Chapter 37
ISABELLA
I say something to the person in front of me, quick and impatient, and then I’m moving. Not rushing or drawing attention, I don’t think, but closing the space between Cecilia and me like I’ve done it a hundred times already.
Like this is normal.
“Hey,” she says when she gets close enough, meeting me halfway in the lobby of the facility where the International Skating Championship is starting in just a few hours.
“Hey,” I reply. We don’t stop to pretend this is a casual chat.
Her hand finds mine, quick and certain, and pulls me down a corridor without asking, past the open doors and the noise and the people who don’t matter right now. I let her lead.
She pushes open a door, glances inside, then tugs me in behind her.
The door shuts behind us, and I hear the lock click in place. The next second, she’s kissing me.
There’s no hesitation, no buildup—just the impact of it, her cold hands on my face, my shoulders, pulling me in like she’s been holding this back longer than I have.
I meet her there without thinking, my hands finding her waist, the line of her back, grounding myself in something that feels immediate and real after a few weeks of not being able to touch her, not being able to exist in the same space as her.
“I missed you,” I say against her mouth, and it comes out quieter than I expect, like something I’ve been holding on to without realizing.
“I know,” she breathes, and then she kisses me again, slower this time, like she’s not trying to catch up anymore but stay exactly where we are.
I let out a small breath that almost turns into a laugh, my forehead resting briefly against her as I try to gather my thoughts, to remember what I was doing before she found me across the lobby and everything shifted.
“Ireland was…” I start, and I can feel my brain trying to organize something coherent and useful, but it doesn’t quite get there.
I shake my head slightly. “You would have hated it. The rink is just a temporary one they have a few times a year, shared with the recreational skaters, and no one there understands structure or training cadence, but the kid—”
“Respectfully, Princess,” Cecilia murmurs, one hand tightening at my waist as her mouth moves down the line of my neck, warm and distracting and entirely too effective.
She turns me with a firmness that makes something in my chest catch, pressing me back against the lockers as she shoves my heavy coat off my shoulders and lets it fall with a thud at my feet.
“I do not give a single fuck about this right now.”
“Okay, but—”
“No.”
I huff out a breath that’s half protest, half laughter, my hands landing at her hips as she crowds closer, her mouth finding that spot just below my ear that makes it very difficult to form complete thoughts.
“I think you’ll love him,” I insist anyway, because apparently I have no self-preservation instinct when it comes to this. “He’s—”
“Isabella,” she says, and this time she pulls back just enough to look at me, her mouth pink and swollen and so close to mine. “Are we seriously talking about work right now?”
I see it then—the way she’s smiling, the way she’s not actually annoyed, just… here. Fully here and inside this bubble with me, and everything else outside of this immediacy is distant and unimportant.
“I’m just saying,” I reply, softer now, my hands sliding up her arms, slower this time, tracing instead of holding. “You’d be a good fit for him.”
Her eyes flicker at that, then she tilts her head down and kisses my shoulder, moving the strap of my dress down with her teeth.
“Would I?” she asks, the words sliding out warm and teasing.
I nod once, my fingers tangling in her hair almost absently, like I’m not thinking too hard about what I’m implying. “Yeah. You would.”
Cecilia’s gaze lingers on me, the way it does when she’s trying to determine if something means more than it sounds like it does.
She doesn’t say anything, so I fill the space by letting my hand settle at the back of her neck and pull her towards me, closing the space before it turns into something heavier than I intended.
“I only have an hour,” she says against my skin, and I feel her tongue as she slides it slowly from my collarbone to the top of my breast. “You can tell me everything later.”
“Later,” I repeat, but it comes out softer, mixed in with a whimper as her warm mouth hovers over my nipples.
Cecilia’s hand tightens at my waist, fingers pressing in just enough to pull me closer, and I let her, my body shifting forward without resistance, without the instinct to recalibrate or slow this down the way I normally would.
There’s no space left between us.
I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of my dress, the steady rise and fall of her breath, the way she moves like she’s already mapped out exactly what she’s going to do with me and is expecting this exact reaction.
Her hand lowers down to the hem of my dress and immediately she drags it up my inner thighs, her fingertips sliding slowly until she’s brushing over my clit, right over my underwear.
I haven’t been here for fifteen minutes and she already has me arching into her, pressed against the cold metal of a locker, trying and failing to stay quiet in this dirty locker room.
“Ceci—” I start, but the word sounds breathy and barely above a whisper.
“Shh,” she says against my mouth now, her hands doing something insane. “You absolutely have to be quiet, Princess.”
I nod enthusiastically and start moving my hands, unbuttoning her silky shirt as I go.
“What the fuck,” I whisper, staring at the icy blue lace stretched across her skin. “Did you wear this just for me?”
“What do you think?” she replies, planting a kiss right at the edge of my mouth. “Is this okay?”
For a second, I don’t answer. My brain is trying—and failing miserably—to catch up with what I’m seeing, what I’m feeling, the way this is happening so easily.
The soft fabric of her shirt is slipping under my fingers as I push it down her arms, and I feel the way her breath shifts the second it leaves her shoulders.
“Yes,” I say finally, and it comes out with a raspy, desperate moan. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
Her mouth curves at that, satisfied at my needy response, even though she already knew that of course this is fine.
“Good,” she murmurs.
Her hands stay exactly where they are, but the pressure shifts just enough to make my breath hitch again, and I feel it immediately—how deliberate she’s being, how aware of every reaction she’s pulling out of me without even trying.
“Ceci,” I say, but it doesn’t sound even remotely close to a warning.
She hums softly against my mouth, and then her fingers shift again. She moves my underwear out of the way, and—
“Fuck,” Cecilia says, and the way she says it, with such reverence, makes me shiver. “Is this all for me?”
It’s definitely a question that doesn’t need answering. But she waits, ever so patiently, stroking my clit lightly as she watches how I slowly unravel in front of her eyes.
“Yes,” I mumble, reaching for her mouth. “Yes, yes, just for you.”
“Wow,” she teases. Her hand moves away from my pussy and then, because she’s shameless, she brings her fingers to her mouth, tongue dragging over them as her eyes hold mine. “Delicious.”
My stomach swoops, heat rushing through me so fast I have to grip the cold locker behind me to stay steady.
“You’re going to make me forget what I came here for,” I murmur, and it’s not entirely a joke. She’s distracting, all-consuming, even more so now standing in front of me totally disheveled with her shirt off and her tits out.
Cecilia smiles against my mouth, softer now, and I can feel the taste of me mixed in with everything that reminds me of her. “You drive me crazy, Princess.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I say in between breaths. Her hand is back, teasing slow circles, and the way my body reacts to her is impossible to control. “Ceci, please.”
“What do you want, Isa?” she asks. She’s trailing short kisses down my neck, on my shoulder, towards my breasts, all while her fingers move at an agonizing pace on my clit. “Tell me. And use your words.”
I fist her hair, forcing her head back so she has to look at me. My other hand goes to her back, and her eyes flicker closed at the sensation of my nails scraping at the soft skin there.
“You,” I say under my breath, shaky, clinging to her as the pressure builds. Cecilia pushes two fingers inside me, and my knees go weak, but she presses her whole body against me to keep me upright, fingers moving in and out at a steady pace. “Please, baby.”
I wrap one of my legs around her waist, and she closes her eyes again, lashes lowering against her cheeks and mouth going soft and open. She bites her lip like she’s the one trying to keep quiet, and I have the urge to bite her neck, to mark her and claim her for eternity.
“Are you going to come on my fingers, Princess?” she asks, and I start to feel it then, the sharp coil in my lower belly, the tension that feels inevitable and all-consuming all at once. “Right here, in this dirty locker room where everyone can hear you scream?”
“Fuck, Ceci,” I whisper-yell, and it’s useless. Because I’m right there, right at the edge of a blinding orgasm that literally takes my breath away as it runs through my whole body, legs shaking before melting into her. “Fuck.”
“Good girl,” she whispers in my ear, and I can feel her smile before she takes a small step back.
We stay tangled there, breathless. My heartbeat is in my ears, and she’s saying something else, but I can’t understand.
I can’t listen to the sound of her voice over the beat of my heartbeat inside my head.
“Shit,” I say, but it doesn’t sound like I’m inconvenienced at all. Less like an expletive and more like something I’m trying to catch up to.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
The world narrows to the sound of our breathing, uneven at first, then slowly settling, the rhythm of it pulling me back into myself piece by piece. My forehead rests against her shoulder, my hands still holding on to her like I need the contact, the warmth of her skin, to steady myself.
Cecilia’s hand slides up my back in slow, grounding strokes, nothing urgent about it now, just there, anchoring me before I’m able to stand on my own two feet again.
“Hey,” she murmurs, soft and intimate.
I huff out something that might be a laugh and lift my head, blinking a few times as the room comes back into focus around us—the lockers, the scattered echoes of voices from down the corridor outside, and the reality of where we are and what we’re supposed to be doing.
“That was—” I start, and then stop, because I don’t actually have the language for it.
She smiles. “I know.”
I take a breath, deeper this time, and I push her back just enough so I can look at her properly, to take her in without the haze of sex.
“We should—” I pout because I don’t want to finish the sentence. “I want to stay here with you, but I really do have to go.”
“Yes, Princess,” she says with a smile. “You need to go fulfill your royal duties.”
“Stop it.” I laugh, and she chuckles, too, pulling me against her and kissing my neck in the most distracting way possible. “You’re so mean.”
“You love it,” she replies, and I see her face shift, something soft settling in her expression. Something steady. “I’ll see you later, yes?”
“You will definitely see me later.” I know I have heart eyes. I can feel the goofy expression spreading across my face and I don’t try to pull it back into something more contained. “What makes you think I’m not obsessed with you, Coach?”