ELLIE
One single buzz on the double doors at the back of the rink. That’s all it takes for the door to swing open and for Mike to tug me inside so fast I nearly lose my balance.
It’s been four whole days since I’ve seen Mike. I sink into him, letting his arms wrap around me as I breathe him in.
“I’ve missed you,” he says.
“I’ve missed you,” I say.
It’s all so very cliché, but also not at the same time. Because I have missed him.
“We’re okay, yeah?” he says, pulling back to look at me.
“Of course.”
“And as soon as I know, you’ll know. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
“And did you cash the cheque?” he asks.
“I’m still deciding,” I say.
“Well, I understand. Whatever you decide, it’ll be the right decision.”
I snuggle back into him and nod into his chest.
“What time are you meeting Vicky?” he asks.
“In around ten minutes. Why?”
“Can you spare me five?” he says. “Come with me.”
Before I have a chance to react, he slips his rough palm in mine, then he pulls me to follow him.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
He doesn’t reply. He’s busy hurrying along the tunnel in a direction I’ve never been before—not that I’ve been anywhere other than the direction of the ice.
We come to a stop in front of a room labelled ‘ Equipment Storage Room’, Mike fishing a key out of his pocket and unlocking the door with a ‘click’ before he pulls me inside .
God, it stinks in here. The smell of stale sweat and something I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Mike? What’s going on?” I ask.
He closes the door behind me and pushes a heavy-looking box across its width, blocking the exit.
Then his lips are on mine.
The four days since we’ve seen each other, all crammed into this moment. Four days’ worth of kisses to make up for.
Four days of longing.
Four days of wanting.
Four days of wishing we were closer.
When he said he wanted to see me before the playoff finals started, I underestimated his intentions. But as he parts his lips and I invite him to deepen the kiss, I get the message.
His hands roam, skimming over my hips as he toys with the waistband of my jeans before he slips his hands, ever so slightly upwards, under my t-shirt. Skin-on-skin almost blistering hot.
“I’ve missed you. I don’t like this long-distance thing,” he says, leaving my lips wanting as he kisses his way to my throat. “Move in with me? I know it’s a lot to ask but—move here. Please. We’ll figure it out.”
And a question so big … so life changing shouldn’t have me reacting the way I do. I jerk away slightly, forcing him to look at me and my body reacts before my mind catches up.
I nod. “We’ll figure it out,” I say, gripping the back of his neck to steer his lips towards my mouth again.
And with that, his fingers fumble with the button of my jeans.
We’ve had ‘quickies’ before. Stolen moments of time before he needs to leave or before I have to meet a client—but this, in a stuffy room at the back of the rink … it seems dirtier somehow.
My breath catches in my throat when the pad of his middle finger brushes my clit, then he presses himself into me, tearing his mouth away so he can whisper into my ear.
“Are you ready for me, sweetheart? ”
He knows I am. I know I am. But I’m frantically nodding, not wanting anything else right now—eagerly pushing into him.
He shimmies my jeans down and his fingers move down, right towards my pussy.
“I knew it,” he says, clearly feeling how wet I am. “Did you dream about me last night? Did you wake up aching for me?”
His confidence has been growing every time we do this. It’s in his voice, in the way his mouth moves over my skin—down, down, toward my collarbone—until I’m trembling, clutching at him, silently begging for more.
I spread my legs a little wider, giving him everything.
With a thumb circling my clit, he slips a finger inside me, and I moan, clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie.
I know what he’s doing before he’s doing it. Building me up … pushing me right towards the edge before pulling his hand away.
“Turn around,” he says.
But I don’t. I can’t.
I drop to my knees instead, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants, gripping his boxers too as I tug downward, freeing him.
It juts out, hard and as impatient as I know he is.
I look up at him, locking eyes as I take him in my mouth.
One. Two. Three.
That’s all I manage before he’s pulling me to my feet and spinning me around to face the door, keeping my eyes on his as I look over my shoulder.
Then everything else melts away as we connect.
It’s just me and Mike.
His breath on my neck, his hands on my hips, rough and reverent.
I need more. I need him to?—
“Oh, my god,” I gasp.
“Tell me if you don’t like it,” he says, his thumb pushing into me—somewhere new .
But it’s?—
Everything feels?—
It’s too much, but it’s not enough at the same time.
He presses a little harder and I brace myself against the door, one hand slipping between my legs as he moves behind me, steady and strong and relentless.
Because every cell in my body is right there. On the edge.
It takes me seconds to come apart. It’s almost instant and unstoppable. All the while, the steady rhythm of Mike—thrusting into me, carries me over.
Then the pained, delicious sounds of him—coming right along with me, fill my ears.
He kisses my neck, then my jaw, then my cheek.
“I think you’ve got about a minute to spare,” he says.