Kirby dropped the bag of stuff she’d gathered from her room and crowded Mara toward her bed. She gently pushed Mara down onto it and straddled her waist. Kirby touched the gold medal around Mara’s neck, running a finger around the edge.
Mara had forgotten she had it on.
“Don’t fall into post-success blues,” Kirby whispered. “Not yet.”
“I don’t think I could ever feel blue with you on top of me.”
Kirby shot Mara her signature sly grin. “Sweet talker.”
“Oh, sure. That’s me.”
Kirby nodded, unexpectedly serious. “Mara, I like you too. I didn’t say that earlier.”
Mara tried not to smile. But she failed. Spectacularly.
Kirby liked her.
It was such a silly statement. An obvious statement. But she was overwhelmed by it.
She sat up, forcing Kirby to scoot back and sit in her lap.
Her hands trembled as she took off Kirby’s gold medal and placed it on the bedside table. She unzipped Kirby’s jacket, then removed the shirt underneath. And the bra.
Mara looked her fill at Kirby, who was shaking. She was naked from the waist up except for a Team USA beanie. Mara walked her fingertips around Kirby’s belly button, over Kirby’s ribs, and up to her breasts.
Kirby took in a shuddery breath. She was being rather passive. It was different than the other times they’d done this where Mara had craved being tumbled, being overwhelmed, and Kirby had taken all the control in hand.
This time, Kirby seemed almost thrown and uncertain.
Mara kissed the swell of Kirby’s breasts, then the tight tips, and clutched at Kirby’s hips, fingertips digging in hard.
“Oh, fuck,” Kirby sighed and arched toward her. One of Kirby’s hands delved into Mara’s hair, knocking her Team USA stocking cap off. The other gripped the ribbon of Mara’s gold medal.
Part of Mara wanted to tell Kirby not to wrinkle it. The other part of her recognized it was incredibly hot that she was getting to do this with an Olympic gold medal around her neck.
Mara slid her hands up Kirby’s muscled back and took her time painting Kirby’s chest and shoulders and neck with kisses.
“God, it’s unbelievable how good you feel,” Kirby gasped. “Why is it always so good?” She ground against Mara’s lap, and Mara knew Kirby would be wet. She would be ready.
“You’re just riding high from today,” Mara said against Kirby’s jaw.
“No.” Kirby groaned. “It’s you.” She leaned back, forcing Mara to stop kissing her neck. “Mara, it’s you.Us. Can’t you see that? It’s us.”
“Yes.” Mara toppled Kirby onto her back. “It’s us.”
As soon as Kirby was on the bed, she ripped her pants down and off, clearly desperate. Before Mara could react, before she could remove any of her own clothes, Kirby was naked.
Mara climbed on top, pinned her, and kissed her.
“Please, Mara,” Kirby whispered against her lips.
Mara bit Kirby’s lip, one last sting, and moved down her body. She was starting to feel as frantic as Kirby sounded. As she resettled between Kirby’s legs, the gold medal felt too heavy. A nuisance getting in the way.
She yanked it off and tossed it away from them on the bed. She ripped her nice podium jacket off and threw it too.
And then she was on Kirby. Her mouth right where they both wanted it, and Kirby jolted like she’d been shocked.
“Oh God,” Kirby said, laughing. “Seeing you fling a gold medal across the room so you can go down on me should not be that hot, but it really fucking is.”
