Chapter 33 #2
I prepared him carefully, gently, watching his face the entire time—reading every flicker of expression, every catch of breath.
He was tense at first, his body uncertain and resisting, but I took my time.
Talked him through it in low murmurs, told him he was doing perfectly, reminded him to breathe.
Gradually, incrementally, I felt him relax.
Felt him open up for me, his trust a gift I didn’t take lightly.
One finger, then two, working slowly, letting him adjust. His breathing went ragged, and I kissed his knee, his thigh, anywhere I could reach, while my other hand stroked soothing patterns on his hip.
“You’re doing so good,” I murmured. “So perfect.”
When I added a third finger, when I curled them just right and found that spot inside him, his whole body went rigid. He arched off the bed with a sharp gasp, and a stream of French poured out—half prayer, half profanity, beautiful and incoherent.
“That’s it,” I said, my voice rough with want and restraint. “Just like that. Breathe through it. I’ve got you.”
“Okay.” His voice shook, his accent thicker than I’d ever heard it. “Okay, Marco, I’m ready. I think I’m ready.”
“You sure?” I stilled my hand, needing him to be certain.
“Yes.” His eyes found mine, dark and dilated and utterly trusting. “Please. I want—I want you to make love to me.”
The vulnerability in those words, the courage it took to ask for this, nearly broke me.
I rolled on a condom, then lay back. “Come here.”
He straddled me, and I guided his hips with my hands, helping him settle into position. “Comfortable?” I asked.
“Yeah.” His hands braced on my chest for balance.
“Slow,” I said. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”
He nodded, his face intense with concentration. I guided my erection to his entrance. He sank down and paused at the initial resistance, sucking in a breath.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just need to…” He took a deep breath and sank lower. I felt a slow give and could barely hold back from thrusting into his tight heat.
He pressed down until I was balls deep. étienne’s eyes went wide, his breath catching. “Oh. Oh, that’s—”
My hands came up to his hips, steadying him. “Just breathe. You’re okay.”
He moved slowly, carefully, and wonder crossed his features. The intimacy of it was overwhelming—not just the physical connection, but the emotional vulnerability. Him trusting me, me trusting him, both of us completely exposed.
“Je t’aime tellement.” He panted, finding a rhythm. “Mon Dieu, Marco, I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” My hands gripped his hips and guided him, supported him. “You’re perfect. This is perfect.”
His eyes met mine, and I saw everything in them. The trust, the love, the freedom.
He increased his pace and rode me hard, and a fine sheet of sweat formed on his forehead.
It was intense and staggering and perfect.
The rhythm and his hot, tight sheath had me on the cusp of coming.
I adjusted my angle, found the spot within him that made him moan, and took his hard cock in my hand.
He gasped and lost control, his movements becoming erratic. “Marco, I can’t… I’m going to…”
“Let go. I’ve got you.”
He shuddered, his whole body tensed, and he came all over my stomach, shouting my name. As I watched him fall apart, my heart swelled like it never had before.
I thrust once, twice, and shot into the condom with a cry.
I pulled him down, held him as we trembled, as we gasped for breath. “I’ve got you,” I murmured. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“That was…” He couldn’t finish, just buried his face in my neck.
“Yeah, it was.”
We lay there pressed together, hearts racing, both of us processing what had just happened. Eventually, étienne pulled away enough to look at me, his eyes bright.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For being patient with me. For—for everything.”
“Thank you for trusting me.” I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “With your secret. With this. For choosing us.”
He kissed me, soft and sweet and full of all the emotions he wasn’t saying out loud. “Always. I choose you every time.”
We cleaned up in the bathroom, then crawled back into bed, wrapping around each other in the darkness. Outside, the world was still talking about the news of our coming out. Inside, we had this—the quiet, the tenderness, the freedom to just be together.
I felt him relax into sleep, his breathing evening out, his body going heavy against mine.
The next day would be a new challenge. The Buffalo game, the scrutiny, the beginning of our lives as public figures. And a test for étienne’s performance, our future together.
But tonight, we had this.
And it was enough.
Wednesday morning, I woke to sunlight streaming through the window, and étienne pressed against my side.
He stirred when I moved, his eyes opening slowly. “Morning.”
“Morning.” I kissed his forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Good.” A small smile. “Sore, but good. Content.” He stretched, winced slightly. “That was—last night was perfect. Thank you for being so patient with me.”
“Always.” I ran my hand down his back.
He propped himself up on one elbow. “I want to learn. I want to try everything with you.”
Heat flared through me. “We will. But right now, we need to check our phones. Face whatever’s waiting.”
His expression sobered. “Right. The real world.”
We got out of bed, pulled on clothes, and retrieved our phones from downstairs. I powered mine on, and immediately it started buzzing with notifications that had accumulated overnight.
Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.
I opened social media. The post from yesterday had over a million likes. I ignored the avalanche of comments this time.
On other social media it was harder to avoid the divisiveness. #LoveWins was trending, but so was #BoycottGlaciers. People were arguing in threads, debating us, defending us, attacking us.
My DMs were full of messages. Some supportive, some threatening. I closed the app before reading too many.
“The news is everywhere,” étienne said, scrolling through his own phone. “ESPN did a whole segment this morning. They interviewed Griffin. He said we were brave and that the fans need to support us.”
“That’s good.”
“There’s also an article about protests planned for this afternoon’s game. Some religious group is planning to picket outside the arena.”
My stomach dropped. “Great,” I said, my voice flat.
étienne continued reading. “The organization released a statement of support. Coach Wilson gave an interview saying we’re valued members of the team.”
I checked my texts. More support from teammates. Gia had sent a long message about how proud she was, how Mama had cried reading the posts, how she was working on getting Mama to call me. Kinnunen had texted this morning asking if we needed anything before the game.
And one from Coach Wilson.
Coach
Presser at 9:00—optional for you guys, but might be good to address it once.
“Optional media availability at nine.”
“I got the text too. Should we do it? Talk to the media?”
“I think we should. They probably want statements from us if they already went to Griffin. We can get it over with. Say what we need to say once, then focus on hockey.”
“Okay.” étienne set down his phone. “Then let’s get ready. First day as publicly out hockey players.”
“First day of the rest of our lives,” I corrected.
He smiled, soft and genuine. “Yeah. That.”