Page 93 of Back Outside Edge

15 months after the Olympics

Frankfurt, Germany

Stefan grumbles all the way up the stairs. "I thought you said you got a room on the first floor."

"I did. They have the ground floor here, remember?"

"That's so stupid."

I turn back to grin over my shoulder at him, hauling my suitcase up and over the last step. "That's what you get for deciding you needed to bring half your house. What happened to my jeans and t-shirt boy?"

"Oh, shut up."

I'm halfway into the hall, so I just turn and smile at him again. Watching him fight his three suitcases—three suitcases. What the hell did he pack?—to the landing. When he finally catches up, I hold the door for him, then move down the hallway, watching room numbers, key in hand. "You know, you could take one of these," he complains, sounding more annoyed.

"Mhm." There. The door opens to our key, and I step into the room, taking it in. It's bigger than our last one at this hotel, which is ironic, since it only has one bed. I don't see a closet, but there's an armoire on the other side of the room, so I wheel my suitcase over to it.

More frustrated muttering comes from the door, then Stefan enters, only one suitcase in hand. A crash comes from the hallway when one of the other ones falls down, and he swears. "Why did I let you convince me this was a good idea?"

Crossing back to the door, I pause as I pass him, giving him a light kiss. "You just need something to eat, baby. It'll all be better then."

"I hate you."

"I know." With his other two suitcases in hand, I follow him back into the room, closing the door behind me. "You were the one who didn't want to take the elevator, though."

"Yeah, like I'm ever getting into that death trap again," he mutters, but something like the start of a smile makes his mouth twitch.

After leaning the suitcases up against the bed, I go to him, pulling his head to me and kissing him more soundly. "I don't know. I think it worked out pretty well last time."

Even hungry and tired, Stefan melts into me. All those beautiful, perfect muscles, turned into a puddle of want from a single kiss. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it. I hope I won't ever take it for granted. When I let the kiss deepen, he groans, dropping the handle he was still holding, then grunting when the suitcase falls against his leg. I start to pull away, but he grabs my hips, pulling me back in. "Doesn't matter," he mutters. "I'm fine." Then his mouth is back on mine, hot and hard, and he's pushing me backwards.

I've worn out his patience, and now he's going to take over. Fine with me. Stefan doesn't take control often, doesn't want it, but when he does, it's a whirlwind. A maelstrom I can give myself up to, where all I need to do is hold on and enjoy.

Another crash as the suitcase topples off its precarious perch on his leg, but Stefan ignores it. A moment later, the back of my knees hit the mattress, and I let myself fall, tangling my hands in his hair to pull Stefan down with me. He's ahead of me, though, falling to his knees, and my grip loosens when he lets go of my hips to attack my belt.

"I thought you were hungry," I manage between gasps as his fingers fly through the belt's clasp and to my fly.

"I am." It's a growl, low, dangerous, and ridiculously hot. A moment later, he's managed to free me, pulling my cock free of its confines and sinking his mouth over me in one long, smooth glide.

Without time to brace myself, prepare, I'm bucking up into his mouth before I realize what I'm doing. I try to stop the movement, too late, not wanting to choke him before he's ready. He growls again, though, and sinks further down, pulling my hips up to meet him, deep throating me before I have time to blink. Jesus. He's going to kill me one of these days. "You're going with that cliche?" My words are halting, breathy, and end on what could be mistaken for a squeak as he swallows around me, throat constricting in a way that's almost enough to make me come three seconds into this.

A rumble of laughter from deep in his chest, vibrating against me in ways that should be illegal.

It takes Stefan far less time than it ought before I'm coming down his throat, all but screaming as I do. Then he's on the bed above me, his tongue deep in my mouth, my own flavor still strong on it. While I'm still reeling, brain shorted out from the almost violent pleasure he's inflicting on me, his knee pushes my jeans and boxers down my legs, kicking them off a moment later. I lay beneath him, limp and dazed, as his knees nudge my legs further apart.

The sound of foil tearing, and then his fingers, slick with lube, press against my hole, and I'm gasping into his mouth. My body shoots back to life, fire coursing through me when he unerringly finds my prostate. How is he this good at something he does so rarely? For that matter, where did he find a packet of lube? Has he been preparing for this? "Holy fuck, Stefan."

He huffs a laugh against my lips, playing with my prostate like it's an instrument he is determined to master. I wouldn't have thought it was possible for me to get hard again so quickly, but my cock is making a valiant effort to rise to the occasion. If it ever went down. Maybe that's the key. Just keep it hard fore—

"Stefan!" I have no idea what he did, but my entire body thrums at it. His fingers withdraw, and a moment later, the hard, blunt pressure of his cockhead pushes against me. Into me. It's been months, but he's prepped me so well, without my noticing, it's a smooth, easy glide.

His hands move to my hips again, wrapping around them, pulling me up and into him, then sliding to my ass to hold me in place. "Good?" His voice is as uneven as I feel.

"So good," I manage to gasp. When his lips don't immediately crash down on mine again, I open my eyes to find him watching me. His eyes have softened, no longer burning me, and when he pulls almost all the way out, then slides back in on another slow glide, and I moan, his lips curve up.

Another long stroke, hands still holding me steady under him, as he holds my gaze. "You have any idea how much I wanted to do this last time we were here?"

"Probably about as much as I did." I smile, then lose it as my eyes roll back into my head when his next stroke runs across my prostate. "Anyway," I force out, "you didn't. You hated me."