Chapter 3 #3
He reached for the nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom and lube with shaking hands.
I took my time opening him up, working him carefully—one finger, then two, then three—watching his face for every flicker of pleasure or discomfort.
When I found that spot inside him that made his breath stop, I massaged there again, deliberately, and he unraveled.
He writhed beneath me, one hand fisted in the duvet, the other gripping my shoulder hard enough to leave indents. Not begging out loud or with words. His body told me everything, pressing back against my fingers, chest heaving with each breath, those quiet desperate sounds trapped in his throat.
When I finally pushed inside, we both groaned. His was rough and broken, mine closer to a growl. He felt perfect. Tight and hot and absolutely perfect, like his body had been made for mine.
I went slowly at first, letting him adjust, but he pulled his knees up to his chest and the new angle let me slide deeper. So deep, I felt it everywhere.
“More,” he breathed, barely audible, but I heard it.
I thrust deeper, filling him completely, and the long moan that escaped him made my chest tighten. Not just with arousal. But with something closer to tenderness, and unfamiliar enough that I almost didn’t recognize it.
We found our rhythm. The slick heat, the perfect resistance, the way he clenched around me when I hit that spot inside him. His hands moved restlessly, clutching at my back, my shoulders, threading through my hair like he needed to hold on to something or he’d fly apart.
The sounds he made were quiet but desperate and raw. They made me want things I’d spent fourteen years avoiding.
He came untouched between us, my name falling from his lips in a strangled gasp. “Nico, God, Nico.” He pulsed and clenched around me, heat spilling between our bodies, pleasure taking him apart completely.
Watching him shatter, really seeing him in that moment, unguarded and vulnerable, pushed me straight over the edge. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in sweat and skin and him, and let go. The orgasm tore through me, whiting out my vision, so intense I couldn’t breathe through it.
I shuddered and gasped his name into his skin like he’d gasped mine.
I collapsed onto him, elbows taking my weight, breathing hard. Sweat cooled between us, and our hearts pounded against each other. His fingers traced lazy patterns on my back, his breath ghosting fast and uneven against my shoulder.
I should move. Roll off him. Clean up.
But I stayed, forehead pressed to his neck, breathing his warm scent, his heartbeat slowing to match mine.
This. This was what I’d been missing without knowing I was missing it.
Not just sex, though the sex had been phenomenal. But the after. The staying. The quiet intimacy of being in someone else’s space and not wanting to leave. Of lying here and having to talk myself into going instead of looking for a reason to go.
After a moment, I eased out carefully and headed to the bathroom. I took care of the condom and wet a washcloth with warm water. When I came back, I gently cleaned him up. The way he watched me made my throat tight.
“That was…” he started.
“Yeah,” I agreed, because I didn’t have words either.
I dropped the washcloth on the floor beside the bed without thinking. Evan’s eyebrow rose slowly, and I caught the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Right. Hamper,” I muttered. I found it tucked in the walk-in closet, because of course everything in his apartment had a designated place.
I climbed back into bed and reached for him.
He came willingly, eagerly even, tucking himself against my side with a small, satisfied sound.
His head fit perfectly in the hollow of my shoulder, one hand splayed across my abs, thumb stroking absently along my ribs.
I wrapped my arm around him, pulling him closer, and he threw his leg over mine, tangling us together.
This was dangerous territory. Not because I didn’t want it, I did, more than made sense for just two nights in. But wanting more meant being honest about who I was, and I wasn’t ready to find out what that would cost.
But I couldn’t bring myself to move.
“So,” Evan said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “Work. You said it’s been crazy?”
I tensed slightly. “Yeah. Busy week. Lots of commitments coming up.”
“Like what?”
“Just… meetings. Events. That kind of thing.” I was being deliberately vague, and I could tell he noticed.
“Very mysterious,” he said, echoing what he’d said at the club.
I changed the subject. “What about you? How’s the consulting going?”
He told me about a current project—something about rebranding for a tech company—and I listened to the sound of his voice more than the actual words. Liked the way he became animated when he talked about work, the way his hands moved even though we were lying down.
“Do you follow hockey at all?” I asked when he finished, trying to sound casual.
“Hockey? Not really. I mean, I know San Jose has a team, but I’m not really into sports.”
Relief and disappointment warred in my chest. Relief that he wouldn’t recognize me. Disappointment that he had no interest in the sport that took up most of my life.
“There’s a Lasers game tomorrow night,” I said. “Tuesday. Against Columbus.”
“Oh?” He didn’t sound particularly interested.
“Yeah. Then they have an away game in LA on Wednesday.”
“Busy schedule,” he murmured, his fingers tracing absent patterns on my chest.
“It is.”
We fell quiet again, and I glanced at my watch. Nine thirty. I should leave soon. I had a game tomorrow night and needed a good night’s sleep. But I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to leave the warm circle of his arms and go back to my empty house.
This was new. I’d never wanted to stay before.
“I should probably get going,” I said reluctantly twenty minutes later. “Early morning tomorrow.”
Evan sat up, and I immediately missed his warmth. “Of course.”
I moved slowly as we got dressed, dragging it out, then Evan walked me to the door, and we stood there for a moment in the small entry area.
“I want to see you again,” I said. Not a question.
His mouth curved.
“Thursday—” I’d almost said, “The day after my away game,” but caught myself. “Six okay?”
“Thursday works.”
I kissed him goodbye, soft and lingering. When I pulled back, I wanted to say something about how much I’d liked tonight, how I couldn’t wait to see him again.
But actions worked better than words. I’d show him on Thursday.
The ride down in the elevator felt longer than the ride up. I stood there alone, replaying the way Evan had looked at me before I left, soft and open in a way he hadn’t been Friday night.
This wasn’t a hookup anymore. I’d known it when I’d asked for Thursday instead of leaving it vague.
I wanted more. To see him again and again.
Learn everything about him. Not just what made him come apart in bed, but what he watched on TV, what made him laugh, what his Sundays looked like.
To fall asleep with him and wake up next to him and do all the domestic shit I’d never wanted with anyone else.
The lying gnawed at me. Not outright lying, but letting him think I was just some guy who worked in sports when I was actually a star forward for the San Jose Lasers with a multi-million-dollar contract.
I should tell him.
But I thought about that apartment. No photographs anywhere, not one.
Abstract art on the walls instead of anything personal.
The way he’d deflected at the club when conversation turned toward him, the way he’d mentioned the breakup and the move to San Jose like he was reading from a document.
Whatever had happened before, he’d built something careful here.
Something that didn’t leave much visible.
Dropping the full weight of who I was on someone mid-goodbye felt wrong. He deserved better than that.
I’d find the right time. Soon. Before it got too serious.
The elevator doors opened into the parking garage. I walked to my car and told myself that was true.