19. Wren #2
My gaze drops before I can stop it.
I take in the toned chest that leads to very, very defined abs that he’s worked hard to hone over the last few years. The perfect V leading under the edge of the towel at his hips.
Whatever parts of boy Kai I once had are long, long gone, replaced fully by the grown-up version in front of me.
When I force my eyes back to his face, his expression has changed.
“That’s not fair,” he says.
My mouth goes dry. “What?”
“You looking at me like that after I’ve spent all week trying not to touch you.”
Heat slides through me, slow and devastating.
“I didn’t know you were in here.”
“I know.”
“I wouldn’t have come in if I knew.”
His eyes hold mine. “I know.”
“I should go.”
“You should.”
Neither of us move.
The corner of his mouth tips, but there’s nothing light about it. “Are you going to?”
My fingers tighten around my phone.
I really should leave.
I should think about my job, the rink, the fact that this man is my ex, my best friend’s brother, the captain of the team I work for, and he is currently standing in front of me wearing one very unreliable towel.
Instead, I hear myself say, “Do you want me to?”
His hand flexes at his side. “No.”
The word is immediate.
Rough.
Honest.
My chest tightens.
Kai takes one step closer. “But if you stay,” he says, voice low, “I need you to know I’m not feeling careful right now.”
My breath catches. “You’re always careful.”
“Not tonight.”
The words go straight through me.
The door is behind me. My phone is in my hand. I have every chance to leave.
I set my phone on the bench, Kai’s eyes following the movement.
When they come back to mine, the last inch of air between us disappears.
“Wren.” He lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, except nothing about his face is amused.
I take one step toward him.
His entire body goes still.
“Careful.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Your eyes are telling me you want me to kiss you just about as bad as I need to.”
His words only embolden me more. I stop right in front of him, close enough to feel the damp heat rolling off his skin. Close enough that if I breathe too deeply, my sweatshirt will brush his chest.
But he doesn’t touch me.
That might be the hottest thing about him.
The way I can see the want in every locked muscle, every ragged breath, every flicker of his eyes, and he still waits. Still lets the choice sit in my hands.
I lift my chin. “Then touch me.”
His control breaks.
He catches my face in both hands and kisses me hard enough that I stumble back a step. He follows, one arm sliding around my waist before I can hit the lockers, his palm flattening against my lower back, pulling me into the heat of him.
His mouth opens over mine, wet and hungry, and I answer like I’ve been starving all week. My hands go to his shoulders, slick under my palms, then into his hair, and the sound he makes against my mouth is low enough to make my whole body clench.
“Wren,” he breathes, like he’s relieved. Like he has no idea what to do with all the ways he wants me.
I pull him closer, one hand staying locked in his hair while the other goes exploring.
The towel shifts under my wrist.
Kai freezes.
Then he lifts his head, eyes meeting mine and searing their way into my soul once again. “Tell me to stop.”
My fingers curl against his damp skin. I don’t want him to stop.
His jaw tightens, and I can see him losing the battle of keeping his restraint intact. “Freckles.”
“I don’t want to.” The words leave me shaking.
Kai’s forehead drops to mine. “Fuck.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, but not softer. One hand braces against the locker beside my head. The other stays at my waist, fingers pressing into the damp hem of my shirt.
I pull him to me, and he comes closer with a rough inhale, his mouth moving from mine to my jaw, then lower, to the sensitive place beneath my ear. My eyes close. My head falls back against the locker.
Of course he’d remember my favorite spot. “Kai.”
“I know,” he murmurs against my skin.
I open my eyes, breathless and aching. There are some things that you can recreate yourself, and Kai’s mouth is sadly not one of them.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
He lifts his head. For a second, the cocky edge is gone. The heat is still there, but under it is something raw enough to make my chest hurt.
“I think I do, Freckles,” he says quietly. “You’ve been taking up every ounce of space in my mind. Pretty sure you ruined me for anyone else forever ago.”
Somewhere down the hall, a door slams.
We both go still.
If anyone were to walk in right now, they’d have a lot of questions, and I wouldn’t have a lot of answers. My hands are on a mostly naked Kai, who is wearing nothing but a towel. Both of our lips are a little swollen, and his hair looks like it hosted a party.
Yeah, they’d have a lot of very questionable thoughts.
Kai’s arm tightens around me for half a second, protective on instinct, then loosens immediately. He steps back just enough to put air between us, though his body looks like it objects to every inch.
“Probably just the cleaning crew,” he says, clearing his throat.
I press both hands to my face. My skin is burning, my shirt is damp, my sneakers are soaked. My entire body feels like a live wire.
“This can’t happen at the rink,” I whisper.
Kai’s expression sobers. “I know.”
“We keep saying that and then doing things anyway.”
His eyes hold mine.
“I can’t exactly say I’m sorry,” he says, doing his best to hide his cocky grin.
I roll my eyes, trying to at least act as if what just happened doesn’t have my heart racing and my head spinning.
Kai Mercer has always been my kryptonite, and I know I’m sliding down the slope that leads right back to being completely consumed by him. Again.
“I have to go.” I grab my phone from the bench with shaking hands. “Don’t follow me.”
His smirk grows even more. “Seeing as I’m still only wearing a towel, I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”
I take two steps toward the door, then stop because apparently I’m committed to making terrible choices until the very end.
Chancing a glance back toward him, I find his eyes again. He’s just standing there, wet hair falling over his forehead, towel low on his hips, one hand braced against the locker like he needs it to stay upright. His lips still swollen from mine.
Gathering every ounce of willpower I have, I walk down the hall and into the parking lot.
Once inside my car, I rest my forehead against the steering wheel.
I am weak as can be when it comes to a certain brown-haired hockey player that truly has the best abs I’ve ever laid eyes on.
If there was a line that we couldn’t, shouldn’t cross, it’s long gone now.