Her eyes are on fire.Her lips are wet.Her breathing is ragged.She looks fuckable.
“You have a race to win, Mr.Kern,” she says, “Won’t that—” she points at my erection, “be a problem between the gates?”
“Not at all,” I grin.“I’ve never lost a GS here.Not about to start—not even with you distracting me.”
“Then,” she steps close, presses her body against mine, and whispers against my lips, “don’t disappoint me.”
***
Katharina
His second run is explosive, fearless, and flawless.
He crosses the line, and the whole place explodes.Noise, flares, cowbells; like the mountain itself is cheering.Niko’s second.An all-Austrian podium.My stomach unclenches.
Niko’s grin is pure sunlight; I let that be my excuse for how much I’m already shaking.
I let myself smile, actually smile, as I watch Thomas celebrate with the others.Skis, helmets, hugs, all tangled together in a chaotic, joyful mess.The media swarms in, but he’s ready to give them his best golden boy side.
Grinning.Effortless.Throwing out just enough soundbites to keep them fed.I don’t have to step in.No damage control needed.Not tonight.
Later, the afterparty hums like a well-oiled machine.Gold light spills from the chalet bar windows, casting long shadows across the snow outside.Beers clink.PR girls dance with techs.Coaches lean into their drinks like they’ve just finished skiing the run themselves.
I scan the room and find a quiet spot near the fireplace, and let the glass in my hand warm me.Something strong.Something I wouldn’t normally drink, but tonight feels different.
Schladming is our turf, and we won it all - the last test before the Olympics - and our athletes did not fail.No work for me, they do the PR themselves.Time to breathe out and reap the rewards for the first half of the season.
I know what my reward is.
I feel Thomas before I see him.
His smell, the fresh outside air in his jacket, the faint trace of sweat, and whatever cheap champagne they sprayed on the podium.
His presence sends butterflies in my belly; this anticipation is different.Loaded with promises.
I don´t look at him, I know he´ll come to me like a moth to the light.
He moves closer behind me, so close that his breath warms my neck.I lean back so that our bodies touch, but he steps back.
“Not here, miss Berger,” he scolds, but strokes my backside, giving it a little possessive slap.“But shall we go upstairs?You know, I delivered; it´s timeyoudelivered.”
I take his hand without a word, ready to deliver whatever he asks.
I love our agreement.
Every race he won this season, I was ready to bend over and plead with him to fuck me.Every time I saw him demolish the field, I fought to quench the aching between my legs.Not this time, this time he´s mine.I can give in.
I pull him by the hand and march.Past the dancers, the noise, the questions.Through the hallway, the floor creaking beneath our steps.
My room this time.
My decision.
My man.
“You´re in such a hurry, Miss Berger,” he teases as I pull him, walking fast towards our hotel.
“I´ll do what I wanted to do every time I watched you win this season,” I call back and stride on.
