Chapter 5 #3
“Sure.” He didn’t even hesitate, just stripped right there against the wall—jeans and underwear kicked away, zip-up off, T-shirt over his head. And—Christ. He was just… a lot. All hard lines in the gently fading light, broad shoulders and strength, cock softening. “Your turn,” he said.
Right, okay. I started on the buttons of my shirt and he reached out to help, working my pants open so they fell and I could step out of them, drape them over a side table.
He shoved my boxer briefs down to my thighs.
I got them off the rest of the way and shrugged out of my shirt, the entry colder all of a sudden, air slightly chilly on my bare skin, his attention bright and curious.
Nowhere to hide.
It wasn’t… It was fine. I knew I looked good. It was one of my marketable assets, right next to charm and an ability to make men who came in for a black turtleneck buy a blue crewneck instead that actually suited them. But, just. Next to him? I felt too aware of my own body—narrower, lighter.
Then his gaze scraped down my chest and stomach and lower, slow enough to leave a trail of warmth in its wake. His mouth parted. “Jesus, Stellan.”
Oh. I tipped up my chin and smiled.
He crossed the space between us and shoved me back against the opposite wall, mouth hard on mine, almost harsh. I exhaled into the kiss just as his hand closed around me, sure and tight, like it was exactly what he’d wanted since the moment he’d hauled me off my knees.
“Fuck,” I managed, almost lost between our mouths.
“Yeah?” He pulled back just slightly, teeth catching lightly at my lower lip in a way that went straight to my gut. As if he’d noticed that it got me hot, as if he’d paid attention last time, enough to remember.
I kissed him like an answer, my hands sliding down the planes of his back, over warm skin and hard muscle, pulling him in.
His grip on me stayed firm and quick as our kisses turned messy, mouths open and breath shared, before he dipped his head to bite at my throat.
Fuck. I slumped against the wall, hips jerking into his touch.
“That’s it,” he said, breathless and pleased, a hint smug. “God, look at you.”
“I’d rather look at you,” I managed, then jolted at the swipe of his thumb, spilled slick into his hand with my head tipped back, dizzy through the fall. He kissed me through it, slower now, body pressed so close I could count each breath. God. It didn’t feel casual. Not right now.
I shoved the thought away. Just hormones.
We stayed like that for a few long seconds, breathing hard, his forehead tipped against mine. Then he laughed under his breath, softly disbelieving. “Holy shit. If that’s my reward for every home win, I’m gonna crush this season.”
It weighed in the air like a promise. It wasn’t, though. An offhanded joke, no reason for my heart to miss a beat.
“I’m open to negotiation,” I said.
His smile flashed smaller than before. Genuine, though.
We separated slowly, reality bleeding in around the edges. My pants draped over the side table like a flag, his jeans halfway across the tiles, and my coat still lay right where I’d dropped it. Evidence.
“Water?” Matt asked, and I nodded, followed him to the kitchen area. Still naked, windows framing a view of the city as it slowly faded into evening. He washed his hands first, then filled glasses for both of us and handed me one. I drank it leaning against the island, watching him.
Déjà vu. Same kitchen, same glass of water, the city spread out like an expensive backdrop to someone else’s life.
Afterglow still there, but sharper now, cutting through the warmth.
Here I was, naked in a closeted hockey star’s kitchen after getting him off in his hallway.
That was… a thing, then. Rinse and repeat.
I came here, we got off, I left—like it happened in a bubble, safely sealed away from the rest of my life so I could fit into the hidden corners of his.
Just an occasional lie by omission and the time it took for me to come here.
Confined. Strictly limited. Fine in theory. Just not when I could still taste him, still hear the rough catch in his laugh.
Worth it, though. At least for now.
Matt dried his hand on a dish towel. “If you want to shower,” he said, “there’s stuff behind the mirror in the guest bathroom.”
“Thanks. Just a minute.”
“Take your time.” He shot me a grin. “I’m not kicking you out or anything.”
“Good.” I took another sip and watched him over the rim. “Aren’t you worried I’m going to steal your shower gel?”
“Not particularly, no.” His tone was easy, and I told myself it didn’t mean anything. Tidbits of trust that I collected like stamps—this now or my phone last week. They didn’t erase our past.
“So you’re traveling tomorrow?” I asked, partly for something else to occupy my brain.
“Yeah.” He tipped back the rest of his water, throat moving, body on full, unabashed display. Focus. “Away trip. Back Sunday.”
A week.
I nodded. “You must be really good at packing, huh?”
The moment it was out, I wanted to take it back—an echo of Chicago, of my comment about how he seemed like the kind of guy who organized his suitcase into compartments.
Matt’s attention flashed to me as if he’d heard it, too.
Then one side of his mouth lifted. “During the season, I mostly try to unpack only what’s absolutely necessary.
Got a spare set of toiletries, razor, chargers, all that. Makes it easier.”
“Reid doesn’t do your packing, then?” I’d meant it as a joke because, yeah, not the vibe I’d caught from the guy. It did the trick because Matt puffed out a laugh.
“Hell no. If I asked, he’d tell me to go fuck myself.”
“I kind of got that.” I leaned my hip against the counter and let my attention linger on the slope of Matt’s shoulders. “He doesn’t seem like your average manager.”
“We grew up together.” Matt set his glass down and looked past me, toward where the last of the daylight was thinning into blue and gray. “Small town in northern Minnesota. You wouldn’t know it.”
I thought of the slight hint of an accent I’d caught as soon as we’d met. Yeah, that fit.
“So basically hockey country,” I said.
“Yeah.” His lips quirked, though his eyes had gone a little distant. “Pretty much a religion.”
I hesitated. “Seems like a tough place to be anything other than one very specific kind of guy.”
“Yeah.” A flicker crossed his face. “You learn the script early. What to laugh at, what not to let show.”
I could hardly even imagine what that’d be like. I might have grown up trying to fit into other people’s homes, but at school, with friends, I didn’t have to contort myself into a straighter version of the truth.
He fell briefly quiet, and I let him. The space had darkened around us, not enough just yet to need lights, but enough to add an odd air of intimacy to the moment—naked in his kitchen, quiet words, no music.
Then his gaze returned to me. “You from here?”
Curious, almost. As if he actually cared to know more than how my mouth felt on his cock or how I sounded when he made me come.
“Seattle to the bone, yeah,” I said. “It’s my place.”
It was, just not in the sense of a tidy little house memory, no front door that had always meant home. But the city, yes. The rain and hills and coffee and ferries. I belonged here.
Something might have shown on my face, because Matt studied me briefly before he asked, “What was it like?”
The question carried gentle weight that settled under my skin. “Growing up here?” I asked, even though I knew it wasn’t what he’d meant.
He didn’t look away. “In the foster system.”
Of course. I’d left a trail marked in thrift-store denim and childhood comments that I didn’t usually lay out so quickly. I looked down into my glass and lined up words that didn’t add up to some tragic monologue.
“You get really good at fitting in,” I said quietly. “Taking up exactly the amount of space you’re allowed.” I shrugged one shoulder. “And I had a younger brother to look after, so there wasn’t exactly time for a lot of reflection.”
Matt’s eyes had gone almost charcoal in the low light. “Is that why you went for a shitty job?” he asked after a moment, tone direct—not cruel, though. Just frank.
“It paid well. I could justify it to myself.” My finger traced the rim of the glass. “Until you.”
He didn’t scoff this time. Just went still and took it in, then nodded once. “Okay.”
Like he believed me. Or at least believed that I believed it.
Okay. Enough of that. I set my glass down and straightened. “I’ll go shower,” I said and turned away before he could cut me further open with another question. He didn’t try to stop me.
I collected my clothes on the way, then ducked into the guest bathroom.
It was sleek and expensive, a little impersonal just like the rest of what I’d seen of this place—tasteful, yes, but like it’d been put together by someone who spoke fluent luxury and wanted everyone to know. It didn’t really feel like Matt.
But then, what did I know?
I showered fast, then dressed back in my work clothes. When I came out, Matt was dressed again, too, in dark sweats and a plain T-shirt, barefoot, softer in a way that made my skin feel strangely tight.
“So, uh.” I hovered a safe couple of steps away. “Text me when you’re back, I guess? About next time.”
His expression shifted, like something easing into place. “Will do.”
No goodbye kiss. Of course not. It wasn’t who we were. Just a smile, small and real enough to make the room tilt by a fraction. Then I put my coat on and stepped into the elevator, the smell of his soap still on my skin, his touch lingering warm in my mind, the shape of a return in my head.
I ignored the way my stomach dipped as the doors closed.