The Last Run of the Day

"I swear to God, Lena, if you make me do one more burpee, I'm throwing myself off this balcony."

Lena laughed, the sound bright against the crackling fire. She was already in her fleece, her dark hair escaping from its ponytail. "You're the one who said you wanted to push yourself, Anya. 'I want to feel my muscles tomorrow,' you said. 'I want to earn that mulled wine.'"

Anya groaned, collapsing onto the sheepskin rug in front of the massive stone hearth. The chalet was all warm wood and soft light, snow piling against the windows outside. They'd been here three hours, and Anya's leggings were damp with sweat. "I've earned a whole bottle. Maybe two."

Lena knelt beside her, close enough that Anya could smell her shampoo—something clean and floral, totally at odds with the way she'd been barking orders twenty minutes ago. "You did good today. Really good."

"Flattery." Anya tilted her head back, looking up at her. "You want something."

"Maybe." Lena's hand landed on Anya's thigh, casual, like she was just checking her quad. Her fingers pressed in, finding the muscle. "You're tight here."

"I'm tight everywhere."

"I know."

The words hung there. Lena's hand didn't move. Anya's breath caught, and she watched Lena's eyes drop to her mouth.

"Lena..."

"Shut up."

Lena leaned down and kissed her. It wasn't soft or tentative—it was hungry, sure, her lips parting against Anya's, her tongue sliding in before Anya could even think. Anya's hand came up, grabbing Lena's fleece, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, wet and messy, and Lena's hand slid higher up her thigh, fingers pressing into the damp fabric of her leggings.

"Fuck," Anya breathed against her mouth.

"Yeah." Lena pulled back just enough to look at her. "I've been wanting to do that for months."

"Months?"

"Since the first session. When you couldn't hold a plank and kept laughing every time you fell." Lena's thumb traced the line of her jaw. "You have no idea what that laugh does to me."

"Show me."

Lena didn't hesitate. She pushed Anya back onto the rug, the wool soft and scratchy against her skin. She straddled her, settling her weight on Anya's hips, and Anya felt the heat of her through both their clothes. Lena's hands found the hem of her sports top, pulling it up, and Anya lifted her arms to let her. The cold air hit her skin, and then Lena's mouth was on her neck, teeth grazing, tongue soothing.

"God, your body," Lena murmured against her collarbone. "All those hours in the gym. I watched you every time."

"You could have said something."

"And risk you firing me?" Lena's hand cupped her breast, thumb circling her nipple. It hardened instantly, and Anya arched into her touch. "No. I wanted to earn it."

"You've earned it." Anya's voice came out rough. "Now stop talking."

Lena laughed again, but it was darker now, lower. She pulled off her own fleece, then her tank top, and Anya's breath caught at the sight of her—lean and strong, her skin glowing in the firelight. She leaned down, and their bare chests pressed together, skin sliding against skin, and Anya wrapped her arms around her, pulling her down tight.

They kissed again, slower this time, deeper. Lena's hand slid down Anya's stomach, over the waistband of her leggings, and Anya bucked into her touch.

"Please."

«¿Por favor qué?»

"You know what."

Lena smiled against her mouth. "I want to hear you say it."

"Touch me, Lena. Fucking touch me."

Lena's hand slid into her leggings, past the damp fabric of her panties, and Anya's breath stopped. Her fingers were warm, sure, finding her wet and ready. She circled her clit slowly, once, twice, and Anya's hips jerked.

"Jesus."

"Shh." Lena kissed her neck, her jaw, her mouth again. "I've got you."

Her fingers slipped lower, sliding inside her, and Anya moaned into her mouth. It was so easy, so natural, like they'd done this a hundred times. Lena moved her hand in a steady rhythm, her thumb pressing against her clit, and Anya clung to her, nails digging into her shoulders.

"Look at me," Lena whispered.

Anya forced her eyes open. Lena's face was inches away, her eyes dark, her lips parted. She looked wrecked, gorgeous, and she was watching Anya fall apart.

"I want to see you come."

"Then—" Anya's voice broke as Lena's fingers curled inside her. "Then keep going."

Lena did. She sped up, her hand working her hard, and Anya's world narrowed to the heat of her body, the scent of her skin, the way her thumb pressed and rubbed and sent sparks shooting through her. She came with a gasp, her whole body tensing, and Lena held her through it, whispering her name, pressing kisses to her forehead.

When she finally stilled, Anya was trembling. Lena pulled her hand out slowly, and Anya caught her wrist, bringing her fingers to her mouth. She licked them clean, tasting herself, watching Lena's eyes go wide.

"Your turn," Anya said.

Lena's laugh was shaky now. "Okay."

Anya flipped them over, pinning Lena to the rug. She was stronger than she looked, and Lena's surprised moan was worth every squat and lunge. She kissed down her body, slow and deliberate, tasting salt and sweat and the faint floral of her shampoo. When she reached the waistband of Lena's leggings, she hooked her fingers in them and pulled.

"Lift."

Lena lifted her hips, and the leggings came off, along with her panties. She was already wet, glistening in the firelight, and Anya's mouth watered.

"You're beautiful."

"Stop staring and—"

Anya didn't let her finish. She lowered her head, her tongue finding her clit in one long, slow stroke, and Lena's back arched off the rug. Her hands fisted in Anya's hair, and Anya smiled against her, pleased.

She worked her slowly, teasing, pulling back when Lena got close, until Lena was begging, her voice hoarse and desperate.

"Please, Anya, please—"

Anya gave in. She pressed her mouth down, hard, her tongue flicking and circling, her fingers sliding inside her, and Lena came with a cry that echoed off the wooden walls. Her thighs clamped around Anya's head, and Anya stayed with her, gentling her through it, until Lena finally went limp.

They lay there, tangled together on the rug, the fire crackling beside them. Anya's head rested on Lena's chest, and she could feel her heart pounding.

"So," Anya said, her voice muffled. "Same time tomorrow?"

Lena laughed, the sound rumbling through her. "You're going to be sore."

"I know." Anya tilted her head up, kissing her chin. "Worth it."