Chapter 19
ISABELLA
Fuck. I’m definitely fucked.
So, so fucked.
Cecilia’s brown eyes are on me, steady and unblinking. One of her hands tightens at my waist, grounding, anchoring, and it does the opposite of what it should—it makes me lean in, makes me want her more instead of less.
I tip sideways onto the bed in search of her mouth, and she lets out a breathy moan that makes me lose whatever control I had left.
Her head tips back, and I take that opportunity to lick slowly down her neck, stopping at the soft spot right at her shoulder.
Cecilia breathes deeply, and her hand moves to the comforter, grabbing on to it tightly.
She’s whispering something that I can’t quite understand—maybe Spanish, maybe it’s just broken sounds—but it pulls something sharper out of me.
She looks absolutely stunning. Completely undone on my bed, blonde hair fanning out around her head. Unpolished and wrecked.
My hand slides along her side, feeling the way she reacts to every small shift, every inch of contact.
Her body answers before she can think it through: her nipples get hard, her skin erupts in tiny little goosebumps, and her breath catches again.
It makes me want to keep going, slower now, just to see how far I can take it.
“Ceci,” I murmur, more to feel her name in my mouth than anything else.
Her response is immediate; a soft, breathless sound that feels like it goes straight through me.
I kiss the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw. Her fingers go to my hair, and I feel a light tug. “Do you want to stop?” I whisper against her skin.
“Fuck, no, Princess,” she says, then lowers her hand and drags it over my shoulder, all down my arm. Her fingers link with mine, and she pulls me to her, our breasts touching. Her skin is so soft and so warm, and I just want to—
“Move,” she says. I smile against her, and she lets out a small chuckle that I feel more than hear. “Please.”
There’s something about the way she says it—low, impatient, like she’s barely holding on—that makes my chest tighten.
I shift over slowly, dragging my fingertips over her nipple and pinching, then continue down her torso towards her pussy. She sputters something and her core tightens in anticipation.
Her hands find my back immediately, pulling me closer. I breathe her in: the indistinguishable soap from the rink, warm skin, and something just beneath it that feels unmistakably her.
I shift over her, slower now, letting my weight settle to the side, and move my leg in between hers.
Cecilia’s hips shift tentatively, and I let her, her pussy dragging against my thigh—warmer than I expect, already soaking, and the realization hits me all at once, sharp and disorienting.
It pulls a gasp out of me before I can stop it.
I press in instinctively, just a fraction, testing, teasing, and Cecilia’s reaction is immediate. Her breath catches and her body tightens under mine, almost like she hadn’t expected this.
My hand drifts down her side again, slower this time, tracing the same path just to feel how differently she reacts to my touch now. Everything about her is more responsive, less guarded, like she’s already past the point of holding back.
Her breath stutters.
“Isa,” she murmurs, soft.
I glance up, watching her face instead of my hand. “Still okay?”
She nods immediately, fingers tightening in my hair. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t. But I don’t rush, either.
I let my hand slide lower by a fraction at a time, not giving her what she’s asking for right away, but enough to feel the way her body starts anticipating my touch—hips shifting and searching for any friction, breath catching, her grip tightening like she’s trying to pull me into something I’m deliberately holding just out of reach.
“So needy,” I say against her stomach, and her skin erupts in tiny little goosebumps all around my mouth.
Her eyes snap open at that, sharp despite everything else. “You’re torturing me.”
“Maybe”—I place small kisses all over her—“this is what you get for being mean to me.”
Cecilia exhales, something like a laugh breaking through, but it dissolves quickly when I finally touch her clit with the tip of my fingers. Her reaction is immediate: head tipping back, body arching into mine like she’s been waiting for it.
“Fuck,” she breathes.
The sound of it goes straight through me and the heat of her pussy hits me instantly. She’s warm and wet and ready, and suddenly, I feel more ravenous than ever. I press closer without thinking, my forehead dropping to her chest as I try to hold on to some version of control.
“Are you going to come for me, baby?” My fingers are moving on her clit in slow and steady circles, and she chases them, setting a rhythm that I follow instinctively. I twist my hand, changing the angle, and she gasps, her body tightening as I press closer, giving her more.
“Yep,” she whispers. “Yes, yes, I’m—”
Cecilia bends her knee, shifting under me, and the movement grazes my clit and makes me shiver. I exhale sharply, my body reacting before I can stop it, and I press my pussy into her leg without thinking, chasing the sensation and working her through this at the same time.
Her leg hooks tighter around my hip and her hand slides down my back, pulling my body against hers.
Our lips collide, and I swallow her moans, like they’re mine to keep.
Cecilia comes with a whimper and her eyes closed shut, gasping against my mouth and her whole body going tense before relaxing on the bed.
I move my hips a few more times, and Cecilia smiles, one corner of her mouth tipping faintly upward, almost mischievously, like she’s in on a huge secret. Watching the Ice Princess come apart at the seams above her, rubbing her pussy against her desperately.
After just a few more seconds, I bury my face against her neck, biting back a whimper as I come hard, a blinding orgasm behind my eyes that makes me see stars.
We stay there, limbs tangled and rapid breathing filling the room.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
My face is still buried against her neck, her skin damp and warm, and I can feel the slow, uneven cadence of her breathing start to steady beneath me. My own follows a second later, my body catching up to her.
Cecilia’s hand drifts up my back, not urgent anymore, just there—fingertips tracing absent patterns along my spine like she’s reassuring herself I’m still here.
Eventually, I lift my head enough to look at her. Her eyes are closed, lashes resting against her cheeks, her mouth parted as she exhales. There’s a softness to her now that I haven’t seen before. Not guarded or sharp like on the ice.
It does something strange to my chest.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes blink a few times, coming back from wherever she went. She looks at me for a second, like she’s recalibrating, and then the corner of her mouth lifts.
“Yeah,” she says, voice rough but steady. “You?”
I huff out a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair away from her face without really thinking about it.
“Amazing.”
She studies me for a beat and then she shifts on the bed, making space without actually putting distance between us.
It’s subtle, but it looks like a question, an invitation to something else. Something more.
I settle beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch, our legs still loosely tangled, and for the first time since we walked into this house, everything goes quiet in a way that doesn’t feel charged. Simply… still. Full.
Cecilia turns her head towards me, her hand finding mine between us without looking. Her fingers lace through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The room is dim, the air warm with sex, and the weight of everything that just happened settles somewhere deeper now, less frantic, more real.
After a while, her breathing evens out completely. I realize, a second too late, that she’s falling asleep.
I watch her for a long time, then I close my eyes, too.