Page 36 of Take What Hurts

Gone in a scramble of limbs and rustling sheets and fast footsteps, the door squeaking closed into silence.

Mackenzie lay frozen, every cell in her body on fire, her clit pounding—screaming at her for friction—for relief. The skin on her back tingled with what may as well have been a mark, left only by the press of Elliott’s own skin, and it ached for Elliott’s return. Her fingers itched to touch the wetness she could feel gathered between her folds, images of what could have happened had Elliott not woken up and come to her senses—for both of them—floating in the darkness behind her eyes. What Elliott might have done. Dark eyes locked on Mackenzie’s, face half hidden between milky thighs. Wet tongue flicking reverently, swiping at⁠—

Stop.

Mackenzie clenched her hands into fists and groaned, forcing herself out of the bed and in the direction of a cold shower. Because they’d flown inches from the sun, and she wasn’t certain she would have stopped them from burning.

“Are you sure you’re good with this?”

They were at the top of the Jupiter Express chairlift. They’d spent the morning skiing off Southern Cross on Andromeda Face and in Pegasus Gulch, and Mackenzie’s legs were toast. And they had said nothing about what had eventuated in bed earlier that morning. Like that had happened in an alternate timeline from the one they were living in, and the timelines didn’t cross. But the resort was busy, and this area of the resort was popular, so they had been sardined on the chairs all morning with other people, their arms and thighs sandwiched against each other’s.

Mackenzie hadn’t complained. Although she could have done without the immense feeling of want—which had dissipated with the cold shower and the conversation with Elliott’s mom and dad over breakfast—roaring back to life with every touch.

And worse, Elliott had positively melted against her every ride back up the mountain.

But now Mackenzie was facing the prospect of Corona Bowl—one of the most difficult runs on the mountain. And yeah, maybe she’d been trying to impress Elliott a little when she’d said that she was up for it. Because who was she kidding: She liked Elliott. Far more than as just a friend. And she wanted to impress her.

Not only because she liked her either.

But because Elliott was highly competent on a pair of skis and had spent the morning pure carving down groomed black diamond runs like there was barely even a gradient to them, her ass nearly on the snow, knuckles dragging every turn. And Mackenzie wanted to compete.

And that was surprising. She was familiar with her competitive streak, but only in the context of work. She’d measure herself against her colleagues. Make a point to get a better result for her clients. Close out that matter faster. Win more money. Get her client more time with the kids. She was driven by it in that context. But she couldn’t remember a time it had manifested in her personal life. She’d always been happy to take a back seat. Let others have the upper hand. Go with the flow.

But not with Elliott. With her, Mackenzie’s competitive streak had roared to life and now drove her to rise to the occasion. If only her confidence could keep up.

“Yep.” Mackenzie hoped that the breeze concealed the slight waver.

The mirror lenses on Elliott’s goggles concealed her eyes, but Mackenzie could feel them boring into Mackenzie’s through her own mirrored lenses. “You sure? Because we can absolutely head down either of the cruisers.”

Mackenzie shook her head. “No, let’s do it.” She pushed off to the left of the chair, in the direction of the top of Corona Bowl. Elliott pushed along behind her and followed her to the opening in the trees that carried the trail sign for the run.

And Mackenzie’s stomach lurched, because, holy fuck, it was steep. And littered with trees and shrubs and moguls the size of Volkswagens. A wave of nausea washed through her, and her eyelids fluttered closed.

Oblivious to Mackenzie’s plight, Elliott barked out a laugh. “Clearly a bunch of fuckwits or snowboarders have had at this one. What a mess.” She shot Mackenzie a sideways glance. “Remember, you’re aiming for the top of the bump, and you’re going to stab it with your pole and then turn. Because this is steep, you’ll need to reach down the hill in front of you for the pole plant.” Elliott’s arm reached out down the hill in front of her, demonstrating what she meant. It kind of resulted in her chest pointing diagonally down the hill in the direction of the apex of where Mackenzie’s skis would turn at the next mogul. Which, she guessed, made sense. Was she confident about physically being able to do that? No? Was she reasonably confident? Also no.

Lack of confidence notwithstanding, Mackenzie nodded. Elliott had essentially been working today, giving Mackenzie impromptu—and welcome—tips. And she’d honestly never been more confident on her skis. On a run that wasn’t this run, anyway. Elliott had this simple way of explaining a challenging concept, like she understood it in her bones and could translate for mere laypeople. And gone were the markers of Elliott’s anxiety when she was standing on the side of a mountain. There was no fidgeting. No wavering of confidence. Mackenzie’s whole body was alight with the glow that radiated off Elliott in this environment, and despite every nerve ending standing on edge at what she was about to do, a tentative smile spread across her face under her Buff.

Elliott gave her a last nod before she pushed off and fucking glided down a line of moguls like a river flowing between boulders. Her head didn’t fucking move. It didn’t bob up and down, and neither did her chest. The only things that moved were her hands and her legs. And they were working overtime—like lithe, long shock absorbers. Mackenzie swallowed. Hard. For more than one reason. Then, with one last fortifying breath, pushed off.

The first mogul was like a solid rock covered in a layer of chalk. She stabbed at it and angled her body toward the next, her spine screaming at her to absorb with her legs rather than her vertebrae. It made sense to her to look a few moguls ahead down the hill in front of her because otherwise her brain was going to be too slow to work out when to move each body part.

So she did. She focused a few turns in front of her at a time. She stabbed each mogul before she turned her legs, guiding her skis around the backside of the bump. With each turn, the knot in her stomach that had been beginning to make her feel like she wanted to throw up at the top of the run loosened and loosened. Her legs worked into a burn. And then she started to smile. Elliott had stopped around halfway down the run, but Mackenzie blew right by her. As she passed, she saw that Elliott was beaming at her, and a joyful “whoop” and the tapping of poles in applause chased her down the run.

Then Elliott was beside her and they were skiing turn for turn, laughing as each mogul lurched up in front of them and they turned their skis over the back side of each bump.

Then, much faster than she’d expected, they were at the base of the chairlift and Mackenzie was ready to go again.

“Holy shit,” Elliott panted out, breathing as hard as Mackenzie as she lifted her goggles and sat them on her helmet. “You are surprising as all hell. I thought for sure you were going to fucking eat it hard at the top and have to walk back up. I had ski patrol on speed dial!”

Mackenzie let out a surprised laugh that originated deep in her belly. “Such confidence you have in me.” Mackenzie placed her hand on her chest and tried to look offended. “I would never have believed it of you.”

Then Elliott winked at her, and Mackenzie’s knees went weak. “You told me you were a terrible skier, but that’s not true at all!” Elliott said, then pushed her way toward the load point, Mackenzie following and trying not to admire Elliott’s clearly extremely firm ass and the way her pants hugged it just right.

Mackenzie looked over her shoulder as the chair swung around the bull wheel in the terminal and collected the two of them and two other skiers. “I mean, I come regularly, and have done for years. But I’ve never skied anything like that.” She glanced at Elliott, whose breath was finally returning to normal. “I think I have you to thank for that. I would never have attempted it before.” She shrugged. “I don’t know that I skied it with much finesse, but it was fun.” She huffed out a laugh.

As Elliott sat with her poles between her legs, she let her arm lie along the back of the chair behind Mackenzie’s shoulders, body angled toward her. She frowned, eyebrows crinkling together, mouth turning down at the edges. “Who told you all that? I think you’re a very good skier. Who taught you?”

Mackenzie stared down at a spot of grease on her leather mitten—a casualty of the leaky Tye Mill chairlift. Reilly had taught her how to ski and had told her she was shit at it one day, presumably because Mackenzie liked to ski slower than Reilly, and Reilly wanted to get as many runs in as possible during a weekend at the pass to “make the trip worthwhile,” she used to say. Elliott, on the other hand, seemed content to cruise with her at her pace and had done so all day. Mackenzie didn’t know how to say all of that to Elliott. But she wanted to try.