Chapter Twenty-Eight
The smell of coffee reached her before anything else.
Georgia stretched, a slow, satisfied movement that made her sore in all the best places. The duvet was rumpled, the other half of the bed empty but still warm. Someone was shuffling about in the flat, their feet slapping against the wooden floors.
A self-satisfied grin spread across her face as she remembered exactly who was using her coffee machine.
They’d gone another two rounds before finally collapsing into each arms, drifting off from exhaustion and contentment.
Erin knew exactly how she liked to be fucked, the precise places she wanted to be touched. There’d been no awkward, anxious first-time fumbling. Erin had been confident, sure, and had coaxed more orgasms out of her than Georgia had thought possible.
If that was how it was always going to be, Georgia would sign up right here and now. She shook herself. One night together, and she was back to mapping out a whole future together.
She pulled on a clean T-shirt and pants, and padded barefoot out into the living room.
There was a cold draft blowing under the front door where she’d forgotten to put down the excluder before bed, the old door wonky and not quite airtight. In the kitchen, Erin was barefoot too, hair pulled back in a messy knot, mug in one hand, pan sizzling in the other.
“Morning,” Georgia said, voice still husky with sleep.
Erin turned, her smile slow and soft. “Morning.”
She was gorgeous. A goddess. Aphrodite herself.
Desire pooled in her stomach, still strong, still insistent. How was it possible she could feel this much again, so soon?
Erin pressed her back against the counter, leaning in slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation catch at Georgia’s throat.
She stopped, less than a centimetre away.
“I would kiss you,” she said, “but I only found clean pyjamas and no toothbrush, so I won’t subject you to that.”
Instead, she pulled Georgia in for a long, tight hug, their chins resting on each other’s shoulders. Her smell - sex and old shampoo and the remnants of yesterday’s perfume - curled through Georgia’s nose.
“It snowed overnight,” Erin said when they pulled apart, pointing at the thin dusting on the cars outside the window. “Barely anything here, but bad everywhere else, apparently.”
March was late for snow, but not unheard of. In Westcliffe, low lying and salted by the sea air, even heavy drifts disappeared quickly, melting into dirty slush.
Georgia hated training in it. Frozen fingers made any ball handling impossible, and the hard ground made contact dangerous.
There’d be extra gym sessions instead, leadership and teamwork sessions.
Video analysis of past matches. Long, brain-heavy days that made her more tired than any amount of physical exercise.
Maybe she’d get lucky. Not everyone in the team lived in Westcliffe.
Some of the girls commuted, by car or by train, and Maggie lived out in an old farmhouse her husband was renovating.
Maybe out in the downs, the rolling hills north of Westcliffe, the snow would be more than a dusting.
Maybe there’d be car-stopping drifts banked up against the twisting hedgerows and single-track lanes.
If the club thought it was dangerous to insist everyone came in…
As she thought it, Georgia’s phone buzzed. There was a message from Maggie on the Westcliffe group chat.
Maggie Stevenson Westcliffe
Training cancelled today due to the weather. Home workouts for everyone, please. Kiera will send personalised plans before nine.
Georgia put the phone down.
Too bad. What would she do with an unexpected, plan- and flatmate-free snow day? What would she do with such a snow day and an unbearably sexy woman within touching distance?
“Are you snowed in?” Georgia asked, peering out the window. As always this close to the beach, the snow had mostly disappeared, the salty coastal air vetoing any chance of snowmen and car-stopping drifts. “Stuck in a drift and you just can’t leave?”
Erin handed her a mug, shrugging. “That’s what I’ve told the boss. Can’t get off the drive, totally tried and everything. But, you know, I’ll just have to work from home all day.”
They grinned at each other, both knowing Erin was unlikely to get much work done.
Forget Kiera and her training plans. Georgia had the whole Christmas break ahead of her, two weeks without rugby, without needing to be match ready, to be on top of her game.
Besides, Georgia supposed she could get away with one light training day, given the impromptu calisthenics session the night before.
“This looks… domestic,” Georgia said, settling onto one of the high stools along the breakfast bar. There were slices of toast already buttered, and Erin had dug out the jars of peanut butter and Rachel’s Marmite. She’d even cut up the slice of melon Georgia had in the fridge.
Erin slid two poached eggs onto an empty plate in front of her and pushed it in Georgia’s direction. “Too much?”
Georgia shook her head. “No.”
Today, with Erin’s hair mussed and sticking up at odd angles, her body encased in a pair of Georgia’s pyjamas she’d definitely stolen from her drawers, Georgia couldn’t remember why she ever thought her spiky.
“So,” Erin said, eyes flicking up through her lashes, “what now?”
Georgia reached for her leg under the countertop, brushed her fingers across Erin’s bare skin. “Now, we have a whole snow day to plan.”
“I haven’t had a snow day in years,” Erin said seriously, mopping up the last of her eggs with a piece of toast. “What do they normally involve?”
Georgia grinned, sliding her hand a little higher up Erin’s thigh. “Well, they’re very cold, so you need to stay inside. Maybe under blankets or a duvet, preferably with someone else, to conserve body heat.”
“Is that so?”
She paused, leaning in just enough to let her breath ghost over Erin’s ear. “I hear it works better if you’re both naked.”
Erin huffed a laugh. “Who knew, eh? Georgia Hotchkiss, chronic overthinker, irrepressible overachiever, and insatiable sex pest.”
Georgia shoved her lightly in jest.
“You’ve got peanut butter on your face,” Erin said, standing to carry their empty plates to the sink.
“Deliberate,” Georgia quipped, lips curving, turning her chin so the offending smear was facing Erin. “All part of my elaborate sex pest seduction technique.”
“Effective,” Erin murmured. “I’m already imagining your sticky face pressed to mine.”
Georgia pulled a face, swiping at the peanut butter with the heel of her hand.
“Gross,” she moaned. “Don’t say sticky face again. You’re going to ruin the moment.”
Erin dropped the plates in the sink and came back to where Georgia was sitting. Georgia twisted on the stool, leaning her elbows back on the countertop, letting her knees swing wide so Erin could stand between them.
“Hmm,” Erin hummed, brushing her thumb over Georgia’s cheek. She didn’t say anything, but her gaze was so steady, so sincere, that something shifted in her chest. The usual morning after tension that made her crack a shit joke or say the wrong thing loosened.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to eat my sticky face.”
Erin raised one eyebrow. “Maybe I do.”
With Georgia sat on the stool, Erin was taller than her, even barefooted. Normally Georgia liked to be the tall one in her relationships with women.
She liked to be the one to push her partners against the wall, have them coming undone against her fingers. Liked to pick them up, throw them around, be the one in charge.
But now, with Erin leaning down to press a kiss against her sticky, peanut butter covered face, Georgia found she wanted the roles reversed.
“God,” Erin ground out, her hands gripping the back of Georgia’s thighs. “You are so…” She shook her head, apparently at a loss for words. “Strong.” She dug her fingers into the corded muscle of Georgia’s arse, squeezing, kneading.
It didn’t matter that they’d been up half the night fucking, Georgia could never imagine getting tired of being with Erin.
It was a scary thought, but Georgia couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed her again. That she wouldn’t be satisfied with one night, not even one night and one borrowed snow day.
This wouldn’t be a quick shag and then radio silence ghosting.
This wouldn’t be a few months and a public breakup.
Georgia slid her fingers into the waistband of Erin’s borrowed pyjama shorts, tugging her to stand further in the valley of her legs, face to face.
She leant back, her elbows on the counter, offering herself.
The air, cool despite the background clunking of the central heating, rushed in between them, and Georgia felt her nipples pebble under her T-shirt.
She tossed her hair behind her ear, hoping her expression said just how badly she wanted her.
It was up to Erin to take the final step.
She did, pushing the fabric of Georgia’s underwear to one side, fingers sliding through her wetness, tapping a quick rhythm against Georgia’s sensitive clit.
“Fuck me,” Georgia groaned, one hand reaching up to cup Erin’s neck.
“Trust me, babe, I’m going to.”
Georgia closed her eyes as Erin pushed into her. Erin thrust forward, Georgia surged forward to meet her, wrapping her legs around Erin’s waist, digging her heels into the small of her back, urging her closer, deeper. She wanted to be fucked, wanted to be taken, reduced to jelly.
Georgia’s brain couldn’t think clearly enough to put words to what she wanted.
Or catch her breath, or focus on anything other than the motion of Erin inside her.
She gripped the edge of the counter with her free hand, pulled Erin’s face to hers with the other, curling up to kiss her.
She came hard, the stool wobbling beneath her, Erin’s hand on her waist keeping her steady.
“You’re incredible, you know that?” Erin asked. “Really fucking incredible.”