She twists, reaching for me, dragging my mouth down to the back of her neck, her fingers tangled in my hair. “I want you to come with me,” she whispers, voice raw, urgent. “Want to feel you lose it, too.”
I let go, everything else blurring out. Her body milks me, tight and slick, and the pleasure hits hard enough that I almost see stars. She shudders beneath me, coming hard, hips bucking, cries muffled by the pillow.
We collapse together, tangled and sweating, limbs trembling, the room thick with the scent of sex and the sound of our hearts racing. She turns in my arms, kissing me—deep, slow, lingering—her fingers tracing lazy patterns over my skin, neither of us ready to let go.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling, breathless. “Missed you.”
She laughs, soft and satisfied, pressing her forehead to mine. “I think you proved it.”
I pull her close, letting our bodies cool, still joined, the aftershocks echoing sweet and slow between us.
***
ZLATA
The room is very quiet. His arm is heavy across my ribs. The sheet is somewhere at the foot of the bed. I don't look for it.
I stare at the ceiling, feeling wrung out in the best possible way, and try to remember the last time I felt this straightforwardly okay. Not performing okay, not managing okay. Just... okay.
"So," I say finally, to the ceiling. "Is this it?"
"Hmm." He shifts, chin finding the top of my head.
"Our happy ending," I say it a bit like a joke, because saying it straight feels too big.
He's quiet for a second. "There's no such thing," he says. "Not the way they sell it."
"Fabio."
"I mean it." His hand moves, thumb tracing an absent line along my arm. "We're going to fight tooth and nail for this. We'regoing to piss each other off. Screw things up. That part doesn't go away."
"You really know how to set a romantic mood."
"I'm serious."
I tilt my head back to look at him. He's watching the same ceiling I was, jaw relaxed, eyes soft from the particular tiredness that comes after everything—races, seasons, reunions. The globe is sitting on the nightstand, glass catching the light from the bathroom door I left ajar. I can see our reflections distorted in its surface, tiny and curved.
"It is a happy ending," he says, more quietly. "For me, at least. Two globes and my golden girl in my bed." His mouth curves. "That's about as much as I ever knew to want."
Something tightens in my chest in the good way, the way that used to frighten me.
"That's sweet,” my eyes sting for a moment. I didn't expect to be let off the hook so easily.
He lifts his head then and looks at me properly. "For you, though," he says, "we're not done yet."
"What does that mean?"
"Masters Finals," he says, like it's obvious.
I blink. "What?"
"There's still time to sign up.” He shifts his weight, propping himself up on one elbow, and now he's looking at me with that particular focus I've only seen him aim at start lists and course maps. "So. Masters Finals."
"Fabio—"
"I'm free," he says simply. "Season's over. I'll take you to the Stubai glacier. We train."
I stare at him. "You'd do that for me?"
