Racing to You: Racing Love, Book 1 by Robin Lovett

Author:Robin Lovett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: France;athlete hero;academia;study abroad;curvy heroine
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2016-07-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

“Here.” He hands me a glass of smoothie and sits opposite me on the bed. “I didn’t put any protein powder in yours since you didn’t get a workout.”

“Oh, okay.” It tastes good, but I’m preoccupied with him. “Did you have a good ride?”

He chugs half the smoothie, then wipes his mouth. “Coach has me doing these insane intervals that kick my ass. My numbers are up, but he’s not happy with my output. I keep telling him that numbers don’t show my strengths. I’m faster than my stats let on, and he knows that, but he still—” He looks at me. “Boring cycling stuff.”

“I wondered about that.” I latch on to the excuse to talk about anything non-sexual. “That guy you beat in the race last week. He was bigger than you, wasn’t he?”

“The German, you mean? Grabe?” He nods, pride glowing from his face. “Tops me by five inches and forty pounds.”

“How did you win against him?” It seems counter to the laws of physics.

He clears his throat, trying and failing to hide a toothy grin. “Officially, aerodynamics, but that’s bullshit. I’m just faster.”

His cockiness should appall me. It doesn’t. It’s sexy as hell.

“You’re giving me that look,” he says.

“What look?”

He glugs the rest of his smoothie and puts the empty cup on the dresser. “The same one you get when you can’t wait to bite me.” He gets to his feet and moves toward me like a panther on the prowl.

I shrink into the chair and grip the armrest. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes.” He takes my smoothie glass. “You do.” He crouches in front of me and grips my side; my system is already feverish.

“Terrence, I don’t want sex.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I do, but…”

“Not yet.” His eyes are warm and bright. “There’s a ton of things between making out and going all the way. I majored in them in high school. Haven’t you tried them? Did some guy just run up and shove his dick in you or something?”

“No. I’ve tried those things and they’ve never worked.”

“You don’t even have to take your clothes off, if you don’t want to.” He sinks his fingers into my thigh.

“Through my clothes?” There’s no way that’s going to work. “I don’t think so.”

“I think so.”

“What if I can’t come?” My biggest fear: him working me until I’m sore, just like I tried last night, and nothing happening.

He shakes his head. “Don’t think about that. Think about how good it feels.” His nose nudges mine, and he flicks his tongue on my cheek.

A tremble runs through my bones. “Do you think, maybe, I could come just from you, you know—” I mime him grinding between my legs. If that’s what he means by “through clothes”, maybe he’s right.

“Definitely.”

I expect him to kiss me, but he waits, his breath tickling my scalp.

I grab him by the hair and kiss him. My tongue slides in his mouth, my knees fall open, and, with my heel, I knock him to his knees between mine.

I am raging inside, my gut is a tempest of want, and I don’t know how to calm it.

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