Chapter 17
The scoreboard might as well have been written in a foreign language.
Lou stood outside Camille's apartment door and told herself that was the only thing that mattered.
The team had pulled through despite the chaos, despite the injury, despite the brutal physicality of the Titans' play.
Frankie had scored twice. Rowan had blocked three shots that would have tied it in the final minute. They'd survived.
But survival felt hollow when she couldn't stop thinking about Camille being carried off the ice.
She knocked.
The door opened almost immediately—Camille on crutches, her injured leg carefully positioned, her face pale and drawn in ways that made Lou's chest ache.
The medical brace wrapped around her knee looked foreign and wrong, a piece of equipment that had no business being part of Camille's athletic body.
"You came." Camille's voice was rough, exhausted.
"Of course I came."
Lou stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
The apartment was dim, curtains drawn against the sunset, and it smelled like antiseptic and something floral—Camille's perfume, maybe, or the candles scattered across every surface.
The air conditioning hummed softly, keeping the space cool despite the desert heat outside, and somewhere in the kitchen a faucet dripped in steady rhythm.
The space was beautiful in that careful, curated way everything about Camille was beautiful, but tonight it just looked empty.
Lonely. Like a stage set after the audience had gone home.
Camille set her crutches against the wall and hopped toward the couch, her movements careful and pained.
Lou caught her elbow, steadied her, helped her lower onto the cushions.
The contact sent electricity up Lou's arm—three days without touching her, and her body responded like a drought-parched plant finally getting rain.
They didn't speak.
There was too much to say, and none of the right words existed.
Mara's warning echoed through Lou's mind on an endless loop: distraction, liability, focus.
The fear in Camille's eyes when their coach had confronted them.
The way Camille had flinched when Mara said the word relationship, as if the acknowledgment itself was dangerous.
Lou should have kept her distance. Should have sent a text checking in, maybe stopped by tomorrow when emotions weren't running so high. Should have done anything except what she was doing now, which was sinking to her knees beside the couch and pulling Camille into her arms.
Camille crumpled against her.
The sob that escaped was quiet, muffled against Lou's shoulder, but it broke something in Lou's chest that she hadn't known was still intact.
She held on tighter, one hand cradling the back of Camille's head, the other wrapped around her waist, anchoring them both against the current that threatened to sweep them away.
"I was so scared." Camille's voice was barely a whisper. "When I went down, all I could think was—what if this is it? What if I can't play again? What if I let everyone down?"
"You didn't let anyone down."
"And then in the hospital, waiting for the scan, I wanted to call you so badly." Camille pulled back enough to meet Lou's eyes, her blue gaze swimming with tears. "But I couldn't. Because if you came, people would ask why. And I couldn't—I wasn't ready—"
"I know." Lou brushed a tear from Camille's cheek with her thumb. "I know."
The kiss happened without conscious decision—mouths finding each other in the half-dark, desperate and hungry and tinged with fear.
Camille tasted like salt and the herbal tea she'd probably been drinking for her nerves.
Her lips were soft, her tongue insistent, and Lou let herself drown in it because drowning felt better than thinking.
"I need you." Camille's fingers tangled in Lou's hair, pulling her closer. "Please. I need to feel something besides this."
Lou understood. The fear of injury, the pressure of the season, the weight of everything they weren't saying—it all demanded an outlet. And this, the physical connection between them, was the only language they could speak right now without risking everything.
She eased Camille back against the couch cushions, careful of her injured knee.
Camille's shirt came off first—a soft grey henley that smelled like her shampoo—revealing the sports bra underneath.
Lou unhooked it with practiced fingers, watching the fabric fall away to expose the breasts she'd memorized in hotel rooms and locker room showers.
Beautiful. Camille was so goddamn beautiful it hurt to look at her.
Lou kissed down Camille's throat, tasting the salt of dried tears and the sweetness of her skin.
Camille's head fell back against the arm of the couch, her breath catching as Lou's mouth moved lower.
The swell of her breast, the peaked nipple, the sensitive curve underneath—Lou worshipped each inch with lips and tongue, drawing soft gasps that filled the quiet apartment.
"Lou—" Camille's voice broke on the name.
"I've got you." Lou kissed lower, across the trembling plane of Camille's stomach. "I've got you."
The shorts were trickier, requiring careful maneuvering over the knee brace.
Lou worked them down slowly, lifting Camille's injured leg with gentle hands, pressing a kiss to the inside of her good knee as an apology for the awkwardness.
The underwear followed—simple black cotton that somehow looked impossibly elegant against Camille's skin.
And then Camille was naked except for the brace, spread out on her own couch like an offering, and Lou's mouth went dry with wanting.
She settled between Camille's thighs, careful to keep any weight away from the injured leg.
The position put her face level with Camille's pussy—flushed and glistening, the sweet scent of arousal cutting through everything else in the room.
Lou pressed a kiss to the inside of Camille's thigh, then the other, drawing out the anticipation until Camille's hips lifted in silent plea.
The first stroke of Lou's tongue drew a moan that made heat pool low in her own belly.
Camille tasted like desire and desperation, like everything Lou had been craving through days of professional distance.
She licked slowly, deliberately, learning Camille's responses all over again—the way she gasped when Lou circled her entrance, the way her thighs trembled when Lou's tongue found her clit.
"Please—" Camille's fingers tangled in Lou's hair, pulling her closer. "Please, I need—"
Lou gave her what she needed.
She sealed her mouth over Camille's clit and sucked gently, the resulting gasp sending satisfaction coursing through her own body.
Then she switched to long, slow strokes with the flat of her tongue, building pressure with patient attention to every shiver and gasp.
Camille's hips rolled against her mouth, chasing the sensation, and Lou let her set the rhythm.
This was what Camille needed—to feel in control of something, to know her body still worked, to lose herself in pleasure instead of fear.
Lou slid two fingers inside her as her tongue continued its assault.
Camille cried out, back arching off the couch, her inner walls clenching around Lou's fingers with greedy intensity.
The brace on her knee caught the light as she moved, a stark reminder of vulnerability that made Lou work harder, wanting to replace the memory of pain with something better.
"Right there—" Camille's voice had gone high and breathless. "God, Lou, right there—"
Lou curled her fingers, finding the spot that made Camille see stars.
She increased her pace, tongue and fingers working in concert, driving Camille higher with every stroke.
The sounds filling the apartment were obscene and beautiful—wet and desperate and raw in ways that made Lou's own arousal pulse between her thighs.
Camille came with a sob, her whole body shaking as the orgasm crashed through her. Lou held her through it, gentling her touch as the tremors subsided, pressing soft kisses to sensitive flesh until Camille's fingers loosened in her hair.
When Lou looked up, Camille was watching her with eyes that held too many emotions to name. Her blonde hair was spread across the throw pillow, tangled and wild, her chest still heaving with the aftermath of pleasure.
"Come here," Camille said, her voice hoarse. She tugged at Lou's shirt, pulling her up along the length of her body. "Your turn. I want—I need to taste you."
The words sent fire through Lou's veins. She stripped quickly—shirt, sports bra, the joggers she'd worn from the arena—until she was as naked as Camille. The cool air of the apartment raised goosebumps along her skin, but Camille's gaze was hot enough to burn.
"Sit on my face." Camille's hands guided Lou's hips. "Please. I want you like this."
Lou's breath caught. This was new—they'd explored each other in showers and hotel beds, but never quite like this. The vulnerability of the position made her hesitate, her body hovering over Camille's face while doubt crept in.
But Camille looked up at her with such naked want that doubt didn't stand a chance.
Lou lowered herself slowly, thighs bracketing Camille's head, and the first touch of Camille's tongue made her gasp. Camille licked into her with hungry precision, her hands gripping Lou's hips to hold her in place, tongue working in strokes that made Lou's vision blur.
"Fuck—" The word escaped before Lou could stop it. She braced herself against the arm of the couch, her hips rolling instinctively against Camille's mouth. The sensation was overwhelming—wet heat and deliberate pressure and Camille's soft moans vibrating against her most sensitive flesh.