He makes this low sound, kind of a growl, like he’s pissed that I’ve stopped him.

“Jesus, Randy, what’s gotten into you?” A full-body tremor—like a legitimate aftershock—makes me lose my grip on his hair.

His expression softens and then becomes panicked. “Lily? Shit.”

The fullness of his fingers inside me disappears. My muscles contract around nothing and an odd, soft sob gets caught in my throat. He reaches out as if to caress my cheek, but realizes my orgasm is still all over his fingers, so he wipes his hand on his shirt. At least it’s white.

He leans over me, sweeping shaky fingers across my temple. His eyes are wide, his thick swallow audible. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay? I didn’t mean to get carried away. I just wanted to make you feel good.”

I still his hands. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“But you’re crying. I made you cry. That’s not supposed to happen.”

“You wouldn’t let me stop coming. It was intense.” I motion to my face. “These aren’t pain tears, they’re overwhelmed-by-sensation tears.”

“Oh.” His relief leaves him on an exhale. “I didn’t know that was a thing. So you’re telling me you can come so hard you cry?”

I’m actually surprised this has never happened to him before. His orgasm missions, along with his former reputation with the bunnies, are legendary.

There’s something going on with Randy. He’s been extra needy lately. Only once this week have we not had sex multiple times a day. Maybe he’s stocking up in preparation for being on the road again once the new season starts. I’m not complaining; I just think there’s more to it than him being horny. The alarm on my phone goes off. It’s my final warning.

“Oh, God. I need to fix myself and get out there!”

“Told you I could get you off before you went on the ice.” The smug tone is there, but he’s missing the usual smirky smirk.

My legs are wobbly as I stand and adjust my panties, then my stretched-out tights. The waistband on both are shot. They’ll have to go in the garbage after this. Also, a huge snag runs from waist to thigh on my right leg. I don’t have an extra pair of tights with me, so I’ll have to deal. The crotch of my leotard is loose now, too, which definitely isn’t optimal—especially since I’m about to teach pairs. I haven’t done pairs in years, so I’m relearning a bit as I’m teaching.

Tonight I have a one-on-one session with Finlay to work on some of the lifts. Last session his partner, Giselle, twisted her ankle, so she’s taking some time to recover. I didn’t want Finlay to miss this session, though.

I look up at Randy and gesture to my outfit. “Thanks a lot; this whole thing is ruined now.”

“I’ll take you to get new ones.”

“Hell of a lot of good that’s going to do me now.”

“I’m sorry.” He jams his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I got excited thinking about the cottage and spending time with you without work getting in the way.”

I don’t want him to feel bad for making me feel good. I share his enthusiasm, even if his timing could be better. I put a hand on his chest and give him a quick kiss. “I know. Me too. I gotta go, though.”

I close my locker and head for the ice on unsteady legs in a skating outfit that fit a lot better less than ten minutes ago. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I push through the doors to the rink. My hair is all messed up in the back, so I quickly finger-comb it. My tights are sliding down because the waistband is so loose. My cheeks are flushed, my lips swollen, my eyes bright. I can smell Randy’s cologne all over me, and I’m pretty sure I also smell like an orgasm, but that could all be in my head.

There’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m annoyed that I look like such an unprofessional mess, but hopefully Finlay is too focused on learning the routine to notice.

He’s already out there when I hit the ice. Finlay turned nineteen recently and has been skating competitively since he was a child. He’s an incredible skater, but I know he’s worried about the lifts and the jumps. Since I know this routine, my boss called in a favor and asked if I would be willing to coach him and his partner. They’ve already made state, and now they’re looking at nationals. Those two are magic together when they’re on. It’s an honor and a big deal to be asked to do this. Summer hours mean I have the time, so I couldn’t say no.

Finlay looks antsy. He’s been great, if not a little unsure of himself, the two times I’ve worked with him and Giselle so far. I’ve heard he can be a bit of a perfectionist, and hard on himself and his partner in terms of expectations. I’m hoping this session will help keep things smooth and easy between them. He’s feeling some guilt over Giselle’s minor injury, even though it wasn’t his fault.

He glances at the clock. I’m two minutes late. “I thought maybe I got the time wrong.”

“Sorry. One of my laces broke; I had to relace with a spare.” The lie comes smoothly.

He looks down at my skates, eyes moving over my outfit. My freaking tights are already falling down. Randy’s going to hear it from me later.

I clap my hands together. “I guess we should warm up.”

“I was a little early. I’ve already warmed up.”

“I meant together. I’ve been on the ice all day, so I’m about as warmed up as I’m going to get, but I’m happy to do a few laps to get us in the groove.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, of course.” He bobble nods. “That sounds like a good idea.”

I skate a tight circle around him and then speed off down the ice, adjusting my damn tights. At least the little skirt covers some of the issue. I’m kind of nervous about this session. It’s one thing to teach other people how to skate together; it’s totally different when I’m the one involved in the togetherness. Pairs requires a lot of trust and communication. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to skate with another person. And now, on top of dealing with the newness of this situation, my attention is divided because my tights keep sliding down, and all I can think about is how that happened. Goddamn Randy and his magic tongue and fingers.

Still, all I have to do is invest an hour, and then I’m free for the weekend.