Sorry!

Rating: NC-17 Very NC-17. Leaps and bounds over being able to repost on ff.net. Sufficient warning. Proceed as desired.

Written In Response to the Following Fic Request:

Things To Include:

1.) Going skiing with less than stellar results
2.) An average, every day board game turned very, very, naughty
3.) Hot Chocolate or Hot Apple Cider
4.) Together Trory (you be the judge how together) Set post Chilton

Things Not To Include:

1.) No past relationships (no Dean, Jess, Logan, Summer, or anyone else that Tristan dated)
2.) No major angst or drama (In other words, full of marshmellowy, fluffy goodness!)
3.) No Clichéd Nicknames (You can't Mary your way through it!)
4.) No extra people as major figures (no one that takes up too much story time)

Rating: R/NC 17, depending on the author's comfort level

****

AN: BIG thanks to Katherine, who helped me out in a time of dire need—and suggested that I finish this properly, lol. Thanks to the requester, who gave me fun, fluffy requirements.

SORRY!

“I can’t believe you said that!”

Her tone was showing her indignance, as she folded her arms over her chest. He knew one key factor, however; she loved this. She loved him, or at least he was fairly certain of that fact. She hadn’t technically said those three little words to him, nor he to her. Neither had ever uttered those words to a member of the opposite sex with stellar results, but this was different. He didn’t feel like they needed to say them. This had been the best four months of his life. The fact that they were both a little gun-shy of the L-word didn’t matter.

“What?” he asked, displaying his complete innocence in his tone. He turned the key in the ignition, and set them on their way to their destination weekend. “I just told your mother that I’d take care of you and make sure you have a good time.”

She rolled her eyes, as she tried to restrain the corners of her mouth from turning upwards. She often fought to keep his charm from ruining her point. “It was how you said it, Tristan. Mom won’t sleep all weekend now. Or ever again, possibly.”

“She started it.”

She arched an eyebrow and looked at him, unconvinced of his excuse.

“She was the one saying my choice of locale wasn’t up to snuff, and that you were going to, and I quote, ‘Have a sucky time and come home broken.’”

There it was—her smile. That right there was what it was all about.

“Well, she does have a point, I’m probably going to run into a tree. I’m not very graceful, and I don’t see where strapping skis to my feet will help that.”

“That’s why we aren’t starting with the big runs. We’ll get you ready on the bunny hill,” he smiled, turning out of Stars Hollow and onto the interstate that would lead them towards Vermont.

“As in snow bunnies?” she asked with distaste.

He looked over at her and chuckled. “Hey, you’re the only snow bunny I’m interested in.”

She hadn’t really been worried, but it was still a rush to hear him say things like that to her. She slipped her hand onto his thigh, and he moved his right hand to cover hers, squeezing it a little. She had been a little nervous about the skiing when he first posed the idea to her before final exams began. He said they’d earned a reward, and swore to her that there would be plenty to do other than ski, in case she did turn out to hate it.

Mainly she agreed in the end, as the prospect of spending a weekend alone with her boyfriend in the snow-covered mountains sounded like heaven.

****

As they’d left early in the morning (another log on Lorelai’s fire of complaints), the pair arrived at the lodge in plenty of time to unload their luggage and hit the slopes. She feared that literally was what she was about to do, but she followed her very excited boyfriend out to rent her skis. He’d brought along his own pair, as he’d been doing this since age five: a fact that boggled her mind. As soon as she was securely strapped into her boots, they shuffled over towards the gentle slope of the bunny hill.

Looking around, she saw no snow bunnies, it was more like snow babies. The elementary school set surrounded them, as they tested out their prowess on tiny little skis, gliding down the hill with ease. She began to feel better—after all if kids could do this, so could she, right? Tristan had shown her briefly how to push off using her poles and how to stop by turning her skis perpendicularly. He followed her to the top, and stood beside her. She could see the real ski lift, and looked up to where it seemed to reach up to the sky. The sight completely unhinged her. She knew he was itching to make a real run up the mountain. She took a deep breath.

“Ready?”

She nodded, and they pushed off. It took a moment to get used to the feeling of her body gliding over the snow. She crouched a little, imitating him, and she felt her speed increase. The hill wasn’t that big, and the time she wanted to mentally prepare for stopping was slipping away quickly. She tried to move her skis perpendicularly as she could see him now doing, but evidently the lines of communication from her brain to her feet were slowed by the cold. Somehow in her effort to stop properly (and upright), her skis overlapped and she tumbled forward, flipping half-over and landed with a powdery ‘thud’ in the snow.

He stood over her, cringing.

“At least you didn’t hit a tree,” he encouraged.

She didn’t comment or move. She just stared up at him with a pained expression on her face.

“Anything hurt?”

“You mean, other than my pride, right?”

He held in a smile, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate his reacting to her dry sarcasm at this given moment. He’d learned the hard way before. He simply nodded and waited for her answer.

“No. Just help me get these skis off.”

“What? No! If you fall off the horse, you’re supposed to get right back on again!”

“That expression doesn’t work with me, I’m afraid of horses,” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She shook her head. “Face it, this is an omen. I should not go up there,” she pointed to the ski lift. “Now, help me up, so I can go find coffee.”

“Rory, come on, one more try. Look, just for a second, at your surroundings,” he urged, not yet wanting to go into the lodge.

She did as he asked, and took in a deep breath of the cold mountain air, which burst into her lungs as she took in the natural beauty of the snow-covered mountains. She looked to him again and smiled. “It’s gorgeous. And it will be even better from there,” she pointed to the large picture window of the lodge that overlooked the ski runs. “But I insist you go, do a real run or two.”

He sighed and frowned. “You sure?”

She laughed and kissed his nose, now that she was ski-less and on her feet. It was cold and pink from the winter wind, as was her own. “I’m sure. Just don’t break yourself.”

“And you stave off any eligible bachelors. You have that whistle I gave you?” he joked.

“I’ll just send out the Tristan-signal if I get into trouble.”

He smiled. “All right, all right. I’ll go.”

She watched him glide over and jump onto the ski lift before heading out to get herself situated in a comfy chair overlooking the runs, equipped with a book and mug of coffee. This she could get used to, she thought to herself as she nestled down and opened the front cover.

****

45 minutes later, she looked up from her book when she heard a familiar voice arguing with an unfamiliar one.

“It’s not broken.”

“Sir, you need to have a doctor tell you that.”

“Look, I appreciate the help up here, but honestly,” he continued arguing.

“Tristan, what happened?” Rory bolted up, her book long forgotten on the armchair as she rushed to his side.

“Seems your stellar aptitude for skiing rubbed off on me,” he joked.

“Sit down,” she urged, putting the arm that had been around the lodge staff member across her own shoulders.

“I just tweaked my ankle, I went over this jump, and I landed wrong,” he explained.

“Make him ice that, and call the doctor if it gets worse,” the man informed her, ignoring Tristan. She nodded gratefully.

“I will, thank you.”

She knelt down in front of him and began to roll up his left pant leg.

“It’s fine.”

“Shush, let me look at it.”

She began to examine his ankle, running her fingertips over his skin with a feather-light touch. He watched her as she took great care in her inspection.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?”

“It’s kinda puffy. Come on, let’s get you up to the room. I’m afraid no more skiing for you this weekend.”

“Guess you’ll have to entertain me somehow,” he smirked.

“Hope you like to watch me read,” she teased as she helped him stand up and they began the slow trek up to their hotel room.

****

“I must say, I’m sorry you can’t walk, but this room service thing is great,” she informed him as they finished their dinners.

“I’m glad my accident is so beneficial for you.”

“So, you want to order dessert?”

“No need,” he replied, pulling her from her seat next to him on the bed. She landed, giggling, on his chest.

“What about your ankle?”

“Be gentle with me,” he drawled.

She leaned in and kissed him softly, as requested. He tried to turn in towards her while keeping his left foot propped up. It was an idea good in theory, but not in practice, and he winced. Noticing this, she quickly moved to straddle his lap, and he slid his hands up under the back of her shirt. She sat up a little when he groaned.

“Need more ice?”

“No, I need you,” he looked at her, holding her face in his hands now. She blushed a little, but stared back into his eyes. He wasn’t kidding, and the intensity of his gaze shot through her.

“Hand me the phone,” he instructed. She slid off of him in order to oblige his request. She grabbed it off the side table and handed it to him. She watched as he dialed zero and waited.

“This is room 206. I need a bottle of your finest tequila, and two shot glasses. Hang on,” he covered the mouthpiece. “You want anything else?”

She frowned. “You just want to sit around and get drunk?”

“What, you want to play a drinking game to make it fun?”

“Ooh, fun!” her reaction to his plan turned around. This girl loved games a little too much, but he was usually never in the position to complain.

“Fine,” he put the phone back up to his ear. “Do you have any games at the desk? . . . Is that all? . . . Uh, yeah, bring that, too.”

“Hot chocolate,” she announced quickly.

“And two hot chocolates,” he added. “That’s all. I’m sure. Thank you.”

He hung up and smiled at her. “Now the fun can begin.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have to be drunk to enjoy being with me?”

“No, the being drunk will take my mind off of the pain, so I can focus all my attention on you.”

“Sweet-talker. You just want to get me drunk.”

“Yeah, well,” he laughed, pulling her back down on top of him.

They were interrupted by a knock on their door a few minutes later. She moved to sit beside him and straighten her hair, though he told her that the bellboy had probably seen much more risqué scenes in his day. He called for the bellboy to come in, which he did, bringing a cart with the tequila, shot glasses, and two mugs of hot chocolate along with the board game Sorry! She looked at Tristan in confusion.

“Sorry?”

“It’s what they had left,” he shrugged.

“How do you drink shots with Sorry?”

“Well, first off, every time someone ‘Sorry’s’ you, you take a shot. And when another player gets their game piece into the Safety Zone, you have to take three.”

She shook her head. “You have a talent. If only it were used for good.”

“So, the hot chocolate you needed?” he questioned her now.

“That is to cleanse my palate between tequila shots.”

“Even with your iron stomach, that is such a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Just drink it now, and I’ll set the board up on the bed.”

They finished off their hot chocolate as they set up the board game, but not before she’d tried to decorate his face with some of her whipped cream. She smeared it on his cheek, causing him to protest, until she moved in to kiss it away.

“You know, we can ditch this set up, and I can get some more whipped cream if you’d like to continue this game,” he said in a low, husky tone.

“Just roll the dice, Tristan,” she giggled.

“Ah, first, a drink,” he insisted, pouring out the first two shots.

“No one’s ‘Sorry’,” she pointed out.

“May the best man win,” he offered his glass up to hers.

“The best man will be trounced by the best woman,” she clinked her glass to his and they downed their shots.

“Be nice, I’m ailing.”

“And soon to be feeling no pain,” she added as she rolled the dice.

****

An hour later, Rory raised her hands up in the air and squealed happily. She’d just gotten her second game piece into the Safety Zone, signifying three more shots for Tristan. The game had been quite eventful, and both were now more than tipsy.

“I think we need a new system.”

“Like what?” she asked with exaggerated interest.

“Like Strip-Sorry!”

“Huh?”

“Same rules, just substitute removing clothes for shots.”

“So, for instance, now you’d remove three pieces of clothing?” she asked, her interest now definitely more than peaked.

“Yep.”

“Woo-hoo!”

He laughed at her more than elated approval. He liked drunk Rory; she was still herself, but she was completely uninhibited. He knew he could suggest sex on the balcony, and she’d go for it, if she were in the mood. And to be honest, he’d been more than pleased with her sexual needs thus far.

He removed both socks, wincing only a little at touching his left foot, and then his shirt.

She frowned.

“What?”

“Not enough,” she pouted.

“Rules are rules. Now, I believe it’s my turn,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her as he set out to remove some of her clothes.

****

Another half hour went by, leaving both of them in just their underwear. He was going slowly crazy, sitting across the board from her as she wore just her panties and a smile. And there was more to her smile than her panties. His current roll put another of his game pieces in the Safety Zone, and she frowned.

“I only have one thing left.”

“I have another solution.”

She raised an eyebrow and cocked her still very much inebriated head at him.

“You remove you last piece of clothing,” he began and smiled widely. “And then we move on to sexual favors.”

She widened her eyes. “Who chooses these favors?”

“The person receiving.”

“So, I take off my panties, and then you get to pick two things you want me to do to you?”

“Yep.”

“Can they overlap?”

“Perhaps. If the laws of physics allow.”

She smiled, knowing how his mind worked when it came to sex. Not that she was complaining.

“Okay,” she said, not one to back down from a challenge. She stood, and put her fingers playfully into the waistband of her panties.

“Ah-ah-ah, not so fast.”

She frowned and stopped her motions.

“My first request involves the removal of the panties.”

“You’re wasting your first favor?”

“Never. I want you to strip for me.”

“Tristan, I’m stripped.”

“Take them off while giving me a lap dance.”

She looked at him for a moment, as if trying to plan out her actions.

“Don’t think, just come here,” he instructed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, to form a lap for her to move around. He turned her around, and grasped her hips.

“I’ll help you, just move like this,” he offered, moving her hips slowly back and forth in front of him. It didn’t take her long to find a rhythm inside herself, and soon the fact that he was wearing underwear was insane. His cock was pulling against he fabric, begging to be released from its prison. Her ass rubbed into his lap, grinding softly, not quite hard enough, so as to tease him, before she moved around to brush her breasts against his face. He groaned, and moved to touch her.

She shook her head, wordlessly reprimanding him for his actions. She had this one.

She stood in front of him again, placing one leg up next to him on the bed. She swiveled her hips again and again, getting more and more into her dance. By the time she removed the lacy garment, he was dizzy with want. Maybe this turn of the game wasn’t the smartest idea. He was feeling no pain, but he was desperate to get her on her back underneath him on the bed. And he still had another favor to go before it was her turn.

She stood in front of him, clearly proud of herself. She wasn’t blind; she knew he was having trouble speaking.

“Touch yourself,” he managed. He didn’t care that this might be pushing it; it was something she’d been reluctant to do in the past. He had dreams about it often, but now as she was slinking over to the bed he realized that his dreams had nothing on the real thing.

She did as he asked, trying to be brazen but he detected her nervous hesitation. She wanted to please him, which in all reality his pleasure should just be a by-product. This should be about her pleasure. She ran her hands lightly over her body, slowing at all the right areas. He put his hand on her shoulder, causing her to look at him.

“Don’t worry about if I’m enjoying this, just do what you’d normally do,” he advised, looking into her eyes.

She nodded, her head slightly more clear now, but still in that foggy alcohol haze. Her hands instantly on a much more determined course, touching all the right areas to get what she needed. One hand began paying attention to her nipples; rolling, tweaking, and sensitizing. The other traveled south, softly petting her whetted lips. She inserted two fingers into herself, pulling them out again quickly and circling her clitoris—beginning the practiced rhythm that produces the fast results she craves so much.

She only really likes taking her time with him.

His breath is ragged, watching her has him out of his mind. He knew it would be a turn-on, but if she keeps this up he feared he wouldn’t make it past this roll of the dice. She began softly moaning, and her body gave a familiar quake. He liked feeling that from the inside. His eyes were transfixed on her as her back arched. Her last moan seemed to hold her in place before she gave a hard shudder, and then fell limp against the pillows. Her eyes opened again, having been screwed shut to keep her concentration as always.

She blinked, focusing her flushed gaze on him. She’d seen desire in his eyes before. There was more there now—an amazement of sorts. She sat up a little, touching his cheek with her fingers. He could smell her sweet scent, intoxicating him in a whole other way.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You liked that?”

He nodded, and she kissed him. Her mouth was demanding, her tongue licking his lips in order to part them. He moved over her quickly, unable to continue this game. He wanted his prize. His hands worked over the same areas that she’d just put to good use, bringing her higher faster as she was still feeling the bliss of her recent orgasm.

“I thought it was my turn now,” she breathed, as he moved his lips down her neck.

“Oh, it is,” he managed between kisses, “Tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

Her head fell back as he made his way to her chest, running his hot tongue around her still erect nipple. Nothing she could ever do to herself could feel that good, and they both knew it. He bit down lightly, causing her to arch into him, beginning the dance they knew so well. Every action has a reaction, and he loved making her grind into him. He couldn’t help the harshness of his body’s reaction in its need for hers. He ground down into her, pressing her into the mattress and providing the friction that he was seeking.

“Were you thinking of me?”

His fingers took the place of his mouth, rolling her almost painfully tight nipple between his thumb and forefinger before giving it a pinch. She shuddered at the sensation.

“Always.”

His hands were now at her hips, lifting her. He slid down quickly, and all his efforts zeroed in on her wet heat. Two masculine fingers moved around, testing and stretching. No matter how many times they did this, he always tried to prepare her. His tongue was soft against the still engorged nub, covering its entirety, and bringing her closer. His long fingers brushed over a rough patch deep inside, and he moved them quickly back and forth over the spot. She arched higher, moaning his name.

He felt her walls close in on him, but it didn’t slow him down. He continued at her, like he was consuming an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day, trying to enjoy every last drop. Her hands went to his shoulders, holding onto him, as his other hand remained secure over her stomach, anchoring her in place.

He slowed his pace as she began giggling—the sensations too much for any other reaction. He loved the noises she made, and he loved eliciting them. He moved back up her, placing open-mouthed kisses first on her clit, then her belly button, the valley of her breasts, and finally her mouth. She pulled him closer, circling her legs around his waist. That’s when she noticed it.

“You’re still in your underwear. That means I still have one more turn.”

He nodded against her as they locked eyes. “I think the game board fell off the bed when you started squirming.”

She giggled. “Sorry,” came her ironic response.

He moved to grab a die off the floor, and rolled it on the carpet. A two faced the ceiling, and he turned to look at her.

“Alright, it’s all you. How are you going to have your way with me?”

“So, now, to get this clear—I get your underwear and one sexual favor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She put her finger to her chin, as if in deep thought. She’d never had to ask Tristan for anything before—his sexual imagination was always one step ahead of her to say the least. There wasn’t much they hadn’t done, and she certainly couldn’t think of anything he hadn’t done to her.

“You ready for me to undress?”

She nodded, and watched as he slid his boxers down his legs, showing off how much he wanted her instantly. She loved how he was so easily aroused in her presence—their foreplay was definitely purely for fun purposes only. She wondered what exactly ran through his head to make him fueled up at a moment’s notice.

Instantly she knew what she wanted of him. Smiling, she moved seductively to sit in his lap, her bare bottom resting between his legs. He groaned, hoping whatever she wanted could be accomplished quickly—his resolve was good, but not unending.

“Tell me a story,” she winked at him.

“Is this going to be a kinky thing?”

“I don’t know, that’s up to you.”

He furrowed his brow at her in slight confusion; he didn’t quite understand her meaning yet. She was probably still quite tipsy, they’d had a lot to drink.

“I want you to tell me one of your fantasies.”

“My fantasies?”

She nodded. “I want you to describe to me what turns you on.”

He smiled, liking how her mind worked. “Can’t I just show you?”

She smiled back, shaking her head. “Nope.”

“You have a word fetish, that’s for sure,” he smirked, and she giggled. “Okay, whatever the lady wants,” he nodded in concession. After all, she’d just done something that he never thought he’d get her to do—and with no protesting.

It was more a question of which fantasy of her he would choose—he’d had a lot. It got worse in class, when he couldn’t be with her and all he wanted was to get back to her room and make up for lost time. He’d had years of fantasizing about this girl—the years in military school also producing some good ones. He had to admit, after being with her in reality, the fantasies had only become more vivid. Not to mention hopeful.

He looked into her waiting eyes, and suddenly he realized his most prominent fantasy, the first one.

“Do you remember that night we first kissed?”

She nodded, not wanting to interrupt his stream of thought.

“Ever since then, I’ve had this recurring fantasy about that night—you came to find me just like you did, innocent and concerned about me. You’re wearing that sheer little dress you had on. It showed off every single curve that you normally hid under those horrible uniforms. My mind goes blank as you continue towards me, until suddenly you’re sitting next to me, and I can feel your breath on my neck. You’re so close, and after months of being just out of reach of you, I lean in and kiss you. Your lips are soft and sweeter than anything I could have ever imagined in my life. I want to drown in your kisses. You’re confident, moving against me as I tangle my hands through your hair.”

She swallowed, having followed the reality into the tangent.

“There’s this heat built up between us, and I need to press myself into you. I need you to know how much you turn me on. I stand up, and you follow my lead, not breaking the kiss. You run your hands down my chest, coming to rest on my belt buckle. I push the piano bench back with one leg, and pick you up with both hands, lifting you easily onto the top of the piano. You’re one step ahead of me, pulling me back against you and holding me there by wrapping your legs around my waist.”

He continued to look into her eyes, very much aware that her bare chest is brushing against his as she unconsciously holds her breath. She listened intently, and he could feel the wet heat coming from between her legs as she repositioned herself on his lap.

“Your little dress is no barrier for my roaming hands, I easily push it up and trace the hem of your panties. I kiss you deeply, probing your mouth to swallow any noises that you might make as I slide the fabric aside and feel your body. I gently rub over your clit and slide my finger through your lips, causing you to grow wetter than you already are. Your desire for me is more of a turn-on, a driving factor. I slip first one finger inside you, and you groan into my mouth. You’re pulling up on my shirt, you want this as much as I do, if not more. I add another finger, pumping harder now, making your moans louder. I move my mouth down, kissing down your collarbone, first on skin, then over your clothes, finding your nipples easily as they’re now rock hard, desperate for the attention. I bite down softly, sending sensations all over your body. You arch into me, making my exploration a bit more difficult, and I bite harder on your nipple. I want to tease you, and I need all barriers gone. I lift up the hem of your dress, tossing it down on the floor. I slide out of my clothes, and suddenly you’re pushing me down on the piano top. You kiss me with a ferocity I wouldn’t have guessed from you—you seem so timid and regulated. I love this wild side you’re unleashing. You straddle my torso, sliding down on my cock, slowly at first, filling yourself with me. I feel like I’m going to burst, you feel so good. You’re hot and wet all around me, and you start moving, pumping up and down on me, raking your fingernails down my chest. If there’s a heaven, this is how I want it to feel. You’re amazing, your perfect breasts moving up and down in rhythm with your hips, until you start to come. You try to keep up the pace as your whole body starts quaking, your chest flushing pink as pleasure overtakes you. I lean up to kiss you, sliding us down to an upright position, my hands around your waist to help support you. I turn you to face the piano, my need to take control too much now. I bend you over, finding my target again with two fingers, to find you now soaking wet. I slam into you hard, and your cries are all I hear as you face away from me. I run my hands up under your chest, cupping your breasts at first, then gently swiping my thumbs over your nipples. As my thrusts begin to get harder and more purposeful, I move one hand down to your clit, moving my fingers back and forth, heightening the sensations for you. I can’t hold on any longer, coming as your inner walls close in on me yet again, and I continue on until you’re done, until you turn slowly, back into my arms.”

She smiled at him, amazed that she’s been the focus of his fantasy life for this many years. He ran his hand down from her shoulder, where it’d been resting in an attempt not to play out his words as he spoke them, and trailed down the outer curve of her breasts. She shivered, and pried her gaze from his lips that had been more than enticing her, up to his eyes.

“Wow.”

“I give you all that, and all I get is a ‘wow?’”

“I had no idea that you . . . for so long,” she whispered.

“It’s always been you,” he said, now the perfect moment to kiss her, as he lie back against he bed, taking her along with him easily. He continued to kiss her hungrily, as if it’d been since he was sixteen since he’d last kissed her. She was just as engrossed, her hands moving to his back to hold her to him. He moved over her, sliding into her for the first time this evening. He wanted to cry, she felt so good. He grabbed one of her ankles, and rested her leg on his shoulder, to move deeper inside of her. Her head tilted back against the pillows, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming right then and there. She moved against him, sliding her hands down to his ass, feeling the rhythm of his thrusting and encouraging him to go faster.

She heard a familiar groan—a guttural noise that he only made when just on the brink of losing control. He grabbed hold of her other knee, of the leg that she’d wrapped around his waist, and propped it up on his other shoulder. Her mouth opened in surprise, as he thrust even deeper in her, hitting more sensitive areas and pushing her closer faster. Her stomach clenched, as her breath grew shallow. Her hands fell, gripping at the sheets as her whole body went rigid for a beat as he continued to pound into her.

“Oh, fuck!” he moaned as she shuddered and shook, pulling everything out of him.

Her orgasm was much more intense than her prior two, and her legs fell limply down off his shoulders when they both came back to earth. He rested atop her, kissing her forehead as he continued to feel pleasure-quakes through his body.

“So, as good as the fantasy?” she asked, her breath regulating.

“You could say that,” he pressed his sweaty forehead to hers.

“I think we’ve learned one very important lesson here tonight,” she said, running her fingers down over his face.

“Do tell.”

“Board games, in the proper hands, are a lot more thrilling than skiing.”

He laughed softly. “Everything with you is more thrilling.”

She looked into his eyes, thanking him with a warm, open-mouthed kiss. When he pulled back, he looked at her as if he were considering something.

“What?” she asked softly.

“I was just wondering what games we should play on Spring Break,” he mused.

“A better question is how you’ll manage to get us stuck unable to leave the room again.”

“Somehow, I’m not so worried about your willingness to be locked in an enclosed space with me—unless you’re hiding some public place sexual fantasies from me,” he raised an eyebrow at her in curiosity.

“Guess you’ll have to wait ‘til the next game,” she smirked before kissing him again.

“So, what’s the verdict on that promise I made?” he asked, loving her unending ability to keep him guessing.

“You mean what am I going to tell Mom when she asks if I had a good time?”

He nodded, clearly amused.

“I’m going to tell her the truth—I obliterated you at Sorry!”

“How do you figure? We never really finished the game,” he pointed out.

“She, who has the most orgasms, wins,” she giggled, kissing his nose.

“Such sage words,” he laughed with her, moving back over her, eager to get more play time in.