On the Brink of Passion--Snow & Ice Games Read online

  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 fel
l 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.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jubilee

  It’s a terrible habit I have, this needing to know the scores. At some point you’d think Daphne would’ve just started lying to me, but she never has. Never looks happy when she comes to tell me how everyone’s doing, but she does it anyway. Perhaps knowing if she didn’t, I’d just go watch them myself.

  Because of the standings, we’ve had a long night of waiting in the wings for the three flights ahead of ours, and we’ve been back here, trying to keep our cool while trying to keep warm. And trying not to freak out. I always get a bit nervy right before competing, but this feels like there’s more on the line than the usual. The “usual” at the SIGs being a gold medal, since we are definitely in the running for first.

  Of course I want that. Of course I do. A nice shiny gold to put next to my other one. To be able to say when I’m old and grey that yes, I’d been the very best in the world not once, but twice—for a period of fourteen whole minutes. Because oddly, that’s all it takes. There are, I think, better skaters than me out there. But I have that certain kind of alchemy that’s rewarded by the frankly arbitrary guidelines of my sport. Technical skills combined with making them look pretty, effortless, having the luck of finding a partner who compliments me as well as Beckett does, having a body that can be imprinted with these strange things we force ourselves to do. Plus the psychological fortitude to be able to do these crazy things not just in the privacy of an empty rink but in front of thousands of people, and to be able to hold onto everything I know when it counts the most.

  Seven minutes each time, four years apart. These are the tiny slices of time that will define me in the history books. What an odd legacy to leave. I chance a glance over at Beck, who’s keeping his sturdy legs limber and warm by alternately taking little jogs and stretching. Unlike me, he doesn’t want to know how the others are doing until the very end, so he’s careful to keep his headphones on and not make eye contact while Daphne’s here lest he, I don’t know, suddenly develop a talent for reading lips? Foolish man.

  Foolish man indeed for having his heart set on me. Why couldn’t things have stayed the way they were? Why couldn’t we have maintained our professional courtesy, our fiercely competitive but distant partnership? In some ways I know we’re a better team for the intimacy that’s developed, but for the rest, my god do I resent it.

  Before I can get too mired in wishing things were different or trying to do calculations on what will happen in the next hour or so, I see the flash of Daphne’s snow-white sweater approaching, and the look on her face says it all: we’re up.

  Darling Beckett keeps his massive headphones tucked over his ears while we walk to the entrance of the rink for our warm-up, and goes ahead of me and Daphne so she can give me the DL on the last flight of skaters.

  “The two Russian teams had very solid skates. If there are mistakes in your flight, they could take advantage to fill the podium. But it’s going to take mistakes I don’t see coming. Not from you and not from their premier pair. Unless something truly bizarre happens, the Canadians aren’t going to be able to fly their maple leaf, and the Chinese are out. So really it’s up to you, Lebedeva and Volkov, Hahn and Ziegler.”

  I look at her sideways. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

  “You mean Todd and Sabrina?”

  “Yes, given that they’re in third and only trailing by a few points.”

  Daphne snorts derisively and rolls her eyes. “Those two have about as much chemistry as mint and peanut butter.”

  “Ew, gross.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. They could get away with it during the short program because it’s so focused on skill, and they’ve got decent levels but there’s something off about that pair and it’s going to show hard during their free skate. Just you watch.”

  We’ve reached the entrance to the rink, and our on-ice warm-up will start any minute, so I give Daphne a quick nod and then rest a hand on the boards for balance as I strip off my skate guards. Beckett does the same before finally taking off his headphones, relinquishes them to Daphne, and then offers me a hand. When I take it, it’s warm and large and solid. Trustworthy, constant, and strong. Both the very best feeling and the worst, because one way or another, this is the beginning of the end.

  Beckett

  The warm-up is same as it always is: me freaking out and Jubilee maintaining her cool. Unlike some of the other teams, we don’t practice any of our throw jumps or twists this time, but focus more on getting our muscles primed and ready for the hard work, getting comfortable with each other’s bodies and rhythms again. Jubilee is as familiar to me as the back of my own hand, and yet I still have to learn her every day.

  I also have the prickly feeling of being watched. It’s not the crowds, which I’m used to, nor Daphne, who’s got her eagle eyes trained on every move we make in case she’s got a last-minute lecture or correction. It’s also not the occasional glances of other skaters, which you get used to during warm-ups. How are they looking today? How are we stacking up? Is she going to hit that jump? No, it’s not the standard level of attention. It’s something sharper, more concentrated. Something distracting, and I can’t pinpoint it.

  Jubilee elbows me in the ribs after we’ve finished going over a footwork sequence.

  “What’s your deal, Beckett? You’re not here. Like, more than usual.”

  Which is when Todd and Sabrina speed past us, Sabrina up in a lift and yet looking at the ice. In our direction. Why?

  “Do you feel like Todd and Sabrina have been eyeing us?”

  Jubilee’s gaze flickers over to them as Todd s
ets Sabrina back on the ice and they glide away from us. Then she shrugs. “They’re in third, we’re in second. They know we’ve changed our program some since the last time they saw us in competition. I’m sure they’re just trying to get a handle on what they’re up against. You don’t need to fall into that same trap, though.” She reaches a hand up to my face, passing a thumb over my cheek. “Just pay attention to me.”

  Easy enough when she does shit like that. Until the warm-up is over, I’ve only got eyes for Jubilee. I don’t usually think much of her costumes, aside from making sure they’re not too slippery or won’t impede my visibility, or that the crystals won’t cut my hands. Aside from that, I’ve never much cared.

  This one is something special though. Even as we’re skating off the ice, I can’t help notice how it emphasizes her hard-won shape, the cut of the muscles in her shoulders and her arms, while the short wispy skirt emphasizes her waist and her powerful legs. Prettiest dynamo I’ve ever seen. The color is nice on her too. A green so dark you might tilt your head in certain lights, trying to determine if it’s black, melting into a lighter green. And of course a pretty drape of crystals, because you can’t turn around in figure skating without getting an eyeful of Swarovski. I, on the other hand, am nothing special to look at. Black pants, white shirt, with a vest as dark as the darkest part of her dress.

  To be honest, I was a bit peeved SIG rules prohibit men from wearing kilts. It would match our program music, and I’ve got nice legs, too, dammit. Why should only people who like the ladies get eye candy? It’s not time to fight the sexism of the SIGs, though, it’s time to get focused on what’s to come, the one thing we came here for.