“So what are we doing?” Sara asks, her voice hitching. Mila’s pushing a finger inside, sliding slickly into her as she bites her lip. Her pink lip gloss is a little smeared.
“It can be whatever you want it to be,” Mila says. Her face looks pained, eyes glued on Sara’s heaving chest. “Sara… Take off your shirt. Let me see you.”
Sara unzips her jacket and pulls off her shirt. She’s only wearing a thin bra underneath. Her nipples show beneath the cream lace. Self-conscious, she arranges her hair around her shoulders.
“Should I—?” Sara says, looking down at Mila.
“No. Leave it on.”
Mila drags her finger out of Sara with a squelch. Had she been that wet? She squirms a little on the bedspread.
“You’re really pretty,” Mila says. Up close, Sara can see that her pupils are blown. She swallows nervously. It’s her first time with a girl. Her first time with anyone.
Mila kisses her nipple over the lace, then looks up at her. “That okay?”
“Yeah,” Sara says. It’s a little bit scratchy—it’s a new bra after all. She gasps when Mila opens her mouth to suck over the lace. The heat and dampness of her mouth over the scratchiness of the lace makes her belly tighten. She’s suddenly desperately turned on, clenching her thighs. Mila pushes her, and she falls back onto the bed.
Mila smiles, a sly look in her eyes. “Just sit back and enjoy, kitten.” She pulls Sara’s breasts out of the flimsy bra, and takes a nipple into her mouth, sucking hard.
Sara can’t help but cry out. Shocked at the harsh noise of it in the hotel room, she tries to reign it in. Mila’s good at this—it’s difficult to be quiet when she’s overwhelmed by sensation.
She’s pretty much gone when Mila takes her clit into her mouth.
“That was nice,” Sara says. They’re lazing on the bed. She watches the dipping sun’s rays hit the sheets, diffusing prettily through the frosted window.
“Nice?” Mila asks, her eyebrows raised. “You wound me.”
Sara laughs. “I meant thank you.”
“That’s a little better,” Mila says. She huffs, and smiles. “What did you like?”
Sara startles a little. Mila’s always so straightforward. But that’s part of what she likes about her. She turns to face Mila, propping her face on her chin.
“I liked it when you licked me,” Sara says. “Licked my nipples,” she clarifies, and reddens a little. It’s such a bald statement.
“Hmm,” Mila says, looking thoughtful. She looks way too calculative over what’s supposed to be just sex. Helping a friend out, so to speak. Her stomach growls, suddenly, and it’s so incongruent that Sara bursts out in peals of laughter.
“Go get dressed and let me feed you, at least. I’ll look something up on Google Maps.”
“Sara Crispino, are you paying me for sex with food?!”
They end up going for Indian in a place that’s about a twenty-minute walk from Ostravar Aréna. There’s a restaurant at the Aréna, but they’ve had most of their meals specially prepared there so far, and Sara is tired of it.
It’s a bit chilly out. Mila links their arms as they walk.
“It’s cold,” she says, unnecessarily. Sara doesn’t reply and moves closer to her.
The warmth of the eatery is welcome, the chicken biryani and samosas hearty. It’s quiet, too early for the dinner crowd. Mila eats like a starving woman—non-nutritionist-mandated, but well. They’re done with their programs and tomorrow’s just the exhibition skate.
It’s not anything different from their usual hangouts. Sara is relieved. Somehow, she’d expected something between them to change, now that they’ve known the intimacy of each other’s bodies. But it’s as easy as it ever was. Mila makes snarky jokes without missing a beat. Georgi Popovich’s dating someone new, but his Carabosse routine never fails to entertain. On the table, her phone beeps.
See you later!
Sara looks up from the message, her smile feeling a little odd.
“Micky?” Mila asks.
“Yeah. He’s just reminding me about the Men’s FS. But I wouldn’t have forgotten.”
“I’m sorry. He is trying though,” Mila says.
And that’s another reason why this feels so easy with her. Mila understands their strange codependence, and she doesn’t judge. It’s why she offered in the first place—with a friend, things aren’t as complicated. With a girl, Micky doesn’t suspect a thing.
Sara sighs. She taps out a quick response to Micky. They’re mostly done with not-dinner.
“Ready to go?” Sara asks.
“Yeah, let’s. I’m so full,” Mila says, rubbing her belly like a pregnant woman, and it makes Sara laugh.
They hold hands on the way back this time.