[Maddie’s POV]
Friday evening at the hotel, I'm staring at generic wall art while Emily's in the bathroom. Practice this afternoon was mediocre.
Ankle held up, triple axel inconsistent, confidence at negative twelve. I've been cycling through disaster scenarios for twenty minutes. My brain excels at catastrophizing.
My phone buzzes. "Mom" flashes on screen. My stomach drops. I answer cautiously. "Mom?"
"Maddie, sweetheart. I'm here at the hotel. Just checked in. I thought we could meet in the lobby, maybe get some tea before your competition tomorrow."
She's actually here. And wants to meet now when I'm already wound tight. Emily emerges from the bathroom and I can't look at her or I'll fall apart. "You're here. At the hotel. Right now."
"Yes, I drove up this afternoon.” Her voice, warm and familiar, soothes and terrifies me in equal measure. “I promised I'd be here. So can you come down? I'm in the lobby café." Emily moves closer, reading my panic.
"Actually, Mom, I don't think that's a good idea. I'm really glad you're here, I am. But I'm already stressed about competing tomorrow, and seeing you tonight would just make me more anxious. Can we meet after the competition instead? That way I can focus on skating first."
Silence stretches long enough that I start composing my response to her hanging up. But then she sighs.
"Of course, sweetheart. That makes sense. You need to focus on your performance. I'll be in the audience tomorrow, and we can talk after. I'm proud of you, Maddie. No matter what happens on the ice."
We say goodbye and I sit there holding my phone. She actually came. The reality crashes over me—relief and terror and overwhelming emotion I can't process. "That was your mom," Emily says, sitting beside me.
"She's here. She actually came. And the competition is tomorrow. And I have to skate in front of her with an ankle that might give out and a program I can barely land consistently, and I can't stop thinking about all the ways this could go spectacularly wrong."
Emily takes my phone and sets it aside. "What do you need right now? Tell me what would actually help."
I close my eyes. "I need to stop thinking. I need my brain to shut up for five minutes. I need to relax, or just not feel like I'm about to vibrate out of my skin."
Emily moves closer, hand cupping my face. "I can help with that," she says, voice dropping. "If you want me to."
The kiss starts gentle—grounding me in the present, pulling me from tomorrow's unknowns.
But urgency builds fast. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer, and she deepens the kiss, her tongue sliding hot and insistent against mine. Thinking becomes impossible. Exactly what I need.
Emily's hands tangle in my hair, then slide down to grip my ass, pulling me hard against her. I gasp into her mouth and she swallows the sound, biting my lower lip hard enough to sting. I tug at her shirt and she breaks away just long enough to yank it over her head before her mouth is back on mine, demanding.
We fall onto the bed and I'm immediately kissing down her throat, tasting salt on her skin. My hands go straight for her jeans, fumbling with the button until I get it open.
She arches up so I can slide them down her legs along with her underwear, and then she's naked except for her bra and I'm staring at her—flushed skin, spread thighs, already glistening wet between her legs.
"Jesus, Maddie," Emily breathes, her hands working at my clothes with more efficiency than I managed. She gets my jeans open and shoves her hand inside without preamble, her fingers sliding through my wetness, and I nearly come right there from the contact alone.
I fumble with her bra clasp—harder to manage when someone's fingers are stroking your clit—but I get it off and immediately lower my mouth to her breast, sucking her nipple hard while my hand slides between her thighs.
She's soaked, her pussy hot and slick under my fingers. I circle her clit with my thumb and she bucks against my hand, moaning my name.
"Inside," she gasps, and I don't make her ask twice. I push two fingers into her and she clenches around me immediately, her inner walls tight and pulsing. She's so wet I can hear it as I thrust, the obscene sound mixing with her broken breathing.
Emily's fingers match my rhythm, pushing deep inside me while her palm grinds against my clit. I rock my hips, riding her hand while I fuck her with mine, and the visual of it—both of us half-dressed, hands buried in each other, desperate and graceless—makes heat spike through my entire body.
"Harder," I demand against her breast, and she complies, adding a third finger that stretches me perfectly.
I mirror her, pushing deeper, curling my fingers to hit that spot that makes her cry out. Her free hand grabs my ass, pulling me tighter against her palm, and I can feel my orgasm building at the base of my spine.
"God, you're so wet," Emily says, and I can hear the awe in her voice even through the breathlessness. "I can feel you clenching. You're going to come all over my fingers, aren't you?"
"Fuck, yes," I manage, because dirty talk from Emily is apparently my kryptonite. I increase my pace, my wrist starting to ache but I don't care, not when I can feel her getting close, her thighs trembling against my arm.
She comes first, her back arching off the bed as she pulses around my fingers, crying out loud enough that the neighboring rooms definitely heard.
The sight and feel of her coming undone pushes me over the edge seconds later. I bury my face in her neck and come hard, my body clenching rhythmically around her fingers while pleasure whites out my vision.
We stay frozen like that, both of us still buried inside each other, breathing hard. Eventually Emily slowly withdraws her fingers and I do the same, both of us wincing at the sensitivity.
She brings her hand up between us and we both stare at her fingers, slick and shining with my arousal.
"Hot," she says, which is such an understatement it makes me laugh breathlessly. She rolls us so we're facing each other, limbs tangled, both of us still coming down.
She brushes sweat-damp hair from my face, her expression soft despite what we just did. "Better?" she asks.
"Much better," I admit. My brain has finally shut the fuck up, anxiety replaced by satisfied exhaustion and the pleasant ache between my legs. "Thank you."
"Anytime. Literally anytime. That's kind of the point of this whole relationship thing." I laugh, catching her wrist and bringing her fingers to my mouth, sucking them clean while maintaining eye contact.
Her pupils dilate and I can feel her breath hitch. "Keep looking at me like that and we're going another round," she warns.
"Competition's tomorrow," I remind her, but I'm smiling. "Need to conserve energy. Be a responsible athlete and all that."
"Right. Responsible." She presses a kiss to my forehead, gentle and sweet in contrast to what we just did. "Very mature of us."
I settle against her, our bodies fitting together like they were designed for this. Tomorrow I'll compete. Tomorrow my mother will be in the audience. Tomorrow everything could go perfectly or completely wrong.
But tonight, I'm here with Emily, still tasting her on my lips, and for now, that's enough.