Jubilee

Second. That’s a good place to be. It’s not like the third and fourth place teams are nipping at our heels either. Yes, it’s possible they’ve got tricks up their sleeves that will put them in contention. It’s also possible (though highly unlikely) that the Russians will flub something in their program, just as it’s possible (though I also like to think highly unlikely) that Beckett and I will tank our program too.

A great deal of this sport is physical ability. Another large component of success is grace and elegance, not to mention the luck of finding a partner who’s a good match. What people don’t talk about as much is the psychological strain. You can do the same program a thousand times in a row perfectly, and then put a foot wrong on the thousand and first run. And then what do you do? A lot of people just fucking lose it. One step wrong and they’re lost. Recovery isn’t possible. Yes, they might get through the rest of their program, but you can see they may as well skate straight off the ice because they are done.

That’s one thing I loathe but respect about Daphne. From the first time we had a session together, she’s always insisted on me finishing what I start no matter how badly I fuck up. Her logic makes sense: there are no redos in competition. If you screw up, you just have to keep going and finish it off. You need to know how to rebound. I have learned this very well and pride myself on being able to get up off my ass and dust the ice shavings from my clothes—whether it be practice leggings or my swish little competition dresses.

These are the things I think about as we walk back to our suite. Beckett’s yammering on about . . . I don’t know, whatever he usually makes pleasant and inane conversation about. It’s music to my ears, his easy and excited tones. He’s easy. Easy to be with. When it’s not killing me, of course. This must be killing him, too, and yet he’s doing it anyway.

Back in our suite, I look around and realize that’s how I’ve been thinking of it: ours. For a while now, too. It’s become not my suite that Beckett has invaded with his stuff, and his big voice and his too-curly hair, but ours. That is far too close to comfort.

Which is why I distract him with sex as soon as we walk through the door. It’s certainly not that I’ve been thinking about him kissing me, touching me since we sat waiting for our scores.

He puts away his coat, and as per usual reaches out for mine without checking to see that I’m going to relinquish it. I hand it to him, but don’t walk away like I usually do. No, I have something else in mind. As much as I like Beckett’s chatter—which he’s still supplying though there’s no demand—I can think of a better way for us to occupy ourselves. I especially want to occupy Beckett, so he doesn’t feel so bad about me refusing him earlier. So I’ll give him what I can and hope he doesn’t notice it wasn’t what he was after.

When he turns, he almost bumps into me. I take advantage of his proximity to push him against the door, which he is surprised by, to say the least.

“What are you—”

I cut him off by pressing myself up against up, going on tiptoes to kiss him. Thoroughly. At first I can tell he doesn’t quite know how to handle this, but soon enough he seems willing to go along with whatever I want, probably because it’s me, wanting, and showing him that I do. This is what he’s wanted all along, and though I can’t possibly give in on the actual romantic, relationship things, the sex? Sure, why not. May as well, it’s as good a way to distract ourselves as any other.

When I’m finished—for the moment—kissing him, I grab his sleeve and tow him over to my bed, shoving him so that he sits with a bounce on the mattress. I’m angry and twitchy and desperate and basically a mess. But I can ignore all that if I focus on Beckett. It’s not difficult to do with him sitting there all handsome and perplexed.

I reach out and take the hem of his shirt in my hands, and pull it over his head. The whorls of light hair on his chest are so tempting. I want to feel the coarseness under my fingers, so I do. Skim the pads over his pecs and toward the waistband of his pants.

“Stand up.”

He could tease me—Sit down, stand up, what do you want from me, lady?—but he silently follows my instructions and doesn’t blink an eye when I peel his pants over his hips and down his legs. He cooperates, lifting each foot in turn until he’s completely nude. He’s . . . He knows he’s an attractive guy. But his muscles and his power mean more to me than being pretty or fun to touch. They enable me to do what I do best, they let me do it better because I believe in his strength, trust him to use it to not let me fall. Maybe it’s narcissism to think so, but he looks this way for me. Not for my pleasure but for my safety and fulfillment. My appreciation for his form reaches into all the deepest parts of me.

Which would explain why I push him back onto the bed. “Lay down.”

Without a question, he does as I’ve asked, and I strip down to my bra and my underwear before straddling him. He’s hard already, his cock basically begging to be taken into my hand, rising up as it is. So I grip him at his base, stroke leisurely, and love the way his breath rushes through his teeth as he sharply inhales.

His skin is soft and smooth, interrupted only by veins that make him look more like a living, breathing being than a statue. He’s warm too; so very real and so very here. I want to distract myself, and experience more of him while I have the chance, so I shift back a bit, bestriding his leg so I can lean down and take him in my mouth.

As I do, he lets out a harsh and garbled exclamation, something that sounds an awful lot like “Jesus, Jubilee.”

The auditory show continues as I swirl my tongue around his crown and suck lightly. Beckett can be stingy with his praise on the rink, but still far more generous than I am. Here, though, he holds nothing back, telling me how much he loves this, how good it’s making him feel. It makes me feel good too, equal parts pleasure and craving curling in my belly and making me rock my hips against his leg while I fellate him.

Maybe I should be embarrassed about frotting against him, but it feels too good to care, the grinding of my clit on his knee is in time with how I’m fellating him. Can he feel the wetness gathering between my legs or does the thin strip of cotton prevent that? He’ll at least be able to feel my heat, and there’s no mistaking my desperation for him. In this, at least. Let me binge on him this way even if I can’t bring myself to nibble at the rest of what he’s trying to hand me on a platter.

Beckett

It shouldn’t surprise me that Jubilee is good at giving head. She could conquer anything she puts her mind to, and apparently at some point she determined that giving phenomenal blow jobs was something worth her considerable focus and effort. As much as I’m enjoying this, though—and goddamn, am I ever—I also want to touch her. Have some of her to myself, more than just the silky hair I have between my fingers so I can watch what she’s doing.

On the other hand, I am fricking loving that she’s grown so comfortable with me, with this, with us, that she’s basically humping my leg. Jubilee is always dignified, always in control, always has that pert little nose of hers stuck up in the air, and for her to be this . . . human, this uninhibited with me? Makes me come undone a bit.

Yes, I’d like to have her in my hands, make her feel good, but maybe this isn’t about me right now. I mean, it is, because I am getting some really fantastic head, but I don’t feel as though she’s keeping something from me. This is something she’s giving me, and I should appreciate that for what it is. Especially because the way the rub of her pussy on my leg is in time with how she’s bobbing up and down on my cock. We’re kind of fucking by proxy and it feels almost more intimate than when we’ve had intercourse.

But why the hell am I even trying to analyze this right now? She feels good, she’s making me feel good, and her mouth is a special kind of heaven. That sharp tongue of hers is licking broad strokes, taking a beat to concentrate on the sensitive underside of my tip, and Christ on a cracker, I’m just . . . I’m so close. I don’t want this to be over, but I’m also not ashamed that it hasn’t taken all that long for me to get to the point where I’m about to lose all control.

“Jubilee—” I’d call her Juju because it’s so much easier than the three taut syllables, but the woman would so bite me for that and I wouldn’t be able to blame her for it. “I’m gonna come soon. You’re making me feel so good, and I’m so close. Don’t want to surprise you. I’ll tell you.”

There’s a small nod, and she picks up the pace both rutting against me and also the way she’s sucking me. Then the noises start, these desperate little hums and moans, and the vibration shoots all the way up through my cock into my balls and they draw up tight. I want to hold off until she’s gotten hers, though I’d be happy to finish her off any way she wants if that doesn’t work out. I like seeing her this way, though, and I want her to take her pleasure, on her terms. Like too that she can get so turned on by sucking me that she seems close.

God, yeah. And then the way she’s moving on me goes from rhythmic to uneven, and she presses hard with her hips and stops blowing me. I’m kinda sad to not be in her mouth anymore but then she rocks forward and presses my dick to her chest, in between her breasts. It’s such a pretty picture, and she’s still jerking me with her hand. Her eyes are closed and bites her lip before she says, “Fuck, Beck, I’m coming. God, yes.”

That. That is the final straw, hearing her voice rasping with pleasure, and seeing the way she clutches my cock, still trying to get me off even as she’s in the throes of orgasm.

“I’m with you, I’m right there with you.” And there I am, my own climax pulsing through me. Maybe it makes me kind of a caveman, but I love the look of my come spurting on her chest and over her hand. She doesn’t seem to mind it either, holding my throbbing dick in her hot little hand until I’m completely spent.

What I don’t totally expect is the little laugh she lets out, and the unguarded, goofy smile that lights up her face, the way she looks at me when it’s all over, like she’s not sorry, not one little bit.

Jubilee

After recovering enough from our orgasms that our limbs are slightly more functional than jelly, and tidying up a bit, I’m lying beside him—no, that’s not quite right; I’m surrounded by him, cradled by him, just barely not a part of him—and he strokes my hair and my back with his fingers that can be so strong or so gentle. This isn’t his powerful grace, though, it’s a gesture so sweet and tender it hurts. He’s killing me.

“Hey,” he says, his low murmur a melody in my ears. When I don’t look at him, he kisses my cheek and then nudges at me with his nose until I laugh and turn to look at him. The man is half golden retriever, I swear.

“Hey what?”

“I was thinking . . .”

“Uh-oh.”

“I know, right? The last time I had an idea I ended up in bed with a beautiful and accomplished woman. I should really stop doing that.”

I smack him in the chest, but all he does is pull me closer, the hair covering his pecs tickling my nose. So I tug on it and he lets out a little yelp while I pull away, smiling up at him with a faux-innocent look on my features. “You were saying? An idea?”

“Yeah. Don’t yell at me, okay?”

This almost guarantees that I will yell. “I make no promises.”

He rolls those baby blues of his and shakes his head. “Anyway . . . I feel like one of the reasons you’re freaking about this, about us, is that everything’s been the same, right? The competitions we’ve won, our path here, being in second before the free skate. It’s all the same.”

It would be hard to yell with this lump in my throat. I don’t say anything because my wide eyes and rigid body must say everything he needs to know.

“The thing is, it doesn’t have to be. We don’t have to win tomorrow. I’ll take a dive. I’ll do a double Salchow instead of a triple. Put a hand down on my double axel. Hell, I will do a belly flop as soon as we get on the ice and swim around the rink like a fish and we’ll finish dead last. I will tank this, Jubilee, so we can be together. If that’s what it would take, that’s what I would do.”

That’s what he meant about the yelling.

I push him away from me, and he’s lucky he’s on the wall side of the bed because if he weren’t, he would’ve fallen off. And I wouldn’t have even felt bad about it, not like last time. He would’ve deserved landing on the cold hard floor with his naked ass for spouting this . . . this nonsense.

And because I don’t feel quite powerful enough, I roll up onto my knees to loom over him in the only way I can, and jab a finger into his chest. “Are you fucking kidding me? That is the least rational thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. You would seriously give up this thing you’ve been working for your whole life just to date me? Because I’ve got news for you, buddy. I made Stephen wait sixteen years to put a ring on it, and I’m not in a big hurry to have another one. Also, it’s not like you could ruin just your part of the program. You’d ruin me, too. And I don’t want to lose. You do anything like that, and you are a dead person. Do you understand me?”

He raises his hands in defeat, looking like he believes I might very well shank him with my toe pick right now. Obviously, I would wait until after we’d skated to commit homicide.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So there will be no tanking, no mistakes, right? You’re going to give this all you have, leave it all out on the ice, and you are going to be so perfect I’d need a magnifying glass to find a mistake. Got it?”

He nods, and gets this insolent smirk on his face. If I were a certain kind of girl, I’d wipe it off with a kiss, but I’m not. I’m also still kind of ticked off at him. How could he possibly suggest such a thing? God. “What? Why is your face doing that?”

“I’m just wondering how anyone who’s ever met you could accuse you of being frosty.”

That earns him a punch, but my fist basically bounces off his ridiculous biceps. It’s annoying. “I have busted my ass for this chance for my entire life, and so have you. It would be the height of absurdity to give it up just so I could date someone.”

He’s smiling in the face of my sneer, and he’s charming but also infuriating. “Hey, I didn’t think you’d actually say yes. But you know some women would at least be touched by the offer. Say something along the lines of, ‘Oh, Beckett, I can’t believe you would make that kind of sacrifice for me. It’s not necessary, because I want to win too, but I so appreciate the offer. Of course we can be together.’”

After finishing his ridiculous high-pitched, lash-fluttering imitation of some imaginary woman, he’s making a vomit-inducing kissy face. Which earns him another punch.

“Hey, what’s with all the punching?”

“You really thought I was going to fall for that? What kind of woman do you take me for? The kind that lives for a man? Damn right that earned a punch. Just that face earned a punch. And what the hell would you have done if I’d said yes?”

His light eyebrows go up and his mouth drops open, but no words come out.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I could get up, go to my own bed. I’m sitting up after all. It wouldn’t be that hard to swing my legs over the side of the bed, stand up and take the couple of steps. And though I know it’ll be coming soon enough, I can’t bring myself to do it right now. So I flop back down next to Beckett and snuggle into his side.

Beckett

In the morning when I wake up, it must be early. Jubilee’s not awake, which means her alarm hasn’t gone off. It also means that my arm is asleep because she’s got her head pillowed on my shoulder. Don’t care. Which is when I notice a few other things.

When we fell asleep, we were naked. I mean, bare-assed naked. Jubilee’s not naked anymore. No, she’s wearing a pajama shirt with what appear to be llamas on it. Given how her leg feels hitched up on my thigh, I’m guessing she’s also sporting the matching pants. Which means she got up after I fell asleep and climbed back into my bed.

And for her to put pajamas on and climb back in my bed? I’m sure some guys would be insulted, but it would be because either they’re idiots or their girl is nothing like Jubilee. Her being clothed in these soft, childish clothes—her sole indulgence of her squishy side—it’s more intimate in a way than when she’s naked. Sex was part of the deal, affection is not, and yet that’s what I find myself liking best about this.

Sure, if I’m lucky she’ll wake up and want a repeat performance of last night, but if she doesn’t, that’s fine. I’ll take her soft breathing, the occasional tightening of her hand around my waist. She nuzzles my shoulder, and I hold my breath, almost hoping she won’t wake up. Not quite yet. She doesn’t stir further, and though I’ve got an impulse to kiss the part in her dark hair at the top of her head, I won’t.

The ceilings in all the buildings are painted generic white. Nothing to see there. I’m not the best at sitting around and doing nothing, which is maybe why my brain gets impatient and decides to start producing one of those movie-montage things. Scenes of me and Jubilee doing this, but in my bed back in Allston. I can’t imagine Jubilee actually preferring to be in my place over hers, but the fact is that I’ve never seen her place, so I can’t imagine what it would be like to be there, never mind to be in her bed. So my bachelor pad in Allston—within jogging distance to the rink—it is.

That, and taking the T downtown, maybe skating a few laps at the Frog Pond and pretending not to notice the people taking pictures of us. Hell, I’d like to take her on a date. Like a real date. No skates involved. Even though I’m sure we’d end up talking about skating anyway.

I have to can my tame domestic fantasies though, because she’s waking up for real, and if she sees the look on my face, she’ll know. And run screaming for the hills, because that’s what she does. So I try to fake like I’m just waking up, too, when she pushes up on her elbows to face me.

Her face is sunshiny bright, and there’s only one thing that makes Jubilee look that happy. “You ready to skate today?”

Hell yes, I am.