Page 80 of Fly Boy
Because I feel it, too.
“Hey, babe? Where did you go?” Evan asks, the sound of his voice in my ear snapping out of my spiral.
“Sorry…uh…got distracted.”
“Mr. Sexy Pilot Man might be our good luck charm, but we can kick him out of practice if it’s easier?”
I shake my head and force a tight smile Evan can’t see on my face.
“I’m all good,” I lie, because I am definitely not. I don’t want to figure out what this thing between us is; I don’t want toaskhim. I’m selfish and greedy and scared that if I mention it, Wyatt might not want to keep doing it.
I’m not young and naïve. I know what we’re doing can’t last.
“Let’s show your man exactly what you’re made of, huh?” Evan says, pulling me out of my gloomy thoughts. I’ve never been more thankful for my partner and best friend.
Our program is still the same as what we did for the Grand Prix in November and last week at the U.S. Championship, the routine getting sleeker and more refined for each competition. It’s meant to be a love story about two opposing families,Romeo and Juliet,in a way, but until now, I never truly understood it. Never connected with the couple as I do at this moment. Evan lifts me in the air, my body becoming an extension of his as we hold the pose.
Before, it was a difficult move, a way to wow the judges and spectators. Now, I see it differently. It’s beautiful and daring. It represents the strength the two lovers in the story have to exude to make their relationship work. It’s trust, and unity, and transformation.
My heart is in my throat as we continue the routine. It’s the final move where I palm his cheek, our bodies entwined, faces close to each other, and the entire arena is gone. Only it’s not Evan I see gazing down at me. It’s Wyatt. His strong jaw, his stubbled cheeks, his brilliant blue eyes.
“Holy fuck, that was the best we’ve ever done,” Evan hoots, winding his arms around my back and lifting me off the ice. He spins us on the spot, his laughter a distant echo as my mind reels from our sequence.
When he sets me back on my blades, his focus lands above my head, and he leans to whisper, “I see what you mean about him being possessive.” I turn to look, too, my breath hitching as we lock eyes, molten lava pouring from Wyatt’s gaze. “Babe, if a man looked at me that way, I’d have melted through the ice.”
I can barely skate as my partner pulls me toward the rink doors, grinning like a damn fool as Wyatt walks to meet us. His gaze doesn’t falter as he stops in front of us,barely acknowledging Evan as he pats his shoulder and taunts, “Jealousy looks good on you, my man.”
“Fuck off,” he growls, and I hear Evan’s laughter as he walks away, but I can’t focus on anything else as Wyatt fuses his lips to mine, kissing me passionately. My knees threaten to give out as his tongue plunges inside my mouth, drawing out whines and whimpers I should be embarrassed about. I’m dazed when I pull away, but cognizant enough to see the fire in Wyatt’s eyes as he stares at me. “You are fucking incredible.”
My grin is lazy and drugged by the feeling of him as I murmur, “Jealousy tastes good, too.”
“I wasn’t jealous,” he replies, but the way he laces our fingers together screamsmine.
The rink is deathly quiet, the air surrounding us so thick and heated that it’s making me sweat as we stare at each other, blinking, breathing, simply lost in one another.
Whoever moves first is a mystery as we collide. The stolen kiss we shared in the plane bathroom days ago wasn’t enough. I’ve become accustomed to our routine, the Saturday nights spent in his bed, the lazy early Sunday mornings together before I sneak home. Not having them last weekend because of the competition was torture, and I’m making up for lost time now.
His hands cup the back of my head, and I moan, hating that my hair is in a bun, that he can’t thread his fingers between the strands and gently pull like always, giving me the sparks that shoot straight to my core and make me so undeniably weak for him.
“Wyatt,” I pant, baring my neck, begging him to suck, nip, bite my skin.
“I’ve missed you,” he groans into my throat, sending goosebumps scattering across my flesh and heart. He’s never spoken those words to me, never made me truly feel like our attraction could be something more. Until he bared his soul forme to see, all exposed and unguarded, telling me things that mirrored by own emotions…I’d been too scared to think it, to dream it, towantit. Terrified that in the cold light of day, his late-night admission would be forgotten, that we’d go back to tiptoeing around each other, pretending this thing isn’tmore.
But he’s here now. For me. Because I asked him to be.
My tongue feels thick in my mouth as every molecule screams for his touch on every part of me.
“Need you.” Fingers clawing at his shoulders, I hold on for dear life as his lips travel back up to my jaw, to my cheeks, my mouth. I didn’t know kissing could be like this, like if we stopped, my world would end. It’s disconcerting, this feeling. It’s heavy and weighted and threatens to drown me, but the thought of his lips no longer being on mine is worse.
“Get your things,” Wyatt rasps, trying to break away. He’s unzipped his jacket at some point, and I slide my hands inside, clutching at his shirt, a dark blue V-neck that brings out the gorgeous light blue in his eyes. “Baby, we need to leave now before I take you right here.”
Arousal pools between my legs at the image, the way he’d spilt me in two, holding my leg up as he pounds into me from behind... I want that, being filled up by his cock, my moans vibrating around the arena like spectator's cheers.
I can’t wait until we get back to my apartment; the journey is far too long compared to if I lived on campus, and for once since joining Team USA, I hate that I agreed to my father buying me my own place.
“No, I can’t wait,” I say, my voice embarrassingly needy, close to begging. “I need your hands on me now.”
Cool fingers slip under my hoodie, my stomach trembling as he grazes them along the waistband of my leggings, pushing them inside. He steps closer, so close that there’s barely any space between us, so close that you could hardly tell he hashis hands down my pants, but my shocked, breathy gasp as he presses the ice-cold tip of his thumb to my clit is telling.
