Chapter Twenty-Eight
February
“Do not leave me hanging, you beautiful human being,” Evan says, holding out his hands as soon as I walk out to the rink on Wednesday morning. I smack my palms against his, his smile contagious as I grin back. “Gold, baby. We got gold.”
Hearing that never gets old.
“We can’t become complacent. We’ve got six weeks until Worlds. That’s not a lot of time,” I tell him as we step onto the ice to do some light stretches. “For all we know, that was a fluke.”
“ Pfft,” he snorts. “There is no way that was a fluke. We fucking rocked, Pippa. I’ve been assessing that footage since we won and cannot see anything wrong with our performance. Coach Camille agrees.”
“She didn’t have anything to say about me?” I ask skeptically.
“Nope.”
I let my mouth fall open, speechless. “Hell has frozen over.”
“It must have.” Evan’s gaze snags behind me, his eyebrows rising up his forehead. “Don’t look now, but Mr. Sexy Pilot Man is here.”
I whip around to see Wyatt standing at the edge of the rink. My stomach swoops, excitement, nerves, joy all tumbling together at once.
“Damn, he looks good. I almost didn’t recognize him without his uniform,” Evan says, playfully fanning his face with his hand. I let my eyes trail down Wyatt’s body, at his tight jeans, his white sneakers, hands shoved into the pockets of his thick coat. It’s a thrill to see him like this, a version of him that’s only for me. “How did he even get in here? The facilities are key card access only.”
“I asked reception to let him through,” I tell him, before skating toward my pilot.
“You’ve got it so bad,” Evan calls after me, and I raise my hand and flip him the bird as I reach the boards.
Leaning over, I press my lips to Wyatt’s, loving how freeing it is to do this without the fear of getting caught. “You came.”
“It was hard not to when I was being bombarded with multiple texts from you until I relented.”
I grin. “I can be very persuasive.”
He hums against my lips, the vibration going straight to my clit. The cold air in the arena is gone, replaced by this heat that’s only stoked by Wyatt Grant. There is something so innately attractive about seeing him here, in my “world,” supporting me like this, that makes me want to tell Evan to close his eyes and let Wyatt have his wicked way with me on the ice.
And I know it would be the best kind of filthy wickedness.
Since that night with the bow lingerie, Wyatt has tried to be more gentle, unwilling to unleash the primal side of him that I absolutely love. It’s another facet of him I had no idea he hid. Along with heartache and pain the woman who calls herself his mother causes him.
I move back, breaking our connection, needing to curb the lust that threatens to flood my veins. Especially when Evan and I aren’t finished practicing today.
“Take a seat,” I tell him, pointing behind him. Unlike in Lake Placid, Wyatt doesn’t look irritated at my command. Instead, he turns and walks up the stairs so he’s a couple of rows up but close enough to see everything clearly.
“I take it things are going well with you two?” Evan asks when I skate back over to him. My cheeks ache from my smile, my skin prickling with embarrassment as I try to turn my head, hiding it from his knowing stare. But he grabs my face, a shit-eating grin on his lips. “My little baby’s in love. This is far too cute.”
“Shut up,” I groan, shaking out of his hold.
“Wait,” he gasps. “If he’s here now, does that mean he came to the Championship the other week?” Pressing his hands together like a prayer, he holds the tips of his fingers to his lips. “Does this mean he’s our good luck charm?” He waves, wiggling his fingers at Wyatt, and I suck my lips between my teeth, biting back the laugh that wants to erupt as Wyatt scowls at my partner.
“I don’t think he likes me,” Evan pouts dramatically.
“Then don’t annoy him.”
He takes my hand, skating backward. “I’m basically your cupid. The least he can do is smile when I wave.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll tell him to be nicer. Happy?”
Moving so I’m in front of him, Evan’s hands latch onto my waist as we skate around the rink, our legs moving in perfect synchronization. I focus on the sound of our blades snicking across the ice, on how Evan holds me in a way that creates the perfect balance for our lift, on the next element we have, rather than the man with blue eyes watching my every move.
“Yes,” Evan says, taking me by surprise. I’d actually forgotten I’d asked him a question. “I can’t have my bestie’s boyfriend staring daggers at me whenever he watches us skate.”
I almost trip on the word boyfriend.
That isn’t what he is.
Is he?
Our one-night-only has turned into an every-Saturday-after-Lake-Placid for the last two months. Over two months, actually. And we text every day when I’m in Colorado, and I miss him like crazy when we’re not together and… and…
Shit.
Is he my boyfriend?
That night after Christmas, he told me he doesn’t do relationships, but then he also said he gets possessive over me. I’ve never had someone say that before, and while that should be a red flag, the only color I can wave is green. I want his possessiveness, his hunger, his need for me.
Because I feel it, too.
“Hey, babe? Where did you go?” Evan asks, the sound of his voice in my ear snapping out of my spiral.
“Sorry…uh…got distracted.”
“Mr. Sexy Pilot Man might be our good luck charm, but we can kick him out of practice if it’s easier?”
I shake my head and force a tight smile Evan can’t see on my face.
“I’m all good,” I lie, because I am definitely not. I don’t want to figure out what this thing between us is; I don’t want to ask him. I’m selfish and greedy and scared that if I mention it, Wyatt might not want to keep doing it.
I’m not young and na?ve. I know what we’re doing can’t last.
“Let’s show your man exactly what you’re made of, huh?” Evan says, pulling me out of my gloomy thoughts. I’ve never been more thankful for my partner and best friend.
Our program is still the same as what we did for the Grand Prix in November and last week at the U.S. Championship, the routine getting sleeker and more refined for each competition. It’s meant to be a love story about two opposing families, Romeo and Juliet, in a way, but until now, I never truly understood it. Never connected with the couple as I do at this moment. Evan lifts me in the air, my body becoming an extension of his as we hold the pose.
Before, it was a difficult move, a way to wow the judges and spectators. Now, I see it differently. It’s beautiful and daring. It represents the strength the two lovers in the story have to exude to make their relationship work. It’s trust, and unity, and transformation.
My heart is in my throat as we continue the routine. It’s the final move where I palm his cheek, our bodies entwined, faces close to each other, and the entire arena is gone. Only it’s not Evan I see gazing down at me. It’s Wyatt. His strong jaw, his stubbled cheeks, his brilliant blue eyes.
“Holy fuck, that was the best we’ve ever done,” Evan hoots, winding his arms around my back and lifting me off the ice. He spins us on the spot, his laughter a distant echo as my mind reels from our sequence.
When he sets me back on my blades, his focus lands above my head, and he leans to whisper, “I see what you mean about him being possessive.” I turn to look, too, my breath hitching as we lock eyes, molten lava pouring from Wyatt’s gaze. “Babe, if a man looked at me that way, I’d have melted through the ice.”
I can barely skate as my partner pulls me toward the rink doors, grinning like a damn fool as Wyatt walks to meet us. His gaze doesn’t falter as he stops in front of us, barely acknowledging Evan as he pats his shoulder and taunts, “Jealousy looks good on you, my man.”
“Fuck off,” he growls, and I hear Evan’s laughter as he walks away, but I can’t focus on anything else as Wyatt fuses his lips to mine, kissing me passionately. My knees threaten to give out as his tongue plunges inside my mouth, drawing out whines and whimpers I should be embarrassed about. I’m dazed when I pull away, but cognizant enough to see the fire in Wyatt’s eyes as he stares at me. “You are fucking incredible.”
My grin is lazy and drugged by the feeling of him as I murmur, “Jealousy tastes good, too.”
“I wasn’t jealous,” he replies, but the way he laces our fingers together screams mine.
The rink is deathly quiet, the air surrounding us so thick and heated that it’s making me sweat as we stare at each other, blinking, breathing, simply lost in one another.
Whoever moves first is a mystery as we collide. The stolen kiss we shared in the plane bathroom days ago wasn’t enough. I’ve become accustomed to our routine, the Saturday nights spent in his bed, the lazy early Sunday mornings together before I sneak home. Not having them last weekend because of the competition was torture, and I’m making up for lost time now.
His hands cup the back of my head, and I moan, hating that my hair is in a bun, that he can’t thread his fingers between the strands and gently pull like always, giving me the sparks that shoot straight to my core and make me so undeniably weak for him.
“Wyatt,” I pant, baring my neck, begging him to suck, nip, bite my skin.
“I’ve missed you,” he groans into my throat, sending goosebumps scattering across my flesh and heart. He’s never spoken those words to me, never made me truly feel like our attraction could be something more. Until he bared his soul for me to see, all exposed and unguarded, telling me things that mirrored by own emotions…I’d been too scared to think it, to dream it, to want it. Terrified that in the cold light of day, his late-night admission would be forgotten, that we’d go back to tiptoeing around each other, pretending this thing isn’t more.
But he’s here now. For me. Because I asked him to be.
My tongue feels thick in my mouth as every molecule screams for his touch on every part of me.
“Need you.” Fingers clawing at his shoulders, I hold on for dear life as his lips travel back up to my jaw, to my cheeks, my mouth. I didn’t know kissing could be like this, like if we stopped, my world would end. It’s disconcerting, this feeling. It’s heavy and weighted and threatens to drown me, but the thought of his lips no longer being on mine is worse.
“Get your things,” Wyatt rasps, trying to break away. He’s unzipped his jacket at some point, and I slide my hands inside, clutching at his shirt, a dark blue V-neck that brings out the gorgeous light blue in his eyes. “Baby, we need to leave now before I take you right here.”
Arousal pools between my legs at the image, the way he’d spilt me in two, holding my leg up as he pounds into me from behind... I want that, being filled up by his cock, my moans vibrating around the arena like spectator's cheers.
I can’t wait until we get back to my apartment; the journey is far too long compared to if I lived on campus, and for once since joining Team USA, I hate that I agreed to my father buying me my own place.
“No, I can’t wait,” I say, my voice embarrassingly needy, close to begging. “I need your hands on me now.”
Cool fingers slip under my hoodie, my stomach trembling as he grazes them along the waistband of my leggings, pushing them inside. He steps closer, so close that there’s barely any space between us, so close that you could hardly tell he has his hands down my pants, but my shocked, breathy gasp as he presses the ice-cold tip of his thumb to my clit is telling.
“Tell me what you were thinking about that made you this wet,” he whispers in my ear, his words a command that makes me short circuit.
“You bending me over the boards, fucking me so hard that I’d see stars,” I pant, as the fantasy spurs on my desire.
He hums appreciatively, his hand presses farther down so his fingers swirl around my wetness, the top of my pants digging into my hips.
“You’d sound so pretty screaming my name in here, the way it would echo. Anyone walking outside would know you’re taking my cock like you’re desperate for it, enjoying it like the little slut you are for me.”
Somewhere in the distance, doors bang, and I jump. Wyatt yanks his hand out and stands back, swallowing thickly, his blue eyes almost black with how blown his pupils are. “I won’t tell you again, Pippa. Get your things.”
“Come with me.”
My legs shake with each step as we rush down the chute toward the locker rooms, balancing on the thin blades of my skates the hardest move I’ve had to do today. Wyatt’s hands are on my body, sweeping, grazing, ghosting across every inch he can and making it awkward to walk. Yet having him pressed against my back like he can’t get enough of me is heady and consuming, and I never want this to stop.
Shoving the door open, I dart toward the first wooden bench I see, dropping down and fumbling with the laces as I try to undo my skates. My fingers keep missing, my urgency making me sloppy, until Wyatt crouches in front of me, taking over and deftly undoing the tight ties before slipping my foot out, and eventually ridding me of my blades.
We strip, our clothes scattering across the empty locker room in a flurry, and I barely take the time to be thankful that Evan and I were the only ones scheduled for ice time today, following the championship last week. I’m too caught up in the gloriously naked man in front of me, tattooed skin shining under the florescent lights, his abs taut with restraint, the trail of hair that lines his lower stomach, merging with the pubic hair that surrounds his already hard cock.
I would have lowered to my knees, taking him deep into my mouth, but he has my legs wrapped around his waist, our naked bodies flush together as he carries me to the shower cubicle, turning on the water and letting it warm up. I sigh when he steps inside, the warmth of the water matching the warmth of his skin. Slowly, he lowers me to my feet, and I can feel every ridge, every bump of muscle on the way down.
His cock juts out between his legs, the tip already leaking pre-cum. I wrap my hand around it, pumping in languid strokes, his breath shuddering when my thumb smears the clear liquid around his piercing, relishing the way it feels. Dipping his head, he runs his nose up my cheek, nudging my face until we’re kissing again.
Strong hands start circling my back, the generic smell of soap from the dispenser filtering through my senses.
He’s washing me.
My insides squeeze at this sweetness of Wyatt, his caring and attentive side I find I enjoy just as much as his dirty side. His firm fingers dig into the muscles at the base of my neck, eliciting a whimper as he kneads the spot where I carry most of my tension. My eyes flutter shut, mind going blank, and I completely forget that I’m currently holding his hard length. I don’t even have it in me to keep pumping my hand, his ministrations on my shoulders are too good to do anything other than stand there and take it.
They lower, making me groan each time he rubs soap into a different part of my body, spending a couple of minutes showing the new location the same attention, turning me into a puddle of goo.
His fingers knead into my ass, pulling it apart and slipping between them. I gasp, my eyes snapping open, finding Wyatt on his knees, nosing the junction between my legs.
“I wanted to do this the night I flew you home from California. Wanted to celebrate your win with my face buried between your legs.” He swipes his tongue up my center, and I nearly stumble backward. My hand flies out, clutching fruitlessly at the wet tiled wall as he licks me like I’m the best thing he’s ever had.
He’s savage, delivering what I can only imagine has been on his mind for days. He’s a man possessed, groaning and grunting, making these sexy noises as he grinds my hips against his mouth, pushing his tongue deeper, using his grip to take from me, feeding off my desire like he needs it to survive.
His hands are back to massaging my ass, his fingers periodically grazing my hole, making me shake with pleasure.
The soap’s long gone, the slick feeling of his skin on mine rougher now as he circles the ring of muscle, his mouth sucking my clit, the pressure building me up until I’m so damn close only to move away, nipping the inside of my thigh.
“Wyatt,” I plead when he does it again, frustration coating my insides as well as out as he leads me so close to the edge, but never allowing me to topple over it. I need to come more than my next win. Fuck whoever said edging was fun. It is not. “I swear to God, Wyatt, if you don’t let me come, I’m going to—"
He spins me around with force, plastering me to the wall, the cold tiles making me hiss.
“What will you do, Pippa?” he taunts. Parting my cheeks, he kisses the inside of one. “You know no one has ever made you come the way I do. No one eats your pussy the way I do.” He gives my hole a light flick of his tongue, and my face explodes with heat. I’m exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy as he stares at the most intimate part of me. “No one eats your ass the way I do.”
“God, I hate you,” I murmur, burying my head against my arm.
His chuckle is one hundred percent salacious as his breath washes over me. “No, you don’t. Not when I’m about to push into your tight little hole and fuck it with my tongue.”
Scorching pleasure rockets through me, much like the last time, as he laps hungrily against me. No one has ever done this to me before him, the act sordid and lewd, but with Wyatt, it’s different. I want it, I crave it, I need more.
“I can’t wait to sink my cock inside this pretty little ass. Watch it stretch around me, sucking me inside, greedy just like your cunt,” he tells me matter-of-factly, and I shudder, anticipating building up at the same rate as my orgasm.
“N—now?” I stutter, and to my mortification, I push back onto his tongue, groaning when I feel him breach me.
He’s silent, enjoying what he’s doing, snaking a hand between my thighs and up to my pussy. His thumb strokes my clit, the soft brushes enough to send me over the edge. I slap my hand over my mouth, biting into the meaty part of my palm, stifling my orgasm as I pulse everywhere, my ass, my pussy, desperate to be filled by him.
On trembling legs, I try to turn as Wyatt stands, a satisfied look on his face. I lick my lips, starting to drop to my knees when I freeze, a loud knock sounding on the locker room door.
“Anyone in here?”
My eyes widen in panic as Wyatt’s hands pull me up. I open my mouth, words clogging my throat as I try to think of what to do.
“Speak, Pippa,” Wyatt whispers, his blue eyes steady as he looks at me. “Say you’ll be out in a minute.”
“Yeah—yes, someone’s still in here,” I shout, all the while focusing on Wyatt. “I won't be long.”
“No problem,” the male voice calls. “I’ll start cleaning the other locker room first.”
“Thank you.”
The door closes, and we don’t say a word, listening to the downpour from the shower head splashing over our bodies until I splutter, covering my face with my hands, and burst out laughing. Leaning against Wyatt, I can feel him tremble, his arms wrapping around me as he joins in with quiet laughter.
“Holy shit, that was close,” I say, muffled behind my fingers. Wyatt kisses the top of my head, and I peel away, a grin on my face. “Could you imagine if we got caught?”
“C’mon,” he says. Turning off the water, he opens the door. “Let’s go to your apartment. I’m not done with you.”
I shiver, the cool air nipping my skin, and I groan, realizing I left my towel in my locker. Crossing my arms over my boobs, I sprint on my tiptoes across the changing room, water dripping off with each step, and fling open the metal door.
Quickly, I run my towel over me before tossing it to Wyatt. He catches it, doing the same thing before shrugging into his clothes.
I’ve never seen someone move so fast, and I’m captivated as I watch him. He places the used towel on the bench, running his hand through his damp hair.
“What?” he asks quizzically.
“Nothing,” I say, biting on my lower lip. Even though we’re rushing to get out of the sports facility, somehow watching him feels oddly domesticated.
“Hurry up before I carry you out of here in nothing.” He nods toward my naked body, the leftover heat in his gaze returning to molten levels.
I grin and turn to grab my panties, then shimmy them up my legs. “So eager to leave.”
Stepping forward, he takes my chin in one hand and rubs my nipple with the other. “Eager to have you, Pippa. You’ve made me an impatient man. Now get your ass moving before that janitor comes in and catches a show.”