Page 44 of Tracking Snow

His hand still clamped over my mouth, his weight still pinning me, One watches me come like he needs to memorize every second or he’ll starve. To fill that empty place that loneliness has hollowed out for so long.

Like I’m the thing keeping him here.

So I stay.

I stay with him until the last wave leaves my body trembling beneath his.

Then I'm clawing at his pants, unfastening and yanking at them until his cock springs free. I push him until he's sitting on the couch, pants halfway around his thighs.

"You get the birth control shot?" I ask him.

"Yeah." There's a dazed expression on his face even as he answers.

Before I'm too far gone, I reach over and lock the door to the dressing room. Ripping off my pants, I waste no time sinking onto One's cock.

He hisses at the contact, his fingers digging into my hips.

I rock on him wildly, still feeling the aftershocks of my previous orgasm, wanting—no, needing him to lose control like I did.

One's eyes glaze, his mouth parted as I ride him hard and fast.

"S-Snow," he practically chokes out, and I know he's close.

Turning around, I balance my hands on his knees, spreading my legs wide and leaning forward to give him one hell of a view.

I rock and stretch on his hardness, even as I pant and start to climb toward a second orgasm.

The fingers of one hand still dig into my hips, but his other hand grips the hair at the base of my skull, tugging my head back, forcing my spine to arch.

"Oh fuck, just like that, my little stalker. You're gonna—" His words cut off and his body tenses as he comes in me.

The sensation of him filling me up sends me over the edge. I gasp and open my mouth in a silent scream. It's not like the first one that damn near rattled the teeth out of my head, but it hits a seven on the Richter scale.

Heh. Seven.

The music has changed. Kiki's number ended somewhere in there, and something new is thumping through the wall.

The room comes back a piece at a time. One row of vanity bulbs. Sequins. My pants, over there, not on me.

She could be back any minute to find I've turned the dressing room into a whorehouse.

On shaky legs, I gather my pants and dart to the adjoined water closet to clean myself up. When I come back out, One is standing there, fully clothed, face flushed, running a hand through his curls, pressing them flat. They spring right back up.

I grab a towel and wipe down the couch, toss the rag in the bin, take One's hand and lead him outside.

"That was..." he starts but doesn't finish.

"Amazing? Mind-blowing? Hot as hell?"

"My first time."

Whoa. My legs screech to a halt. "Wait, what?" Then I remember. Before he touched me, he asked if he could try something as if he'd never done it before. In my haze, that didn't register.

He tugs his hood back over his head and slides his hands in the front pocket, continuing to walk, forcing me to scramble to catch up. "I mean Four has, and I was there, but this was different...more."

"What about the others?" I ask, a plan already forming.

He shakes his head. "Just Four, and just the one time. As much as he likes to act like the player of the group." His eyes glaze over. "Well, it's true."