Chapter Seventeen Violet
Chapter Seventeen
Violet
The cold hits different in Milan. It’s not the dramatic, movie kind of cold with swirling snow or glittering breath. It’s a sharp chill that sneaks under your scarves and gloves to remind you that February does not care how cute your outfit is.
I tug my beanie lower, keeping my covered hands buried in my coat pockets as we spill into the streets like a very loud, very athletic migration of birds.
Skye made it clear she had to spend some time with the team since hockey is the reason she’s here. And I totally agree with that statement. It’s important that they do things together to experience this as a team.
And then she invited me.
I could have said no and spent time working on the song Ollie has been asking me for, but instead, I touched the collar around my neck and smiled as I told her I’d come.
I did, however, fall asleep last night thinking of lyrics to a whole new song inspired by pain and pleasure.
Imagine that.
My core is absolutely raw, but in the most delicious way possible. Almost like I can still feel Skye’s mouth on me. I fight to keep my hips still at the phantom sensation, but thankfully, I’m able to keep my body movements to a minimum.
She left a mark on the inside of my thigh, and I want to cherish it forever. She may as well have written “SKYE” on the bottom of my boot. Branding me as her own, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A small pang of dread hits my gut at the realization that this can’t last forever.
It’s a thought I’ve been trying to avoid since we met.
I don’t know where she’s from, but the chances of us both being from New York are pretty slim.
Not to mention this little problem called “I’m a famous pop singer who can’t tell anyone my real name.
” I’m sure Skye will notice I’m not at the local hospital when I’m at work.
There’s no chance that whatever this thing is between Skye and me will end in my favor. I care about her, but I can’t put myself in the position of telling someone my biggest secret and having them do something to hurt me. Though I don’t see Skye sleeping with any of my family members.
I feel my demeanor shifting from fun and spunky to depressy-expressy.
Enjoy it while you’re here. It’s Milan. She’s a hot hockey player who claimed you with a leather choker. Live a little and see what happens while the mask is off.
Skye walks beside me, easy confidence in every step. Her captain energy doesn’t turn off just because she’s in a wool coat instead of an Olympic jersey.
The rest of the team fans out behind us, voices bouncing off stone buildings and laughter echoing down the narrow street.
“Okay,” Rissa announces, clapping her gloved hands together like she’s calling a meeting no one asked for. “Rule number one, if we get lost, that’s just first-hand cultural exploration.”
“That’s not a rule, it’s an excuse,” Paige calmly states, adjusting the strap on her backpack.
Paige walks slightly to my right, not too far, but not too close either. She’s always like that. Polite but observant. I can’t help but notice her eyes flick to me, quick and unreadable, like she’s tracking me as though I’m a puck she hasn’t decided whether or not to hit with a stick.
I smile at her anyway, and she smiles back. Maybe I’m just imagining her subtle hostility.
Riley suddenly gasps behind us.
“Oh, my God.”
Skye sighs and nudges me with her elbow, looking down at me like she knows what Riley’s about to say.
“We’re about to turn left.” Riley’s voice is filled with absolute certainty, a subtle reminder that she’s the team psychic. I love that about her.
Rissa snorts. “Riley, the street literally only goes left.”
Riley points to her temple. “Still counts.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, but Skye smiles and shakes her head in amusement.
We wander past old stone buildings and shuttered cafes. The air smells like coffee and something sweet that I can’t place. My boots echo on the pavement.
Skye glances at me. “You cold?”
“A little,” I admit. “But it’s a good cold.”
She nods like that makes perfect sense.
A street musician stands a little off to the side, violin tucked under his chin, and his fingers are red from the low temperature.
The music slowly floats through the air, and I let it wash over me.
As a musician myself, I don’t just hear the song.
I appreciate the choices in every breath and every chord.
We pass a group of teenagers taking turns posing dramatically for photos. One of them nearly bumps into Skye, looks up, startles, and then grins.
“Scusa.” She smiles.
Skye smiles back. “Tutto bene.”
I watch it happen like it’s a magic trick. No one recognizes her as a famous hockey star. We’re all just tourists out enjoying the sights.
My eyebrow raises at Skye’s use of the local language, and she gives me a shrug like it’s no big thing.
When everyone flows out of earshot to look at one thing or another, I whisper, “Speak Italian to me.”
She chuckles. “What do you want me to say?”
“Literally anything,” I swoon. She could tell me she loves peanut butter, and I’d probably soak my panties.
She leans in close enough that her voice is just for me. “Sei casa, anche dall’altra parte del mondo.”
I blink at her, feeling the heat pool between my thighs. Her voice is like velvet, and I need it wrapped around me this very second.
“I don’t know what that means,” I manage to say, tripping over my tongue.
She smiles. “I know.”
“Group photo,” Rissa shouts, gesturing to all the surrounding buildings. She hands me the camera, and I want to feel hurt that I’m not included, but this isn’t about me. It’s about all of them and their achievements as hockey players.
Skye catches my eye, raising an eyebrow like she’s checking in without words.
I smile.
For once, I don’t feel like I’m hiding. I feel like I’m resting.
While the group is focused on getting the perfect photo, I pull my phone from my pocket and quickly tap the Google app, typing in my best spelling of what she said.
My knees go weak when I realize there’s no denying I got it right.
“You’re home, even on the other side of the world.”
The Duomo appears all at once, like Milan was holding its breath waiting for our reaction.
One second, we’re weaving through small side streets, and then the next, there it is. White stone shoving itself toward the clouds. I stop without meaning to.
“Wow,” I breathe. It’s the second time I’ve seen it, but it still takes my breath away.
Skye keeps walking for exactly three steps before realizing I’m not beside her anymore. She turns, sees my face, and smiles like she already knew this would happen.
The rest of the team slows too, one by one, their chatter dissolving into dead silence.
Rissa is the first to break it. “I feel judged.” She stares up toward the top. “By history. And God. And probably architecture majors.”
Riley squints. “This place has energy.”
Paige crosses her arms against the cold, her gaze moving over the details. “It’s… a lot.”
We move closer as we step into the open square in front of the Duomo di Milano. The marble looks almost unreal in the winter light. Statues sit everywhere, including gargoyles, which are just as eerie in person as they are in cartoons and movies.
I tilt my head back until my neck protests.
I’ve performed for crowds bigger than this square. I’ve stood under lights brighter than the sun. And still, this makes me feel small in a way that’s almost comforting.
Skye steps closer to me, shoulders brushing mine as she whispers, “I’m glad you came to see it again.”
I smile up at her. “I told you I wanted to see it again.”
“Was it worth the cold?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Very.”
Skye puts her hand in my pocket, grabs mine, and holds it as we continue to stroll down the street. Hand-in-hand, in front of her hockey team, and she seems almost proud of it. Proud of us.
Paige hangs back a few feet, hands tucked into her sleeves, watching us instead of the cathedral this time. When our eyes meet, she gives me a small nod. Acknowledging the moment. I appreciate it more than she probably knows.
Rissa suddenly spins in a slow circle, arms out. “Okay, but imagine playing hockey here.”
“Where,” Skye deadpans. “On the statues?”
“I could score,” Riley replies.
The wind cuts through the square, and I pull my jacket tighter. Tourists pass by, cameras clicking, languages meshing.
I stand there with everyone and let Duomo loom over us while something inside my chest settles into place.
I’m lying on Skye’s bed, wearing nothing but her collar, body aching, and completely happy with my life as she holds me close to her, stroking my hair.
She’s propped up against the headboard; one knee bent under the blankets and the other leg straight out beside me.
I’m leaning back against her with my shoulders tucked into her chest like they were made to fit there.
Her arms rest loosely around my middle, not tight or possessive like she was ten minutes ago. The side of her I love to see and experience. Right now, she’s just steady and warm.
“So, this is called aftercare?” I feel the tenderness on my back.
“Mmhmm,” she hums in my ear, resting her chin on my shoulder and gently kissing my neck. She runs her hand over the bruise on my inner thigh, and every part of me is screaming for her to shift toward my aching pussy.
We spent the last hour doing wax play. I never knew this was a thing until she got out a few special candles and started lighting them. My innocent self thought she was just setting the mood. Then, she told me to strip down and lie across the bed on my stomach.
She stroked my bare skin with ice, cooling the surface and letting her breath skate across the top. Then, she told me to rate the pain as she adjusted the height of the candle closer and farther from my skin.
The wax dripped slowly, sending a shock through my system. At first, I thought it was crazy. But each drop brought a surge of adrenaline that had every part of me aching for more.