The Billionaire Takes a Bride (Billionaires and Bridesmaids,(54)

She’d had an orgasm. She’d enjoyed kissing.

These were milestones.

Chelsea felt alive again. Normal. She’d had no idea why she’d attacked Sebastian like that. She’d just been on a euphoric high after the buzzer went off and the Rag Queens had come back from behind to win. She’d skated around the track one last time and as the crowd had surged forward to congratulate them, she’d looked for Sebastian. His was the face she’d wanted to see more than anything, and when she’d saw the shining pride in his gaze and his excitement that she’d won . . .

It had been a major turn on for her. She’d grabbed him and kissed him, and she’d felt . . . something.

She’d felt all kinds of things, really.

And it had been incredible. She’d liked kissing him. No, scratch that, she’d loved kissing him. Loved it. Wanted more of it. Wanted to devour him on the floor right then and there. Wanted to grab him by the collar and kiss him until she was blue in the face and her lips hurt from mashing them against his. She wanted to kiss for hours and hours on end.

She wanted to cry with happiness. She liked kissing again.

And suddenly Sebastian wasn’t just her handsome, sensitive-souled friend-slash-husband. He was walking sex on a stick and she wanted to crawl all over him and rip his clothing off and lick every bit of him until he was screaming with need.

So she’d dragged him to the locker room and made him finger her until she’d come.

No regrets.

Well, okay, if they’d had more time, she’d have slid her face into his lap and given him the same happy ending she’d gotten. But she was going to do all that and more later tonight, now that she had her mojo back.

And she was excited about it.

When the coach released them, Chelsea jumped to her feet and threw her skates in her bag, hurrying out of the locker room.

“Whoa, slow down,” Cherry Fly teased, stepping in front of Chelsea. “We’re going out for drinks to celebrate. You want to come?”

Normally she loved hanging with her girls after a bout. It didn’t matter that she didn’t drink—she didn’t like the way getting drunk made her feel, that out-of-control, loopy sensation that reminded her of her rape—but she enjoyed the company. But tonight? Tonight she just wanted Sebastian and more kisses and more touches. “I can’t, my guy’s waiting for me.”

“Bring him along.” Cherry shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first spouse to tag along. Won’t be the last.”

“No, seriously, we have plans.”

“Oooh,” Grief Kelly said, appearing. She looped an arm over Cherry’s shoulders. “Someone wants to get laid.”

Chelsea ruined a perfectly good bitch-face by giggling.

“Called it,” Cherry said, and high-fived Grief Kelly. “Fine. You go get you some, but we get details at next practice.”

“Hell no.” Chelsea pushed past them. “You guys can just use your imaginations. See you next time!”

A few whistles and catcalls followed her out the door, and she flipped them the bird, grinning. Let them say what they wanted. She didn’t care. It was all good-natured ribbing anyhow. Her girls knew her. Maybe not as well as Pisa, but enough to know that she didn’t give her heart easily.

Then again, this wasn’t heart, was it? This was just body.

But she kept thinking of what he’d told his family. I love her.

She had all kinds of hard-to-classify feelings for the guy herself. Maybe she wasn’t quite ready for the L-word just yet, but she was sure heading in that direction. And after tonight, who knew? Maybe she’d orgasm like a champ and declare endless love for him.

It could happen.

Actually, it really could happen, and the thought made her giddy. She hustled down the hall to where Sebastian was waiting and bounded up to him, her feet feeling weird in sneakers after being in skates all night. He had his notepad tucked under one arm and gestured at her bag. “Want me to take that?”

She clasped his hand in hers instead, keeping her bag firmly on her shoulder. “A girl can carry her own skates.”

“Of course you can. But you were skating all night and all I did was sit in the bleachers and drink beer with Diane.”

She chuckled. “I’ve met Diane. Nice lady. Can’t skate for shit.”

“So she tells me.” He grinned down at her as they walked. “Skating’s important in a spouse.”

“It is,” she said loftily. “I’m going to ask you to show me your moves at some point.”

“All my moves don’t involve wheels,” he said, and gave a wiggle of his brows. At her snort, he turned thoughtful. “Diane saw my drawings, though. She thinks I should sketch the girls on the team for their trading cards.”

She gave his hand a happy squeeze. “That’d be awesome! Are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know.” He pulled her closer to him protectively as they got to a congested part of the street. “The thought of opening up my art for other people to see . . . it feels very personal. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “It was hard enough showing you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because I don’t know what I would have done if you’d laughed.” His eyes were so somber. “Your opinion is important to me.”