Chapter 4 #2
The rule flared in my mind, and yeah, okay. But he’d told me. I hadn’t asked, hadn’t thought to ask, and he’d told me anyway. It counted for something.
I gave myself a moment to think it through, studying him from up close while he waited, chin a little too stubborn, dark-brown curls falling over his forehead. He didn’t drop his gaze.
Okay.
“Leave it,” I told him. “But I don’t want to see it out.”
A flicker of surprise widened his eyes. Then he smiled, quiet and real. “Thanks.”
“What for?” I asked even though I already knew.
He paused, hand still warm and heavy on my chest. “Trusting me just this tiny little bit.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” I told him, harsher than I’d meant to because, no. This wasn’t the start of me making exceptions for him. I couldn’t afford that.
I slid my free hand up into the short curls at the nape of his neck, and he leaned into the touch like it was instinct. God, yes. He wanted this. Wanted me.
“So.” I cleared my throat. “How does this work?”
Soft amusement sparked in his eyes. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“That a challenge?”
“No.” He grinned, still gentle. “More like hope.”
I kissed him.
Quick, a little too enthusiastic. No sweet first brush of our lips, no finesse that sparked like fireworks.
Just want, plain and hard. Mouth on mouth, a little off because I tugged him in too fast, hands in his hair with him still smiling as he turned his head at just that moment.
A soft bump of teeth and a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up low in my belly before he kissed me back for real.
Fuck, yes.
I’d kissed before. Of course I had. But this—oh.
This felt right. His hand on my waist, mouth hot and open on mine.
I pushed back into him, and he made a low sound somewhere in the back of his throat that slid right between my ribs.
Forget thinking—overrated. Because this was…
easy. Nothing like the wait, like holding myself back, clinging to rules and angles and things I couldn’t have.
Here, now, it all just seemed to fall away.
Stellan kissed like he was mapping the shape of my mouth, quick at first, then deep and thorough, one hand slipping up my back, under the hoodie. Skin, Christ. I pulled him closer, and he moved in like he’d been primed for it, thigh slotting between mine.
Finally.
Like something in me recognized this, went calm and quiet at the way he felt against me.
Gray afternoon light tangled in my thoughts, brightened the shadows in my mind, and yeah, maybe it did.
Maybe we’d been sliding toward this the whole time, since a sunlit breakfast months ago and a flight away, since I’d splashed water on his sleeve and he’d planted lines like grenades that blew right through all those walls I’d built.
His mouth slowed on mine like he was giving me the space to stop. Cute. I bit at his lower lip.
He exhaled another rough sound, and my hand dropped from his hair to his jaw, found the same hint of stubble I’d felt against my cheeks. My thumb brushed over the side of his throat, and it felt like an echo of his knuckles light against my pulse point just a few short days ago.
“Still think—” He cut himself off to kiss me again, fast and harsh, then pulled back by just a fraction. “Still think this isn’t the smart route?”
Somehow, it made me breathe out a laugh. “How the fuck would I know? Not exactly capable of higher thinking right now.”
His grin flashed like lightning. I kissed it right off his lips and walked him back at the same time, shoving away from the wall and toward the couch, not a clear plan, just a rough notion of want and closer and skin.
He bumped into the armrest, let himself fall, then scooted up onto the cushions and pulled me down with him.
Yeah, yes, God. That made all the sense in the world.
This, this was the smart route. I dragged his sweater up just as he tried shoving the hoodie off my shoulders, our hands knocking together.
“Let me,” I said. Ordered, maybe, because he huffed out a laugh.
“Not the captain of me.”
Token protest, because he raised his arms so I could take off his sweater and T-shirt, wiggling against the cushions when both got stuck under his shoulder blades. Somehow, we wrestled it all off, and I sat back on his thighs.
I was surrounded by athletic bodies all day.
I’d trained myself to barely even notice, but here, I was allowed to look my fill.
Stellan didn’t have a hockey player’s build—running and some gym sessions, probably.
But, God. Lean muscle and a neatly trimmed trail of dark hair that pointed from his navel down, his breath coming a little too fast.
“Jesus, Stellan.” I hadn’t meant to say that, but it tugged a smile from him that was almost a little shy.
“Your turn, Matt. Fair’s fair.”
Yeah, fine. I shrugged off the hoodie and pulled my T-shirt up, no big show or anything, warm just from the way he watched me. “Happy?” I asked.
“Very.” He flattened a hand against my stomach, his smile wider now, dimples staging a triumphant appearance. “All that time on the ice is really working for you. And me.”
“Charmer,” I said.
“Yeah. Doesn’t make it any less true.” He pulled me down again before I could reply, mouth moving to my jaw, then lower.
The room shrank around the edges, narrowing to touch and breath, the scrape of his stubble against my skin.
His hands on my back, then coming around to frame my hip bones, fingers spreading like he wanted to learn me by touch.
Not what this was. I stamped on the thought and kissed him instead until I felt drunk with it, my jeans gone tight with the way he shifted under me. Until he tipped his head back into the couch and looked up at me, pupils blown, face flushed.
Fucking gorgeous. The thought slipped in sideways, and I moved on before it could grow roots.
“Okay,” he said, his breath catching around the word. “You with me?”
Yeah. Yes.
“Where’re we going?” I asked.
He flashed me a grin, eyes gone a hazy shade of green. His hand moved to the button of my jeans—oh God, yes. Then he stopped.
“You waiting for an engraved invitation?” I managed, hips tilting into the touch without thought, just simple instinct, easy.
“With how you think of me?” His mouth quirked up on one side. “Might be smart.”
Ah, fuck. Funny, maybe. But mostly not.
I caught his wrist. “Stellan.”
He blinked at me, all humor wiped right off him.
“Not here, remember? You don’t owe me here.”
Something changed around his eyes—loosened, like there’d been just a hint of tension in him still, a small part that had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Okay,” he said, and I released his wrist, my heart beating stupid and fast.
“Good. Then keep going.”
His lips curved up. “Again: not my captain.”
As if to dispute his own claim, he flicked open the button, slid down the zipper. His fingers slipped in and cupped me through my briefs, careful at first, and fuck, okay, that. Sparks fluttering in my veins.
No, not new. But… more.
Eyes on me as he palmed me through my briefs, slow and measured. Careful. And that—no. Not gonna break. I caught his mouth in another kiss and shifted into his touch. He got the point, hand speeding up just slightly, but still restrained in a way that settled hot and irritated in my belly.
I wedged a hand between us and shoved his jeans open, got a hand on him just as he broke our kiss for a quick, rough intake of breath. Hot and heavy under my palm, his lids drifting shut, mouth falling open.
“You sure?” he got out, voice like gravel, and I huffed out a laugh.
“Yeah. Now, come on. You’re holding back.”
His eyes opened again, gaze narrow on my face. Then he smiled. “Okay.”
One quick, hard stroke, then a swipe of his thumb. My stomach jumped with it. He watched me, fingers warm and sure now, firm, and when I thrust into his hold, he adjusted, twisting his wrist as his mouth went soft and focused.
I’d never—just, this. Exposed, held, handled. By a man. The fact of it burned behind my ribs like lava, a red-hot glow.
“Better?” he asked, with the slightest trace of a cocky smile that made me dip down to bite at his bottom lip.
“Been worse.”
He laughed under his breath. “Such praise.”
“Not my job to boost your ego.” I shoved my hand into his briefs, the angle weird and tight and somehow good, got a real hold on him again and tried to mimic his rhythm. Hot, silky skin and the way his head tilted back into the cushions, throat exposed.
I got my mouth on it. He arched up like it was instinct, a rush of breath, and yeah, yes, fuck. Not holding back anymore.
“Yeah?” I asked, wasn’t fully sure just what I meant, but he slid me a glittering look from under his lashes.
“Yeah.”
I dragged my hand over him, and his grip tightened in response, everything falling apart at the edges—the room, the light slanting in, all gone slightly unreal.
No longer careful. Hands moving, bodies shoving closer, kissing whenever we had the breath to make it work.
Jeans still on, my mouth dragging down his throat in a way that made him hiss and almost buck me off, only to wrap his free arm around my back so he could drag me in again.
Time went loose around the edges, music echoing somewhere in my body. We kissed and then didn’t, his eyes on me. Too much and not enough at once, his thighs falling open wider when I twisted my hand.
“You’re close,” he said at one point, and… I was. Too busy reading him to even notice that my hand had gone sloppy on him, my whole body pulling tight.
“That a question?” I asked.
“No.” He found my mouth again, catch and release, his thumb pressing into a bundle of nerves that sent stars scattering through my mind. Fuck, yes. His gaze heavy on me, almost greedy, and the thought snagged on something at the base of my spine.
“I—Stellan.”
“Come on.”
Yeah. Okay.
I lost my breath and fell, tumbling through endless space inside my mind, body locking up then going loose. Head against his throat as I shook apart. Nerves singing.
Fuck.