Page 88 of Home Ice

“Twice,” I said. “The middle part three times.”

I approached him, and he threw his arms around me. We kissed.

It was nothing like the earlier shop kisses. This one started slow, Niko’s mouth opening under mine. He reached around to the back of my neck.

When we finally broke the kiss, neither of us stepped back. “Okay,” he said quietly.

He reached out for my buttons, unfastening them one at a time. I stood still and watched his hands. When he got to the last button, he pushed my shirt off my shoulders, and his thumbs dragged slowly along my collarbones.

I reached out to tug his T-shirt off over his head, and I looked at his hands. I’d watched him at work, striking lines, easing drawers home, and repositioning my grip on a block plane. I’d memorized their movement.

Now I picked one up and turned it over in both of mine. It was heavier than it looked; the palm ridged with calluses at the base of every finger. The knuckles were scarred pale from a hundred minor collisions with wood.

A vein ran across his forearm, rising every time he reached for or tugged on something. When I kissed the middle of his palm, his arm went slack, and he exhaled slowly.

We undressed each other the rest of the way, standing up. When he eased my jeans down past my hips, a fresh bruise made me wince.

“When did you get this?”

“Yesterday. Against the boards. It’s nothing.”

He looked at the blackish-green color. Then he put his hand over it, barely touching it.

We lay down together. He stretched out against me and the entire length of our bodies touched. I ran a hand down his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his skin.

He shivered when my mouth touched the hinge of his jaw, so I stayed there a while. I found out that if I flattened both hands on his back and held them still, he breathed out long through his nose and leaned toward me.

When I straddled him, he said, “You’re heavier than you look.”

“I’m exactly as heavy as I look.”

“Heavier.” He reached out and wrapped fingers around my half-hard cock. I hissed.

He rolled us onto our sides, careful of the headboard.

“Walnut,” I said.

“Every joint’s hand-cut.” He started to stroke me.

I closed my eyes.

He remembered to go slowly. He brought me up to a peak, close to the edge, multiple times, then stopped until I settled again.

“I want—“ I said. “I’ve never—”

“What?”

I gripped his shoulders and slid my body down the sheets. “Oh,” he whispered.

His cock was heavy and hard in my hand, and I took a second just to look. He curled his fingers into the sheets.

He was uncut, and I kissed the tip of his head. He let out a low moan, and he reached for my hair, not steering, holding on.

I’d watched men suck on video, but this was my first time. I felt the weight of him on my tongue and was careful not to involve my teeth. Then I took too much at once and pulled back, coughing.

“Sorry—“

“Don’t apologize to it,” he said.