Page 55 of Ice Princesses
That confidence makes me dizzy.
She leans down again, but this time her mouth doesn’t go to mine. It drags along my jaw, slow and firm, down the column of my throat. I inhale sharply when her teeth graze just below my ear. Isabella’s hand presses flat to my sternum, and before I can think better of it, she pushes me back onto the bed.
“Oh, fuck, Isa,” I murmur, because the nickname slips out before I can stop it.
Her answering sound is low, pleased. One hand settles at my waist, steadying me as if she already knows I’m losing my balance in this—how easily she dismantles the careful walls I’ve put up around everyone.
I thread my fingers through her hair and pull, and she makes a soft sound against my stomach that goes straight through me.
She lifts her head slowly, eyes darker now, focused entirely on me. Her lips are red and swollen, and I can see the want in her gaze. There’s no hesitation left in her expression, only intent.
“Well,” she muses, voice rougher than before, “that’s new.”
She presses another kiss just below my ribs, unhurried, and my hands find her shoulders automatically, feeling the strength there, the steadiness she carries even when she lets herself soften. I slide my palms down her arms, then back up again, relearning her through touch instead of distance.
Her skin is soft against my callused hands, and it throws me off for half a second—the contrast of it, the way she feels solid but soft and entirely within reach.
I trace the line of her arm slowly, not in a rush to get anywhere, just feeling her out, how her body shifts under my palms as she reacts to my touch. Her breath changes first. Then her shoulders. Small things, but I notice all of them.
Isabella lifts her head just enough to look at me, her hair falling forward, brushing against my stomach, and the sensation is enough to pull a quiet sound out of me before I can stop it. A second later, she’s unbuttoning my jeans,zipper moving slowly down and the sound reverberating around the room.
“Is this okay?” she asks, and her mouth curves a little once I respond with an audible intake of breath. “So composed.”
I slide one hand up to the back of her neck, fingers tangling lightly into her hair, not pulling—just holding her there, keeping her close. She exhales against my skin, and I feel it everywhere.
“Yes,” I finally say, but neither of us moves.
For a second, it feels like the word just hovers between us. Isabella studies my face like she’s confirming, like she needs to see it again in my expression before she trusts it. I nod, almost frantically, and she reacts, pulling my pants and underwear down my legs.
My breath catches as her hands tug, stripping off my clothes and leaving me bare on the bed. Her expression makes my stomach tighten, and I can see Isabella’s pulse on her neck, her heart hammering in her chest.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” she says quietly.
I shake my head before she’s even finished.
She removes her pants, kicking them somewhere in the direction of the door and finally standing to her full height in front of me. Her patient stance pulls a low breath out of me that I don’t bother hiding.
“Okay,” she murmurs.
And then she moves. The corner of her mouth curves when she hears my breathing hitch, and suddenly she’s hovering over me, hands on either side of my head, looking straight into my eyes.
My pulse stumbles hard enough that I feel it everywhere at once. Any semblance of control I had a minute ago is gone.
“Still composed, Coach?” she asks.
“Not even a little,” I admit.
CHAPTER 19
ISABELLA
Fuck.I’m definitely fucked.
So, so fucked.
Cecilia’s brown eyes are on me, steady and unblinking. One of her hands tightens at my waist, grounding, anchoring, and it does the opposite of what it should—it makes me lean in, makes me want her more instead of less.
I tip sideways onto the bed in search of her mouth, and she lets out a breathy moan that makes me lose whatever control I had left.
