"Training block is done for the morning," I say. "Roland wants video later, but I have… maybe an hour."
"An entire hour?" Her tone is mock-serious. "What would a grown-up couple possibly do with such luxury?"
"Grown-up couples have coffee, go over budgets, talk about their feelings."
She wrinkles her nose. "That sounds horrible."
"Yeah."
"So, what does a grown-up Nico do with his girl?" she asks, eyes bright.
I lean in, drop my voice. "You really want to know?"
"Yes."
"Grown-up Nico," I say, "takes his girl for irresponsible sex in a gondola and then buys her a coffee."
She laughs, the sound spilling into the cold air. "That sounds more accurate."
***
The gondola doors slide shut with a soft hiss, sealing us inside a world of our own—completely alone amid the glass walls that frame nothing but the endless white peaks and vast expanses of empty air below. The ride up to the glacier will take twelve minutes, perhaps fifteen if the wind picks up and tosses us gently in its grip.
Élise still holds my hand, her fingers chilled even through the thick fabric of her gloves, while a flush warms her cheeks and her eyes lock onto mine with that quiet intensity, as if she's waiting for me to break the silence that's settled between us like fresh snow. But I say nothing; instead, I draw her close, cupping her face as I lean in to kiss her.
She lets out a surprised sound against my lips, soft and fleeting, before she tugs off her gloves and buries her hands in my hair, kissing me back with a hunger that mirrors my own—we've both been starving for this after two weeks apart, that separation carving a hollow ache into my days. My hands move instinctively to her pants, fumbling with the button and zipper, and she helps with eager, trembling fingers, her breath quickening in the crisp air.
Slipping beneath her coat and sweater, my palms find the welcoming warmth of her skin, and she arches into my touch, a quiet murmur escaping her that sends a shiver straight through me.
"Nico," she breathes, her voice laced with need.
I nip gently at her lower lip, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "We have sixteen minutes."
"Then don't waste them," she whispers, her words a spark that ignites us both.
I guide her backward until her back meets the cool glass, swallowing her gasp with another deep kiss, our mouths moving in a rhythm that's both desperate and tender.
Her hands press against my chest, creating just enough space, and she slides one between her thighs; I watch, transfixed, as she withdraws it, her fingers glistening, and offers them to me with eyes that sparkle like sun on ice—teasing, intoxicating.
"Have you forgotten how I taste?" she asks, her voice playful yet edged with promise.
I grasp her wrist and draw her fingers into my mouth, savoring the salty musk mingled with faint traces of champagne; a low groan rumbles from my chest.
"No, princess," I murmur, licking them clean. "You taste like champagne—and how could I ever forget that?"
Her laugh comes low and warm, vibrating against me as she yanks down the zipper of my race suit, her cool hands roaming beneath my thermo-shirt, nails grazing my skin in a way that sets every nerve alight.
She leans in close, nipping my earlobe before tracing her tongue along its edge, her breath hot in my ear. "And I could never forget the feel of your body against mine."
With her pants finally open, I slide my hand inside, finding her warm and ready; I groan softly against the curve of her neck. "God, Élise."
"Don't talk," she sighs, breathy and insistent. "Just—"
I don't let her finish. My fingers seek her most sensitive spot, circling with steady purpose—no time for drawn-out teasing, but enough care to make her head fall back against the glass, her hands clutching my shoulders, nails pressing in as her hips rise to meet me.
Her breaths come in sharp, ragged gasps, her body moving with mine in perfect sync.
"Nico," she chokes out, voice breaking. "I—"
