Текст книги "The Billionaire Takes a Bride"

Автор книги: Jessica Clare

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

Early the next morning, before the start of rush hour traffic and when dawn was still a mere suggestion in the sky, Sebastian and Chelsea headed out to confront the Cabrals.

The Cabral family lived in a spacious penthouse in a big old building on Madison Avenue over on the Upper East Side. Of course they did. Tree-dotted Lenox Hill was one of the priciest—if not the priciest—neighborhoods in Manhattan. And in the swanky, expensive building? The Cabrals owned several floors. The bottom one, Sebastian explained as he held the door open for Chelsea as they entered the lobby, was for the camera crews and makeup people.

As they entered the quiet building, Chelsea was glad she’d worn something tame and attractive. Not that she felt the need to prove herself to Sebastian or his family, but just being inside the marble-floored building with the white, modernist design made her feel somehow small and gauche. She’d worn a cute floral skate dress that went to mid-thigh and topped it with a white cardigan and matching white strappy sandals. Her legs looked awesome (well, if you ignored the bruises) and she knew from Sebastian’s appreciative looks in her direction that she looked damn good. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail that hung over one shoulder in a riot of big curls.

Sebastian had dressed up for the occasion, too. He wore a dark burgundy sport shirt and a white sports jacket over it, along with a pair of dark pants. His normally curly hair had been brushed into a semblance of neatness that made her want to run her fingers through it and muss his curls back into shape. She liked his wild, untamed artist’s hair.

They wore their matching plain wedding bands and Sebastian’s fingers were linked tightly through hers as they headed in for the elevator.

“So which floor does your family live on?” Chelsea asked.

“Seven,” he said, and then pushed the button for six.

“Then why . . .”

He grinned mischievously at her. “Because we’re going to give my mother a taste of her own medicine. If she’s going to drop in unannounced and force people to do what she wants, she can damn well experience it herself. The camera crews stay on six, and so do the makeup people. We’re going to insist that we have a few cameras with us when we go in. You know how my mother loves to get her every moment on film. Well, this is her chance to get some footage with me since she’s dying to have some.”

“This is going to be incredibly awkward, isn’t it?” Chelsea worried.

“Nah. You watch. My mother will sail through. She always does. But for a moment, we’ll be able to turn the tables on her at least.” The door dinged at six and Sebastian got out, tugging Chelsea behind him. Ten minutes later, they had two sleepy cameramen and a sound guy with them in the elevator as they headed up to the seventh floor.

As the elevator dinged, Chelsea had weird butterflies in her stomach. Why was she nervous? Other than the fact that “Mama Precious” Cabral had been utterly horrible to her, her opinion didn’t really matter. Only Sebastian’s did. Maybe it was the TV crew that was even now filming her reaction that was setting her nerves to jangling. Or maybe it was that she was going to meet the rest of Sebastian’s family, and if they all acted like his mother . . . well, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do about that.

The Cabral penthouse opened up to a pair of white double doors, and Sebastian knocked on it before turning to Chelsea and giving her an impromptu kiss on the mouth.

She knew it was for the cameras . . . but she was still touched. That kiss of support and affection made her a little weak in the knees, as did the accompanying hand squeeze.

Someone shuffled to the door, and it opened a moment later. An elderly woman in a gray maid’s uniform gave Sebastian a wide-eyed stare. “Oh, Sebastian. Hello.”

“Morning, Eula,” he said, pushing his way inside and dragging Chelsea along with him. The cameramen followed close behind. “This is my wife, Chelsea. Have you met her yet? Chelsea, this is Mother’s housekeeper.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Eula,” Chelsea said sincerely, and pulled her hand from Sebastian’s. She offered it to Eula.

The elderly woman gave her a quick smile and hugged her. “You’re so pretty! Oh, Mrs. Cabral’s not going to like you.” She chuckled. “Or Lisa. Come on in, then. Do you want coffee? I just made a pot. Your mother’s in the kitchen, Sebastian.”

“Then that’s where we’ll head. Thank you, Eula.” He patted the woman on the back and then offered his hand to Chelsea again. “Come on, love.”

Love? The endearment surprised her, as did the feeling of warmth that flooded through her as a result. Maybe it was just for the cameras. She shouldn’t have gotten so excited about it.

Keeping her feelings in check, Chelsea eyed the lavish penthouse as they headed in deeper. It didn’t look very lived in. Pop art in a Warhol-esque style covered the walls, and each painting seemed to be one of Sebastian’s mother. The walls were bleach-white, with bleach-white carpets. The living room was a step-down, the sunken floor decorated with an artsy glass-top table that looked as if it was made entirely from broken shards. The sofa was bleach-white as well, with a few bright red pillows tossed on it, and curved around the edges of the room. There was no television, and she guessed the living room was mostly for filming. Actually, she wondered if most of the house was for filming instead of living in.

As they entered the kitchen, the bleach-white motif continued, this time for the cabinets, countertops, appliances, and flooring. Sebastian’s mother sat on a barstool at the kitchen island, a coffee cup raised halfway to her lips, a curler in her pink bangs. She narrowed her eyes at Sebastian and Chelsea. “What are you doing here, Nugget?”

“Family meeting,” he said, releasing Chelsea’s hand. He moved in and pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek, then gestured at Chelsea. “It’s time for the rest of the family to meet my wife, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s fucking early,” she said, and frowned when the sound assistant approached with the boom mic. “We’re filming?” Her hand went to her hair. “With no warning? Sebastian, Mama Precious is not happy.”

“Well, Mother,” he said easily. “I thought you might like a taste of your own medicine after what you did to Chelsea yesterday.”

The woman’s eagle-eyed stare went to Chelsea and she shot her another withering look.

Chelsea waved.

“Your family is not going to like this,” Mrs. Cabral repeated. “Not one bit.”

“I didn’t ask them. Where’s Dad? What about Dolph and Amber? Cassie?”

“Cassie’s visiting a friend in Europe. Dolph and Amber are upstairs. Your father’s in bed because it’s early.”

“Come on, Chelsea,” Sebastian said. “You want to go wake up everyone with me or stay here with Mother?”

Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m going with you.” She moved to his side and slipped her hand back in his.

Mrs. Cabral snorted and took a sip of her coffee.

Sebastian seemed to be having too much fun surprising his family. He was practically bounding up the stairs with Chelsea at his side, heading for the bedrooms. He moved to the first one and knocked. “Amber’s the youngest,” he said to Chelsea, then looked embarrassed. “You knew that, right?”

“I haven’t watched the show,” she admitted. Though everyone pretty much knew who the Cabrals were. She was pretty sure she’d recognize Amber if she saw her face.

Sure enough, the door opened a few moments later and a sleepy girl in an off-the-shoulder designer sweatshirt and sleep pants yawned. “What the hell, Sebastian?” She peered at Chelsea. “Oh. This the wife? Mom is going on and on about her.” She gave a little wave, her hand covered by the long sleeve of her shirt. “I’m Amber.”

“Hi. Chelsea.” She pointed at Sebastian. “His wife. Surprise!”

She giggled. “’Bout time someone bagged his ass.”

“All right, now,” Sebastian said, teasing her back. “We’re gonna go wake up Dolph and meet everyone downstairs. Can you be there in five?”

“Sure, just lemme put my face on.” She yawned again and shut the door. “Tell them not to film me in natural sunlight,” she bellowed through the door.

“Noted,” Sebastian called back, and headed farther down the hall, pulling Chelsea along with him. “Let’s get Dolph, then.”

As they headed down the hall, Chelsea could hear faint rock music coming from under one of the doors. Sebastian paused at it and knocked. He waited, then knocked again. Then he looked over at Chelsea. “Probably drunk again.”

Again? “Should we leave him alone?”

“Hell no. I’m waking him up.” He knocked one more time and then pushed the door open.

Dolph’s room was a mess of posters, junk, and dirty clothes. It looked more like a teenager’s room, though the man in the bed was easily college age. And slipping out on the other side of the bed in an old T-shirt?

Lisa Pinder-Schloss, her hair in a rat’s nest.

Her eyes went wide at the sight of Sebastian. Dolph just rolled over in bed, hugging a bottle of vodka.

“Well, this kills two birds with one stone,” Sebastian said drily. “We’re having a family meeting downstairs in five minutes. You’re both invited.”

Lisa’s hand went to her hair. “This isn’t what it looks like, Sebastian.”

“It doesn’t matter what it looks like. We’re not together, we won’t ever be together, and I’m married. You can sleep with whoever you want.”

Chelsea leaned in and waved. “Wifey right here.”

Lisa’s eyes went wide and she looked at Sebastian, then Chelsea. Her inflated lips quivered and for a moment she looked like a sad duck. “So . . . it’s really over?”

“It was way, way over two years ago, Lisa. Two years and some change.” He gestured at his sleeping brother. “Wake him up and meet us downstairs in five minutes. We’re filming a family meeting.” With that, he looped an arm around Chelsea’s shoulders and led her out of the room.

She looked up at him as they headed down the hall. “What are you thinking?”

A smile crossed his face. “I’m thinking I’m damn relieved to see that. Now she’s his problem, not mine. She must have decided to hook on to him when her story line with me wouldn’t work.”

“Not disappointed, then?”

He gave her a horrified look. “Never.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the brow. “Not in a million years. This marriage is everything I wanted.”

She doubted that, but she kept those suspicions to herself. Her mind went back to their foreplay last night. She’d been so into it, and then the thought of progressing into actual sex had freaked her out. She had to figure out a way past that.

Because she wanted to have sex with Sebastian now. She just . . . couldn’t. Not yet. But maybe she’d get there soon.

“My father’s downstairs,” he murmured to her. “Come on.”

She nodded and let him lead, her thoughts moving back to the big family confrontation. She hoped things didn’t get ugly between Sebastian and his family. The fact that he cared about them meant that they were still close. She didn’t know what that was like. She’d grown up in a single-parent home until she’d left for college and her mother had found religion and turned into a missionary. She was somewhere in India right now, ministering to the poor and trying to convert them. That was . . . really not Chelsea’s thing. She’d been more or less on her own since graduating from high school, with the exception of her bond with Pisa.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed having someone to lean on. To let her know she wasn’t alone and dependent on the goodwill of a friend. Because a friend was different than family. And Sebastian?

He was her family now.

Sebastian’s dad wasn’t what she’d expected. Maybe because his mom was so over the top and the rest of his family was a tabloid-loving group, she’d expected him to be a bit more like Mrs. Cabral, full of plastic surgery and vinegar. In reality, he was . . . old. Very old. Withered and gray-haired, he was still in bed when they knocked on the door. Sebastian helped him into his bathrobe and then into a wheelchair, and introduced him to Chelsea.

There was at least thirty years between Mrs. Cabral and her husband. But the elderly man had Sebastian’s green eyes and he grinned up at her. “My son picked a pretty one,” he said in accented English. “He is lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said, smiling at him. She clasped his hand in greeting, and didn’t miss the warm look Sebastian shot her way. However weird the rest of his family was, it was clear he loved his father.

They wheeled Mr. Cabral into the kitchen and immediately Mrs. Cabral came over, fussing. “You woke up your father, Nugget. That is just terrible of you.” She leaned in and kissed her husband on the forehead. “Are you tired, Daddy Money? Do you need to sleep?”

And there was another surprising aspect of the Cabral relationships, because while Mrs. Cabral was evil incarnate to Chelsea, there was real affection between her and her elderly husband. He kissed his wife’s hand and then gestured at the dining room table in the next room. “I’m here for the family meeting. Where are the children?”

“They’re coming,” Mrs. Cabral said, and she still sounded miffed. “Let’s get you situated at the head of the table, shall we? Do you want some coffee, sweetie?”

Over the next few minutes, yawning family members filed in. Dolph and Lisa showed up, both looking a bit embarrassed. Lisa’s hair and makeup had been fixed, and Chelsea noticed they sat on opposite sides of the table.

Sebastian sat next to Chelsea, her hand in his. He was silent as they waited for everyone to come in, but his fingers moved over her hand, tracing the lines of her palm and brushing over each knuckle and fingertip, then rubbing the back of her hand before gliding up her arm. Over and over, the soft touches continued, until Chelsea’s skin prickled with goose bumps and her nipples hardened in response. She wanted to squirm against his soft, caressing touches, and as she clamped her thighs together, she realized she was aroused.

Just from that simple touch. Oh, wow.

If Sebastian had guessed how she was feeling, he didn’t indicate it. His gaze was on his family as they grabbed cups of coffee, bitched about the hour, and generally prepped for the cameras. The assistant with the boom mic moved into place the moment Amber slid into her seat, and then they were all gathered.

“All right, Nugget,” his mother said, pursing her lips as she drank from her coffee. “Tell us what you want us to hear.”

Sebastian’s hand stroked down Chelsea’s arm, and she had to fight back a shiver of delight at that simple touch. “I feel like it needs to be stated again. I know we’re not a normal family, and no one in this family does things the normal way. Including, it seems, me.” He looked over at Chelsea and gave her a warm, easy smile that made her stomach flutter. “Because I met Chelsea and knew we were meant to be. We dated fast, and we married fast. And we’re happy. She’s my wife, and I’m tired of her being harassed by people in this family. She’s here to stay.”

Mrs. Cabral sniffed. “That’s a very nice speech, Nugget, but I don’t see why you’d marry that whore instead of Lisa, who loves you.”

Lisa’s face turned beet-red.

Sebastian stood up, his chair scraping backward with a screech. “If you call my wife a whore again, Mother, we’re done here. For good.”

The room grew unspeakably tense, and Chelsea felt awkward. Lisa looked like a deer trapped in headlights, and Sebastian vibrated with anger.

“Kitten, kitten,” Sebastian’s father said in a tired voice. “Enough with the words. She looks like a good girl.”

“Hmph,” said Mrs. Cabral. “He’s a billionaire. How do I know she’s not after him for his money?”

“We signed a prenup,” Chelsea offered. “I really don’t want his money, just his company.”

“He doesn’t have any companies,” Mrs. Cabral cried shrilly. “His money is inherited—”

“Shh, shhh,” Sebastian’s father said, and his wife quieted down. “She means she enjoys being with him. Do not be so quick to judge, my love.” He smiled kindly at Chelsea. “What is it you do?”

Oh, now she felt stupid. “I make custom soaps and sell them online.” It seemed like such a small, petty career, and for the first time in her life, she wished she’d finished college so she could say something smarter, like lawyer or biologist.

But Amber perked up, leaning forward over the table. “Soaps? Really? Can I have some?”

“Sure. I can make you a few. Do you have a particular scent you like?”

“Patchouli.”

“We are not having patchouli in this house,” Mrs. Cabral said. “It smells like hippies.”

“Then jasmine,” Amber fired back, and mouthed to Chelsea, patchouli.

“Can I have some, too?” Lisa asked. “Whatever scent you have.”

“Sure.” She tugged on Sebastian’s belt, since he was still standing and looking frustrated at his family. “Sit down, Basty.”

That got his attention. He shot her a not you, too look and thumped into his seat. “All right, then,” Sebastian said after a moment. “Are we clear? Chelsea is my wife. She is not the antichrist. I did not rent her by the hour.” He shot a scathing look at his mother. “I love her. And we want to be left alone by the cameras, by the dive-bomb filming, everything.”

Chelsea stiffened in her seat and tried to remain casual as Sebastian took her hand in his again.

He loved her?

Or was that just for the cameras?

“Mama Precious will not interfere,” Sebastian’s father said in his wavering voice. “She will leave you two alone so you can enjoy your new marriage.” And he gave them both a wrinkly smile.

“But, Daddy Money.” Mrs. Cabral pouted. “Be fair.”

He patted her on her manicured hand. “I am being fair, kitten. Remember what it is like to be young and newly married. The last thing we wanted on us was cameras.”

To Chelsea’s surprise, Mrs. Cabral tittered and leaned in and kissed her ancient husband on the cheek.

Amber made a face. “Gross.”

“Besides, you have your cancer story line for this season,” Mr. Cabral said in a reasonable voice. “Save something for next year.”

Mrs. Cabral looked thoughtful and then nodded.

Well, at least that was settled. Sebastian squeezed her hand again and she should have felt relieved, shouldn’t she?

But she kept going back to his words. I love her.

This marriage had started out a sham for the cameras, or rather, to avoid the cameras. Was it just another lie?

Chapter Nineteen

Chelsea was quiet as she prepped her derby bag for that night’s bout. He worried about her, and couldn’t help but hover around as she packed her socks and her freshly aired-out knee pads and her newly cleaned uniform.

“You okay?” he asked from the doorway.

“Yep. Just trying to get my head in the game.” She didn’t look at him, fiddling with the zipper on her bag instead. “We’re playing a tough team tonight, so I need to start living and breathing derby right about now.”

“Is that why you’re heading out early?”

She slung her bag over her shoulder and nodded. Gone was the demure floral dress from this morning. In its place was a pair of jeans with ripped knees, and a T-shirt that read Keep Calm and Skate On. “Yeah, we’re having some warm-ups and team building before we get on the track.”

He nodded and hung out in the doorway a bit longer. “You’re not upset about this morning, right?”

“About your mother calling me a whore? It wasn’t the first time, and it probably won’t be the last.” She grinned at him and moved to pinch his cheek. “I’m not worried about it at all. I know you don’t think I’m a whore, so we’re all good.”

“I think you’re pretty amazing, actually.” The words came out of him easily, and when she stiffened, he wondered if he’d made a mistake in confessing it. But it was true. The more time he spent around Chelsea Hall—now Chelsea Cabral or Chelsea Hall-Cabral, he supposed—the more he wanted to be with her. Wanted to hear that cheery laugh of hers. Feel her soft skin pressed against his as she slept next to him, her cold feet on his leg.

He wanted all of Chelsea, damn it. If his family had fucked this up for him, he’d never forgive them.

She gazed up at him, head cocked. “Wanna come to the bout tonight?”

Sebastian was surprised at her offer. “You’re sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s probably going to be crowded. And people are going to be rowdy. And I’m probably going to get a few smacks to the face, so I don’t want you rushing on the track to save me because I’m a girl.” She said the words derisively.

“First of all, I would never rush onto the track to save you, because you can kick everyone’s ass out there.” At her delighted laugh, he continued. “And second of all, I’m fine with you getting a few smacks to the face as long as you elbow them back.”

“Elbows aren’t allowed,” she teased as she slid past him. “Everything else is, though.”

“Well, then, I have to go to cheer on my derby wife, don’t I?”

“Oh, my god, that’s so cute.” She turned and patted him on the chest. “But Pisa’s my derby wife. You’re just my man. You don’t get a special title.”

He toyed with a lock of her blonde hair. “I don’t know. I kind of think being your man is a pretty special title.”

Her expression softened and her gaze slid to his mouth for a long moment. Then she pulled away, smiled, and bounded down the stairs. “I’ll tell them to hold a ticket for you at the front. Tell them you’re Chesty LaRude’s piece of ass.”

“I shall wear the name with pride,” he called back, and chuckled.

A few hours later, he was back in the bleachers, seated next to Diane, Morning Whorey’s real-life wife. They drank beers and chatted and he sketched as the bout went through jam after jam. Chelsea took a few hard knocks at the beginning, but she’d found her stride and was delivering a beat-down to the other team’s blockers. Diane gave him play-by-plays since he still didn’t know the rules of the game. Not that it mattered. He spent most of his time watching Chelsea and suppressing inappropriate feelings of lust every time she bent over and flashed her yellow panties under that impossibly short skirt. She was kicking ass, though. The bout had been tight the entire time, and when they hit the halfway mark, Chelsea looked up in the stands, scanning for him. He waved, and she blew a kiss in his direction before skating off with her team for the halftime powwow.

“So how’s married life?” Diane asked, peering over his shoulder at his sketchpad. Her beer sloshed over her hand. “Oh, my god. Holy shit. Is that Chesty?”

He slid away a foot, edging away from her beer. “It is. I just sketch for fun. It’s not very good.”

Diane thumped into the bleachers next to him. “Are you kidding? That’s fucking incredible. Do you think you could do a sketch of Whorey when she comes back out? Please?”

“I can try,” he said, switching to a fresh piece of paper. “What’s her number?”

“Sixty-nine, of course.” Diane giggled. “God, that’s amazing. You should do the trading cards for the girls.”

“What? No—”

“I’m serious,” Diane said. “They hired a photographer for the trading cards but he sucked ass. All of the girls hated the photos. They’d probably love drawings of themselves.”

“I’ll think about it.” Sebastian demurred, picking up a new pencil and watching the halftime show with mild interest. His thoughts were on Chelsea and his sketches. What would she think of him doing sketches of the other girls?

She’d tell him to go for it and to be brave about his art, because she was fearless.

Maybe he needed to be more fearless, too.

When the girls skated back on the track, he looked for Morning Whorey, and then began to sketch her angular face and the expression she made when the jam started. At his side, Diane squealed and clapped her hands, beer forgotten. “That’s so her! That’s amazing, Sebastian!”

He grinned and took a sip of his beer, feeling a bit more relaxed about his art. Someone else had seen him draw and the world hadn’t ended. Wasn’t so bad.

The Rag Queens fell behind for a time, and his sketches were forgotten as the stands erupted between each jam, cries of disappointment erupting every time the jammer banged her hands against her hips, calling off the jam. Then, Good Whip Lollipop managed to score a Grand Slam on the other team, bringing the score within two points and three minutes left.

Then, the Rag Queens tied them on the next jam.

By that time, the crowd was on their feet, and Sebastian was caught up in the excitement. “This is the last jam,” Diane yelled in his ear. “Time’s gonna run out so they have to hustle.”

His gaze flicked from the jammer to the pack, just ahead of them. The women were tense, ready to start. The whistle blew, and the pivot moved out in front. Then, a second whistle, and the jammers took off. As he watched, Chelsea skated in front of the other team, then widened her legs as she skated, deliberately blocking as much floor as she could. The other team’s jammer tried to jump her extended leg and managed to knock both of them to the ground. He held his breath as Chelsea went sprawling, his worry for her overriding his enjoyment of the game. But she quickly picked herself back up and skated back to the pack. Meanwhile, Good Whip Lollipop was busy fighting her way through the pack to score. She passed one player—

And pounded on her hips with her hands, signaling the end of the jam.

It was over. The Broadway Rag Queens won by one point. The audience roared their appreciation as the women skated a victory lap around the track, arms raised in triumph.

The crowd surged forward out of the bleachers, moving to the floor, and Sebastian went with them, heading unerringly for Chelsea.

She spotted him as he approached the track and sped up, skating through the crowd to fling herself into his arms with a happy squeal. Her face was red with exertion, her ponytails damp with sweat, but she was exuberant. “We won,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck even as he lifted her into the air and hugged her.

“You were fucking amazing! I nearly lost my mind when you did that last move at the end to block the jammer—”

Her eyes lit up with pleasure at his compliment. Then her gaze flicked to his mouth, and she impulsively pressed her mouth to his in a hard kiss.

Sebastian was startled—Chelsea didn’t kiss impulsively. He knew now that she had issues with intimacy because of her past. He was resolved not to push her, to let her lead. He’d follow wherever she led. And if she wasn’t eager for kisses, he was fine with that.

But the lips on his weren’t hesitant in the slightest. They were excited, eager, and as her mouth slicked over his, she licked the seam of his mouth. She was asking—no, demanding—for more from him.

He gave it to her, then, his arms tightening around her body as he hungrily returned the kiss, his mouth devouring hers. His tongue met and clashed with hers, and their teeth banged together once, and then it was just endless deep kiss after endless deep kiss. A thrust of tongue, a sultry moan deep in the throat, the nip of her teeth, all of them drove the world out until it was just him and Chelsea, locked together.

And she wasn’t pulling away. She was totally into it, just as much as he was.

But he kept his hands carefully at her waist. He was the one who broke the kiss and opened his eyes to see Chelsea giving him a dazed look, her mouth swollen and wet from his kisses.

And fuck, he wanted to kiss her all over again. To press his mouth to hers over and over again until she was begging for more.

But . . . this was Chelsea, and Chelsea was the leader. So he smiled down at her and thumped her helmet. “What was that for?”

“I just . . .” She shrugged, then grinned at him. “I wanted to molest you with my mouth.”

“I am open for it any time at all.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth again, and she gave him another hot look. And . . . holy fuck, was she actually considering it?

“No one’s going to be in the locker room for a few minutes,” she breathed, then grabbed his hand, dragging him to the back of the building. “Come on.”

He had to jog to keep up with her. Sebastian wasn’t sure if this was smart, but hell, if Chelsea wanted to fling him down on the track and have sex with him right then and there, in front of everyone, he was down for it.

They raced to the locker room, and Chelsea slammed the door shut behind them, then turned the lock. She skated toward Sebastian and then pulled him down to sit on the bench in front of the lockers. Then, she flung one leg over his hips and settled herself into his lap, wrapping both legs around him.

And she kissed him again. Deep, hungry, eager.

And fuck, his cock was rock-hard and aching like never before.

Chelsea rocked against his lap, then tugged at the front of her uniform, revealing her breasts. Then, she attacked him with her mouth again, kissing and licking and nibbling at his mouth. Her hips rocked against his, and when he continued to hold her at her waist, she took his hand and guided it to her breast. “Touch me, Sebastian.”

He groaned. He didn’t know what had come over her, but he was game for it. Maybe it was the excitement from winning the bout, but if this was what she needed, he’d be happy to participate. “You remember your safe word?” he asked, even as he slid his thumb over her nipple. It was hard against his skin, and she pushed against his hand with a whimper.

“I don’t think I’ll need it,” she told him between quick, eager kisses. “Put your hand in my panties. Feel how wet I am right now.”

Damn, what an invitation. She shifted in his lap and he slid his hand down, searching through the layers of her uniform to find skin. When he found her stomach, he delved down and . . . god, she was soaking wet. So fucking wet that his fingers were coated. “Oh, yeah,” he murmured, and kissed her neck. She smelled like sweat and flowers and it was fucking incredible. “You’re wet as hell.”

“Feels good,” she murmured, and began to rock her hips against his fingers as she kissed him again. “I don’t know if I want your fingers inside me or your cock.”

He stilled, mentally going through the contents of his wallet. He hadn’t dated in a while and had taken out the last condom. “I don’t have any protection on me.” And since she wasn’t into sex before now, it was likely she wasn’t on birth control.