cover my lips. “Remi.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “What?” he asks and then sucks on the perfect area of my neck. One of his hands finds a spot on my legs and his thumb applies pressure in the middle of my thigh. “But I guess if you don’t want to.”

  Remi jumps off the bed standing at the end of it and I sit up to quickly follow him. “Wait, what?”

  “If you don’t want to have sex, we won’t have sex. You want to get brunch instead?”

  “No I don’t want to get brunch.” Has the man lost his mind? He can’t make certain unspoken promises to get me off and then jump out of bed. That’s just wrong.

  “Well you said you didn’t want to have sex. So what you want to do?” he asks not moving from his position.

  “Are you serious?” I slide down the bed so I’m sitting on the edge right in front of him.

  Remi shrugs, but there’s at least three signs telling me this game isn’t over yet. He won’t make eye contact, his arms are crossed, and from the twitch in his lip he’s most certainly fighting back a smile. “I guess you could talk me into it again.”

  “How can I do that?” I smooth one open palm from the inside of his knee to his upper thigh.

  He peeks down at me and smiles. “You could lick him.”

  “Like this?” I lean forward and push my tongue against the material of his jeans. Licking upward, I follow the bulge his erect penis makes straining against the zipper with his girth. When I reach the top, I suck as hard as I can through the thick jean material.

  Remi’s hips jerk him harder against my lips. “Not quite. Let me help you.”

  I lean back and watch as Remi fumbles to undo his jeans as quickly as possible. Once they’re loose, he allows them to fall to the floor. His black boxers strain against his hard cock. The material does nothing to hide his shape. He doesn’t give me long to admire before the boxers are pushed off as well.

  “This’ll give you a better taste.”

  A witty retort dies on my lips as I see him exposed. I lick my lips, smacking them together, excited by now being the one in charge. Wrapping my hands around him, they run over his firm ass and down the back of his thighs lowering his boxers a few more inches.

  I lean forward and use nothing but my lips and tongue to guide his cock to my mouth. It twitches as my lips circle the tip. Playing with the head, I bring it in and out slowly, my tongue still circling the top.

  “Never mind. This isn’t punishing anyone but me.” Remi grabs me under the shoulders and pushes me back on the bed.

  “That was supposed to be a punishment?”

  Remi peels the tight thermal shirt from his chest and throws it on the floor behind him. “Take off your shirt,” he demands.

  I cock an eyebrow at him but don’t take my eyes from his sculpted chest. “Isn’t that your job?”

  “Not today.” Not wasting any time, he reaches out and pulls my leggings off in one yank. I consider protesting — they’re fragile — but before I get a word out Remi’s mouth is on me. He sucks my clit through my underwear and I flex my hips in the air. A harsh moan fills the room twice before I realize it came from me.

  When he pulls his mouth away to lower the underwear down my legs, I give up my fake protest. Raising up I do my best to get off my loose T-shirt, becoming a fumbling mess in the process. Remi lines his body at the end of mine. My legs dangle off the bed at the knees, and he grabs my lower thighs spreading my legs and pushing me back. Completely exposed to him in the room, my body tingles in anticipation.

  I wait as my tension grows. He lets go of one leg, but I make sure I keep in the same position as Remi guides his dick to my opening. But rather than enter me in as I expect, he tracks his shaft back and forth in between my folds.

  “Fuck, Marley, you’re so wet I’m covered and I haven’t put it in you yet,” he says with his head thrown back to the ceiling.

  “Then you should do that.” My words sound as rough as his. Each pass of his head across my clit sends tingles through my body. I lower my hands ready to help him but Remi stops me.

  “Roll to your side.” He speeds me up by using one of his strong hands to move my hips in the direction he wants. When lying on my side, one leg propped out further than the other almost so my stomach is on the bed, he runs two fingers over my sex.

  Taking a step closer to the bed, he lines himself up again and this time the head of his dick pushes through my folds. He enters ever so slowly and I stretch to accommodate his size. The position is tight and I feel every movement as Remi slowly starts to move and in and out. With each new thrust, he enters deeper and deeper.

  “Oh God, Remi.”

  He leans over my body keeping us tighter. One hand rests on my head while the other grabs right above my knee and pulls me down even further. “I know, babe.”

  His pace increases with each thrust. I moan into the room, but I need more. Remi’s hand sneaks down past my leg and slides over my exposed stomach until he reaches the place I need it most. With two fingers he applies pressure while creating small circles over the oversensitive flesh.

  “Shit, I’m going to lose it like this. Flip over,” he says as my only warning before Remi pulls out and flips me the rest of the way over. “Get on your hands and knees.”

  His husky words are all I need and I pull myself up at the same time he jerks on my hips. There isn’t a pause as he wastes no time reinserting himself.

  With a hand on each hip Remi drives into me. I lock my knees and keep my arms and legs straight.

  “Fuck, yes,” he yells. Laid out over my back Remi grabs on to one of my breasts. He squeezes hard, but I love it. “Touch yourself.”

  My orgasm builds as I lay my fingers over his and increase the pressure on my clit. With each circle of my fingers guiding his, my hips move erratically. My head on the bed and my ass in the air I clench, using the only free hand to pull on the bed sheets.

  My core tightens as Remi moans. “Say my name when you come.”

  It doesn’t take long after his request before the orgasm overtakes me. My mouth opens in a silent scream and his name comes out a mess of incoherent letters and sounds as I lose control.

  “Shit.” Remi jerks into my body three more times and then stills, his fingers digging into the skin of my leg. He falls over my back, his dick falling between us and his chest heaving as he sucks in air.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It’s wrong — so very wrong — to wish an injury on another athlete. Bodies are fragile and no good person would ever want someone else to experience pain.

  I’m not a good person.

  Every time it’s the same thing. Remi lines up for a competition and I can’t stop myself from wishing an injury on the other players. Not death or anything. Nothing that bad. Just… you know… a broken leg. Or an arm. Those aren’t as important to a snowboarder, but it’s enough they couldn’t compete today.

  I told you. I’m not a good person.

  Although, in my defense, I’m sure I’m not the only person in the stands doing the same kind of thing right about now.

  The halfpipe snowboarders have three different rounds to make it to the gold and Remi has placed in the top six for the first qualifying round, which bumped him straight to the finals. While the other boarders were duking it out in the semifinals, we ate lunch together and Remi paced in front of the windows re
fusing to watch how anyone else performed.

  It’s been a long damn journey, but we’ve made it to the finals. Remi has one more run. One more chance to impress the seven judges. Those people — three men and three women — are all that stand between him and Diane’s chance for the gold. Well that, a halfpipe, and eleven other competitors. Judge number six has been a particularly mean bastard. His only saving grace is he’s given low scores to most of the riders. Since only the middle five scores count in official results I’ve stopped myself from walking down there and shaking him. He deducted a full point from Remi for using his hands for stability. The asshole. He’s lucky the odds of meeting me in a dark alley after this event are low.

  See what I mean? I’m a horrible person. I’ll be driving the bus to hell.

  “Do you see that fucker judge number six smiling? He enjoys this shit, Marley. I hope someone hits him with their car on the way home.” Reagan scowls at the judge even though we can only see him on the television. “And the dude from China looks like an asshole. He’s too smug. I hope he falls on his ass.”

  At least I’ll have company on the bus to hell.

  My fingers are so tight against my knees I worry I’ll have bruises tomorrow. There’s nothing I want more than to put my head down and close my eyes and not look up until he’s finished the run. My stomach knots at the thought of how these few short seconds will determine so much for Remi’s career as a pro snowboarder. What will his Wikipedia page say tomorrow?

  Record holder for the most gold medals in the halfpipe or …not? It all comes down to this.

  I might get angry with him at times, but I get it. Everything rides on this run. Unlike other competitions where they’d have two runs in the finals and get to take their top score at Gold Medal events, there is only one final run. Everything rides on this. Even though he did magnificently in the qualifiers and was able to skip the semifinals, he could lose it all right now. He messes up one thing and it’s over.

  There are no mulligans.

  Remi stops at the top of the halfpipe, his board hanging off the edge. Even from our special seating, he’s too far away for me to watch and see his full run, so while trying to keep his actual body in my line of sight, I attempt to position myself to see the large television screen to my left as well. It doesn’t work.

  He takes a deep breath and so do I. He releases his, but I suck mine in deeper. This air has to last me until he makes it to the end. His board tips over the edge of the drop in mount and I close my eyes automatically. When I open them again he’s on the other side of the ramp as he completes his first trick, the Crippler. Real heart-warming name. It definitely doesn’t make a girlfriend worry.

  I know Remi’s preferred run for this event. Five tricks. The Crippler, a front side double cork, a backside double cork, method air, and he ends on a Yolo Flip. A trick made famous by two previous snowboards and one difficult to pull off correctly.

  That’s the plan. If it all goes well

  So far so good. Remi’s board is in the air, his body aligned properly and his hands in the correct position when he lands the second trick.

  “Oh my god.” I grip my knee tighter as emotions well up and tears leak out from the corners of my eyes. Why do girls cry at the most random times? When we are angry. Sad. And apparently when my boyfriend is in a high-stress situation.

  Remi lands his fourth trick, method air, and slides his board across the bottom of the pipe to the top, setting himself up for his last trick. His board takes air and Reagan grabs my hand in her own vise grip. She leans forward her body coiled tightly as Remi’s body twists in the air. His board slides over his head as he completes the necessary twists and turns to one of the most difficult tricks performed.

  He pulled it off! Remi reaches the end of the halfpipe and I release my breath, finally sucking in new air. Reagan pulls me up from the stands not letting go of my hand but using our joined ones to scream and clap for her brother.

  We share a quick hug before she turns to her parents for a family moment, yanking me into the fray. We still have to wait for the judges to score his run and there are another six people to go after him — including one American — but there’s no way Remi isn’t going to score major points for completing all those tricks in one run.

  My man is badass.

  Another moment passes before the crowd begins to settle, people one by one taking their seats to watch the next competitor. He follows the same starting move as Remi, but my nerves have left. I still silently chant that he’ll fall, but now that Remi has finished his run there’s nothing more anyone can do.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me.” The front row of watchers all stands and glare knowingly at the cute little brunette woman erratically pushing them out of the way.

  McKenna stops at me bending down so not to interfere with the view… as much. “Remi would like to see you.”

  I stare at her. “What do you mean? Remi wants to see me?”

  It’s the Winter Games. The biggest competition ever. I won’t see him again until closer to the medal ceremony.

  We have a routine.

  He’s not allowed to diverge from the routine.

  She shakes her head and put her hands up. “I don’t know. He made me promise I would bring you to the waiting area. I’d really like to do that so I can leave before I get mobbed.”

  Reagan stands up. “We’ll all go.”

  McKenna shakes her head. “No, just Marley.”

  “Would you go already,” someone in the stand behind us yells.

  Reagan turns and gives the crowd in general a dirty look. McKenna looks at me with bug eyes silently telling me to hurry the fuck up. I guess I’m going. I follow her down the row of seats and down a large staircase.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask as she brushes her way through a large metal door.

  She stops inside a large plain room, nothing but tile floors and concrete block walls. McKenna turns back. “I’m sure it’s fine,” she says over the loudness of the crowded room. “You know how these athletes are. They’re so finicky. I have no idea how you put up with them for so long.”

  Her eyes widen as I laugh at her assessment of every athlete I’ve ever met.

  “I… I didn’t mean,” she stutters. “I just mean working for them…”

  “Can be a real bitch,” I finish for her. “Trust me. I get it.”

  Seeing that I’m not going to tell her off or get her in trouble with her boss, McKenna nervously laughs. “Anyway, he told me to have you wait here. He’s making his way up the mountain now, but should only be a few more minutes.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Confused over why I’m here, I try not to worry about what would cause Remi to break our protocol.

  I try, but it doesn’t work. Images of him having hurt his knee at the end of the pipe fill my mind. Every single scenario of how it could’ve happened. He’s had years of practice at disguising the pain. He could definitely finish his run without anyone knowing.

  Two minutes pass with me staring out the window. For every minute in real-time, I swear I go through ten in mental time. When Remi doesn’t show up right away, I start picturing him coming in on a stretcher. Maybe he accidentally fell down and split his head open, now he has a head wound, and we have to make a hospital run.

  There aren’t many things that would make Remi miss seeing his scoring results for his own run and all the competitors after him. There’s a gold medal on the line.

  Maybe a baby shark came out of the snow — hey it’s feasible, snow is water — and bit his leg off.

  Or an arm.

  Would they bring him this far up on the structure out of his way? No. They’d probably take him right to the hospital. Snow shark bites are probably serious.

  I’m losing my damn mind.

  I shake off all my worries as I spot Remi through the large glass window of this room. He walks up the hill, a large smile on his face. I check his body quickly and count two arms and two legs. His head is still attached. He ho
lds Diane tucked under his left arm. Since there’s no blood gushing out of his body and he has all his limbs and his snowboard, I can’t imagine what has made this meeting a necessity.

  Remi slams through two metal doors on the other side the room, entering the space like the cocky man he is. All eyes turn in his direction with the click of metal as the doors slam shut. Shouts and congrats and claps ring out from every direction of the packed area. The movement causes the smell of old people and ointment — maybe a little Icy Hot — to mingle together and assault my nose.

  A few people walk up to him and shake his hand, but Remi never sets down Diane, shaking hands as he walks. It’s a skill he learned through the years and one that would be useful if he was a politician. The crowd parts around him but still I don’t move.

  He reaches me and stops a few inches short. “Babe?”

  “Remi?”

  “Did you see my run?” he asks still not touching me. Maybe he’s a mirage.

  I close my eyes slowly and then open them, but he still standing in front of me. So not a mirage. “Of course I saw your run.”

  He smiles. “I did good, huh?”

  I have no idea what this is about, but my man just performed five tricks on the halfpipe at the Gold Medal Winter Games. It’s time to get excited.

  “Oh my God, Remi, you did amazing. That may have been the best one of your entire life.” I jump up and down beside him using his massive shoulders as a holding on point. “There’s no way you won’t medal with that run.”

  He nods his head back and forth once or twice, like one more gold medal is no big deal.

  McKenna is right. Athletes.

  “Want to grab some dinner?”

  “Do I want to grab some dinner?” I’m back to staring at him like he’s an alien. “No.”

  “Why not? I’m starving. I’m thinking a big steak.”

  “Remi, the final scores are going to be up any moment.” The final round of snowboarding doesn’t take long as there are only twelve competitors left.

  He scrunches up his nose in a way that I usually find so cute, but it’s super annoying right now. And worrisome. I’m definitely worried about Remi.