Page 12 of Fire on the Ice

“Well, that makes me sound like an onion instead of a hairdresser, but also, why would you care?”

I can’t help it anymore. I turn to her, grab her around the waist, and pull her into my side, planting a big, wet, smacking kiss on her cheek. “I care, ridiculous girl. You aren’t just a pair of skates and a really good fuck, you know.”

She blinks, and I swear to god color rises in her cheeks. Before she can mutter something else about it really not being that big of a deal, I kiss her again, and then shake her by the shoulders. “I flove it, Mais. Do you hear me? I fucking love it. So thanks. And uh, aren’t we at the point in the program where I’m supposed to be wrist-deep in your pussy?”

Maisy makes the cutest squeaking noise, and her face turns red as a rose before she gets ahold of herself.

“Yes. Yes, I believe we are. So let me clean up in here and then you can get to work.”

Chapter Six

Maisy

I enjoy fucking athletes for a lot of reasons, but one of them is that we’ve put obscene amounts of time, money, and effort into making our bodies do crazy shit. Which leads a lot of us to think to ourselves,What else can this thing do? I think I’ll take it out for a spin.While for some people that means picking up another sport, or modeling, or getting tattoos or piercings, for some of us it means sex. And not only the bendy sex people assume gymnasts and figure skaters have, but exploring ways our bodies can give us pleasure, perhaps in unexpected ways.

Also we’ve got this inclination to push for more, better, faster, cleaner, harder. We want to amplify the shit out of everything. And Blaze? Even if she weren’t an athlete, she’d want more. Like she happened to stumble upon speed skating. She could’ve just as easily been a stockbroker who amassed millions, or a sci-fi author who’s written a hundred books, or one of those climbers who bags peaks. As long as she could keep pursuing something. Anything. Bigger, stronger, hotter, as long as it’smore.

Which is why I’ve never kept my desires secret from her. She’s done it all, seen it all, and if you somehow managed to throw her for a loop, she’d take it as a challenge, not wrinkle her nose. The last time we’d been together, we’d both been plastered for much of the time, and drunk fisting isn’t a great idea, but while she’d been fucking me with her three middle fingers, I’d started murmuring dirty things in her ear about imagining it was her whole hand, and how sexy that would be. She’d drawn back and blinked, and my heart had stopped for the split second it took for her mouth to spread into a grin that was allYes, I would like to fucking do that.And now she’ll get her chance.

After I’ve cleaned up in the bathroom, sweeping up the stray hair and rinsing out my scissors and comb, I head back out into my room. Blaze is standing by the bed, gloves on the nightstand and with a bottle of lube in her hands that she seems to be studying.

“Looking for something?”

She looks up, completely unabashed. “Not really. Just looking at the ingredients. One of my partners has some whackadoodle allergies so it’s hard to find stuff that’s not going to bother his skin.”

One of her partners? How many are there? But that’s not really my concern as long as she’s being faithful now, and she is. She’s agreed to be anyway, and she’s given me no reason to think she’s broken that promise. It’s not as though things are going to go any further than beyond the fences of the SIG village anyhow. Unless we both make it to Trondheim next time, or end up in the same city for some other event, there’s no reason to think I’ll be with Blaze ever again. So it’s definitely none of my business to speculate about how many partners she has and what their relationships are like.

Blaze has zero artifice, so I’m assuming they all know about each other or at least know they aren’t the only one and take measures accordingly. And honestly, I can’t blame them. I can keep up with Blaze right now, but that’s likely because I’m taking on energy from the atmosphere of the SIG snow globe by osmosis. Out in the regular world, would I be able to keep up with the level of—well, everything she demands? I don’t think so.

It’s stupid to think of, but would that mean she wouldn’t want me? Always cursed to be both too much and not enough. But perhaps Blaze doesn’t see me that way. Does she think there’s a single person who could handle every last bit of her, or will she always feel as though she’s settling? Or perhaps she won’t. Maybe she’ll go along as she always has—

“How about you? You looking for something?”

I definitely can’t confess what I’ve been thinking. That kind of talk is for intimates, not fuck buddies. So I stick to the script, making a joke instead of seeking assurances. “Yes, actually. I’m looking for a girl who can work her hand into my cunt and make me come until I can’t see straight. Know anyone like that?”

Blaze smirks. “I do actually. Her name’s Tamara, she lives in Burlington, Vermont, and she—”

Before she can go on about this Tamara person—who does sound pretty fabulous, actually—I strip off my shirt and throw it at her face. “Shut up and glove up, Bellamy.”

She manages to snort out, “Yes, Your Highness,” from under the cotton and between giggles. Ridiculous woman. I love her foolishness, but I’ve now spent so much time in achingly close proximity to her—imagining while I was leaning over her and cutting her hair that she would grab my shirt, tug down the neckline, and start nibbling and sucking at one of my breasts—that I’m over foreplay. Cutting her hair and having my hands on her was the foreplay, and I want an orgasm. Or two. I enjoy penetration a lot, and to be honest, the few times I’ve had sex with guys, I’ve found them kind of . . . lacking? Even though I think they were perfectly normal-sized in the penis department. It didn’t seem like enough. Above and beyond that, men aren’t my preferred bed partners.

Blaze, though, is absolutely my jam, and she’s watching me as though I’m the best thing she’s ever seen while I walk to my bed, stripping the rest of my clothes as I go. I sit on the edge, swing my feet up to rest on the mattress and then lean back against my pillows. Our suite’s on the top floor, and because the buildings are designed to look sort of like nouveau ski chalets, we have a slanted ceiling. Kristie and I probably got put up here because we’re on the shorter side—I’d hate to see some of those six-foot-somethings hunching over in these hobbit-sized digs.

Blaze doesn’t get undressed, but stands there in the ribbed tank and leggings she’d had on while I cut her hair. She studies me from head to toe while I lie there, and the way she looks at me—is this how she makes everyone else feel? Like they’re the most scrumptious treat she’s ever been passed? As if she ordered you special from the chef and he did her one better? It’s a gift, I think, for her to see the good in everyone, to make everyone feel like their best, most magical, most attractive self when she’s with them.

It’s silly, but I’d like to think I’m in some way special to her, and if it’s because my lean, muscular build is one that she favors, then fine. I can live with that.

Once she’s had her fill of looking, she sits on the side of the bed and touches me. No warm up grazes along my arms, or any kisses. She must be able to smell my arousal, tell how ready I am for her, because she puts a hand directly on my inner thigh, and draws my leg out until my ribcage and my femur make an L shape. That hand quickly moves to right between my legs. A single finger—not gloved yet, despite what I told her, and I’m glad for the touch of skin on skin—slicks over my clit and delves back to my entrance to gather up more moisture, and returns to that small bundle of nerves to make loose circles around it, teasing me.

“I feel like maybe foreplay isn’t really necessary?”

Her kicked-up eyebrow is gently mocking, but I don’t mind.

“I had my foreplay already. Being that close to you for so long and keeping my clothes on? And yours? I’ve been fantasizing about you since you got here. I’m ready.”

Nope, no use beating around the bush, and Blaze doesn’t seem to think so, either, suddenly pressing two fingers inside me, making me gasp. Yep, that feels good. Not good enough, though. I want more, more, until she has to slow down.

“Give me three. I want your fingers, Blaze.”

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