A high, keening sound escaped her throat as someone knocked on the door. Chelsea shuddered against him, and her thighs felt like iron around his hips, squeezing him as she came. All the while, he kept working her with his hands and mouth, so fucking aroused and proud of her.
She’d rode him like a fucking champ.
And granted, it was only his hand, but it was a step in the right direction. She continued to rock her hips against his hand a moment longer, then let out a long, boneless sigh and moved both of her hands to his hair, hugging him against her. “Oh, god, Basty, that was incredible.”
He pressed kisses to her neck. “You’re trying to kill my erection with that shit nickname, aren’t you?”
She giggled, the sound so confident and sweet that it made his chest ache to hear it. “Like nails on a chalkboard?”
“Like plaid and sofas. Sex and that name do not go together.”
“Oh, baby.” She patted his shoulder. “There you go again with one of those terrible comparisons. We really need to get you a book on them.”
The door pounded. “Hey,” someone bellowed. “Open the fuck up! This is our locker room!”
“Gimme just a minute,” Chelsea called.
“That you, Chesty?”
“It’s me,” she yelled, and began to pull up her uniform. She reached into the front and tucked her breasts back into her bra, then sighed and gave one last wiggle when he pulled his hand free from her panties.
“How long until we make it home?” Sebastian asked as she got off his lap. He stood up and adjusted himself, tucking the head of his cock into the waistband of his pants to try and hide his arousal. It was uncomfortable as all fuck, but it was just another thing he’d endure for her.
He’d endure everything for her.
She giggled again and pointed at the front of his pants. “Um. There’s a wet spot there from me.” Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink. “Sorry about that.”
“I’m not,” he said, untucking his shirt to let it hide the evidence. He leaned in and kissed her again.
“We’ll be home soon,” she promised, and there was an excited light in her eyes that promised very soon, indeed.
Chapter Twenty
Chelsea practically wiggled with a mixture of joy and anticipation the entire time Coach Black HellVet talked to the team. Sure, there was celebrating and cheering, as well as a few pointers on where to improve for the next game. All Chelsea could think about was Sebastian.
Sebastian with his hot, sexy mouth, his awesome fingers, and the way he’d pushed her to an orgasm after she’d climbed all over him. Oh, Sebastian.
She hadn’t even cared that the other Rag Queens gave her hell for locking them out of the locker room and then being mussed and tousled when she opened the door with a man in tow. She’d just grinned and sent Sebastian out to wait for her. They’d ride the subway home together and then she’d climb all over him again for round two.
She’d had an orgasm. She’d enjoyed kissing.
These were milestones.
Chelsea felt alive again. Normal. She’d had no idea why she’d attacked Sebastian like that. She’d just been on a euphoric high after the buzzer went off and the Rag Queens had come back from behind to win. She’d skated around the track one last time and as the crowd had surged forward to congratulate them, she’d looked for Sebastian. His was the face she’d wanted to see more than anything, and when she’d saw the shining pride in his gaze and his excitement that she’d won . . .
It had been a major turn on for her. She’d grabbed him and kissed him, and she’d felt . . . something.
She’d felt all kinds of things, really.
And it had been incredible. She’d liked kissing him. No, scratch that, she’d loved kissing him. Loved it. Wanted more of it. Wanted to devour him on the floor right then and there. Wanted to grab him by the collar and kiss him until she was blue in the face and her lips hurt from mashing them against his. She wanted to kiss for hours and hours on end.
She wanted to cry with happiness. She liked kissing again.
And suddenly Sebastian wasn’t just her handsome, sensitive-souled friend-slash-husband. He was walking sex on a stick and she wanted to crawl all over him and rip his clothing off and lick every bit of him until he was screaming with need.
So she’d dragged him to the locker room and made him finger her until she’d come.
No regrets.
Well, okay, if they’d had more time, she’d have slid her face into his lap and given him the same happy ending she’d gotten. But she was going to do all that and more later tonight, now that she had her mojo back.
And she was excited about it.
When the coach released them, Chelsea jumped to her feet and threw her skates in her bag, hurrying out of the locker room.
“Whoa, slow down,” Cherry Fly teased, stepping in front of Chelsea. “We’re going out for drinks to celebrate. You want to come?”
Normally she loved hanging with her girls after a bout. It didn’t matter that she didn’t drink—she didn’t like the way getting drunk made her feel, that out-of-control, loopy sensation that reminded her of her rape—but she enjoyed the company. But tonight? Tonight she just wanted Sebastian and more kisses and more touches. “I can’t, my guy’s waiting for me.”
“Bring him along.” Cherry shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first spouse to tag along. Won’t be the last.”
“No, seriously, we have plans.”
“Oooh,” Grief Kelly said, appearing. She looped an arm over Cherry’s shoulders. “Someone wants to get laid.”