I had it under control until I didn’t.One mistake above the flat, losing speed, and here I am, knowing that I have to push hard to chase the guys in first and second.Niko is first; it pains me to take the win from him.But I will do it anyway.
The media acts like I’m some superhuman, not allowed to make mistakes.Katharina had to put a stop to the endless stream of questions.
“What went wrong, Thomas?”
“What will you do better, Thomas?”
“Are you a little tired after Kitzbühel?”
“Did the Kitz party take a toll on your form, Thomas?”
I smile to myself.
The brunette with the last question was closer than she thought.
Is it true, though?
Do I feel pressure knowing I won’t get to taste my favorite pussy if I lose?
Was it a lapse in concentration?Me thinking about the beautiful legs I want to get between, her moans begging me to ride her harder...
I shake my head.
I’ve analyzed the run, and there was nothing unusual.Just a mistake, like the thousands I’ve made in my career.
One slip of an edge, one split second longer on the outside ski, one meter farther from the gate.
Nothing I can’t repair in the second run.
I lean back on the sofa of our recovery room and sip my energy drink.Time’s almost up.Soon I’ll get up, gear up, and head out for the second run course inspection.
Niko has already left, nerves getting the better of him; the others are long gone.I’m the last one here, and just like that, I see the one I’ve been waiting for.
“Thanks for shielding me from the press,” I tell Katharina the moment she steps through the door.
“That’s my job,” she answers with a half-smile.
She looks at me, and her eyes scan my body with an intensity that makes me hard.
I know my muscles look great in the base layer top, but this is more like she imagines my body on hers.
Gosh, and I did not even win.
It´s before the race, but I can’t resist.I take her hand and pull her down onto my lap.
“Not here,” she whispers, but doesn’t pull away as I bite her earlobe and trace my lips along her neck.
“Not now,” I finish the phrase she was about to say.“I didn’t win.”
I palm her perfect breast, and her breath catches.They say no sex before the race, not to blunt the edge testosterone gives us.No satisfaction.But this kind of teasing is the opposite; it willsharpenmy edge.
I palm her other breast and squeeze it, enjoying the way it fits my hand, even when her bra stands in my way.Her moan is barely audible, but my cock hears it before I do, poking her buttocks.Knowing she feels my hard-on is enticing, intoxicating.
She wants to fight it, to set those ridiculous rules of hers, pretend she’s in control, but she can’t.
She’s helpless as my hand slides between her legs.I use the other to fumble with the buttons on her jeans.I need to get to her bare pussy, I need to know just how wet she is for me.
But as I fumble with her jeans, she laughs and jumps up.
