Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
IMANI
Excitedly, I retrieve Blake’s lubricant, sitting back in their lap and producing it like it’s my own creation.
Toys are good, but there’s nothing like feeling your lover's body inside yours. I’m aching for Blake’s fingers, ready to do anything to achieve it. I feel like I’m vibrating as much as the device they had inside of me was—I’m seconds away from rubbing myself against them like a cat.
I give in—just a little. I might get punished, but I need more of them.
I reach up with both hands to run my hands through Blake’s silky cornhusk-colored strands, and just like that vegetable, their locks are satiny smooth.
I don’t know if I’m just feeling everything turned up to eleven right now, or if I’m just so enamored with them that every touch feels like I’m getting closer to the god that they pray to.
If I’m going to be on my knees for anyone, it’s going to be this person right here.
God never loved me the way that Blake Floquet does.
I’ve never been so cherished or so cared for.
How am I supposed to move on from this dynamic and find another Dominant who treats me like I’m their reason for existing?
Fuck stupidly falling in love with your first girl in a sapphic relationship, someone should have warned me about having the ground disappear beneath your feet in your first D/s. Did Blake tell me that?
No one knows right now. I’m so spaced I can barely remember anything other than the chanting of SirSirSir BlakeBlakeBlake in my brain; I am unmade and remade with every pass of their lips, with every brush of their fingertips; I am simultaneously broken and whole.
I’ve never U-Hauled before, but I’m beginning to see the appeal. It’s only been two weeks, and I’m ready to give up nearly everything just so this never fucking ends.
Blake squeezes lube onto their first three fingers, grins broadly, and eases them inside of me.
At their insertion, I remove my hands from their hair, grab onto their biceps, throw my head back, and moan loudly. I am singularly focused on riding their hand. If I can perform well, if I can be good and take their whole hand, surely they’ll allow me to come?
I’d love to ask, but all that comes out of my mouth are more moans.
Fortunately, this causes Blake to growl their approval, swirling those calloused ivory digits into me, eventually landing on my G-spot.
Using my hands to anchor myself, I lean forward and nuzzle my face into the crook of Blake’s neck, opening my mouth to bite down.
“Eesh, Cupcake. You are truly a very naughty girl. I should probably put more fingers inside you if this is your response,” they gasp and then laugh.
No thoughts, just the urge to mark them.
I know I’ve been feeding the rumors but playing it off so far—I know people probably saw us kiss in that pub, and then I practically ran into their arms after the skate.
So far, it’s been a lot of denial on my part, because I don’t want to open the box that’s labeled “After the Olympics Plans.”
But right now? The need I have to claim Blake is overwhelming.
More tears slip down my cheeks as I disengage my jaw and feel a fourth finger breach my body.
“Fuck, Cupcake, I love being inside of you. You feel so goddamn good,” Blake growls, setting a rough rhythm that makes me keen.
I run my hands from their muscled arms, up to their sizable traps, and down to their pretty pink breasts. Still panting into their neck, I massage the gorgeous tits I don’t usually get to touch as I move over Blake’s hand like a champion bull-rider.
Their suavity on display, Blake manages to apply more lube to their hand even with my body trapped against theirs as I am—I hear the click of the bottle as the only accent to my sharp, panting breaths that ring in the room alongside the soundtrack of our joined bodies.
The sound of my air intake becomes choppy and harsh as Blake manages to slide their thumb into my orifice. I have completed my task; I have taken their fist.
I’m so full, and what’s more is the knowledge that it’s Blake, my Sir, my dominant, who fills me so completely.
Unfortunately, I fear that I have shorted out and gone boneless. I slump down onto Blake’s lap, pushing their arm further inside of me, and then I fall back so that my body lies upon their legs.
“Just rest, Cupcake. I’ll fuck you until you come, my little ragdoll.” They easily go with the flow, not slowing down in their movements as they fuck me on their lap in this perpendicular position.
When I come, it’s like sinking into a peaceful bath that also somehow has an electric toaster thrown in, except I’m not dying, I’m becoming. And, inconveniently, I black out.
When I come to, Blake and I are still naked, but my permed hair is loose from its confines; I have a hot, wet washcloth on my forehead; and I’m tucked securely against their front under soft blankets.
Pushing away from their body just enough to look into their eyes, I feel everything hit me all at once. The panic consumes me. “Blake!” I raise my hands and scratch desperately into their back.
“What do you need, Cupcake? I’m right here,” Blake assures me with the utmost gentleness, holding me close and beginning to rub soothing circles into my hip and back.
I bury my face into their breasts and begin to cry. My scant fingernails dig deep into their back, assumedly leaving divots in their back.
“Shh, shh. Cupcake. You’re safe. Everything is all right. I’ve got you, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Blake utters with strength and authority.
Looking up into their always-loving eyes with my blurry ones, I try to put my panic into words. “No. Everything is wrong. And it’s all my fault. I really am a bad girl.”
Blake’s face crumples. “Hey, no, no, no. Cupcake, do you know how good you are for me? I love your bratting. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
I close my eyes, but I feel sweet kisses making their way across my face. “Would you… have me? Even as fucked up as I am?”
“You’re not fucked up. Dealing with hard shit and never having gotten the right resources for them isn’t your fault,” Blake says directly into my ear.
“No! I’m not good enough. To win the gold, to win over the audience, to… win your love.” My voice breaks, and I sob anew.
“Oh, Cupcake,” Blake moans, and I just know I’m about to be let down.
This wasn’t supposed to be anything more than what was agreed upon. This is why I don’t get close to people. And now we’re going to have this conversation right before the most important performance of my entire life. I should have just shut my goddamn mouth.
Blake pulls back from me, gripping my chin with force. “Open your eyes,” they demand.
“No,” I pout.
“Imani. Open your goddamn eyes. Now,” Blake says in a deadly serious voice, making it apparent they aren’t being sexy or funny. “Trust me.”
I blink my tear-filled eyes open and gaze straight into those beautiful blue eyes.
“You are having some insane subdrop right now, and I don’t know if you even know what you’re saying.
But just so there’s no fucking confusion, I’m insane for you.
Imani, I love you more than I love the game.
If I had a career-ending injury during my final, I would shake it off if I could only go home and recover at your side.
I know you know what a declaration like that means.
My entire life has been wrapped up in hockey, but I finally found the one thing that makes it a second priority.
And again, in case you’re not thinking clearly and I need to spell it out: you’re the first.” Blake’s face is stern but loving, their eyes jumping between mine.
“I need to tell you something,” is my answer to the best thing they could have said to me.
“Anything.” Blake nods.
“I think… I might be… I could possibly have… anorexia,” I sputter out warily.
Their hand on my back rubs a big circle as their hand on my chin loosens and moves to push my hair out of my face. “Thank you for telling me that. Are you telling yourself at the same time?”
I feel my face screw up in frustration. “Lowell and my nutritionist have been fine with my intake and output… But. I don’t know. That stupid doctor was concerned. And you—you’re an athlete.” I look at Blake with derision. “You eat like shit. I don’t ever want to eat like that.”
A laugh bursts out of Blake, and they let a smile linger.
It encourages me to continue. “But. I’m tired of… living like this. Do you know I punish myself when I eat dinner with you? No one has ever told me I’m mean to myself except for you. So. Maybe I could stop doing that? If there’s a way?”
Blake takes the washcloth off my forehead, flinging it somewhere I’m not privy to. Then they kiss me there, lingering for several moments.
“I still have the pamphlet from the doctor. It outlines a lot of options, and I’m sure we can find the best one for you,” Blake breathes against my skin.
“We?” I dare to ask, unsure where their assertions of love extend.
“The ‘we’ is optional. But, I’m here. If you want me,” Blake says easily.
I pull back, still safely ensconced in their arms. “I’m not promising anything. Just so we’re clear.”
“Okay. But this? This was a start, Cupcake.” They cock their head and consider me. “I’ve been to a lot of therapy myself. Does that help to hear?”
My eyes widen in shock, and I blink several times. “Is that where you learned to have such a good disposition?”
“Oh, I’ve always been funny. That’s a defense mechanism.” Blake winks at me. “My dad is a hockey legacy. That… was not a great environment to be raised in. It probably could have gone nicer, except for the fact that my father is a raging dick.” They laugh, but it’s mean.
“But you’re so cool, calm, and collected,” I argue.
“Sure, because I had to learn how to be.” Blake pauses. “It’s hot, though, right? It works as a top.”
“Why haven’t you ever told me this before?
” I ask them, searching their face for what I now see are the cracks of strain from holding everything all together, all the time.
I’m reminded that Blake is their team captain, not just here at the Olympics, but at home in Toronto.
And then there’s all the fucking work of being my Dominant.
“Because it’s hard, and because you had enough going on that I figured it wasn’t the right time, if ever there was going to be a right time.
I’ll tell you anything you want to know, though.
I don’t have any secrets from you, Imani,” Blake informs me, and I have to trust that they mean it, because they used my serious-time name.
“What else are you holding onto, Mx. Toppy Top?” I question, knocking at their skull with my knuckles.
“Nothing unusual. A lifetime of dealing with homophobia and transphobia, coupled with my confusion regarding my gender and sexuality, as well as the additional casual trauma of Catholicism. NBD,” Blake shrugs.
“Was it hard to come out as trans in the league?” It suddenly occurs to me that they’re one of only two non-binary players in the PWHL.
“No, not at all. I definitely made up how hard that would be in my head. Reporters are douchecanoes, but I’ve told you about that before and how I regularly deal with that,” Blake says, and I’m not sure if I’m taking it pointedly or if it’s meant to be.
I don’t want to think about coming out in my own sport, so I change tack, thinking of my poor Sir. “You take care of me all the time. Who takes care of you?” I press, feeling incredibly selfish for all the bratty behavior.
“Well, Charlie. And you do take care of me. It helps to take care of you. It settles me,” Blake tries to assert.
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t think that’s a real thing. Nope.”
“Shh. Just let me love you.” Blake places a finger on my lips.
Opening my mouth, I chomp at their finger, but they’re too quick for me. “Oh, like it’s hard to love me?” I definitely say this with bratty intent, but secretly, I do need to check.
Blake grins. “Easiest thing I’ve ever done.”