Page 71 of Ice Dance

I grunted and clung to his shoulder, trying not to chase the rhythm and failing.

“Don’t rush me.” He smirked, eyes catching mine. “Let me lead.”

Such a tease. Damn him. How did he know exactly what to say? Or maybe he could say anything in that moment and my knees would go weak. If he said that on the ice anytime in the next few days, my mind would come straight back here.

He wasn’t going to let up, not this time. I could see it in his eyes. The absolute determination to make me come. That all on its own almost tipped me over the edge. The wet sounds of his hand working, the rising warmth, curling up my spine. I wasn’t going to last, and there was no use fighting it. Not with Hasegawa looking at me like I was the most precious thing in his world, a thing he wanted to absolutely destroy in the next ten seconds.

I dug my fingers into his shoulder, looked down at his hand pumping, and I was gone. I cried out, stuttering. His mouth smothered mine, his hand still worked, and I was lost to the feel and taste of him everywhere at once.

I gasped free, still coming down. He held me up, like he did when I fell on the ice, all smooth strength and careful poise. Some knot of emotion lodged in my throat. To keep from absolutely losing my shit, I slid down his body, his firm thighs, and took him in my mouth again. One hand went to my hair, his other bracing against the counter, and he threw his head back, gave himself over to me. I looked up, working him fast—damn, he’s beautiful. He came, hips stuttering. Saltiness hit the back of my tongue. I swallowed, worked him through it, licking him clean, and rose up his body, coming up to meet him in a salty kiss that he didn’t shy away from.

He wasn’t done, though. Hasegawa wasn’t a one-and-done kinda guy. No chance. He cupped my ass, hitched me onto the kitchen counter and kissed down my chest, over the tattoos. When he got to my abs, I leaned back, letting him have access to their rippled spread, then laughed when his tongue found a sensitive spot just above my hip.

His arms came around my waist, scooped me up against him, and I hooked my ankles behind his back. He carried me around the kitchen island to the couch, and dropped me on the cushion with zero grace.

“Not so elegant when you’re in a hurry, huh?” I grinned, and then laughed when his face got all serious. His hair was messed up again, and I didn’t even remember doing that.

He silenced my laugh with his mouth on mine.

This had to be some dream. Who even was this easygoing, soft, beautiful man? I knew he existed on the ice, but off it? I pulled him down, hooked my legs around his thighs, and kissed his mouth, his jaw, his neck. Kissed anywhere I could reach. His mouth trailed lower again. I wasn’t hard again yet, but I would be soon if he didn’t stop.

A knock came at the door.

Hasegawa smothered my mouth and looked across the room at it.

“Mr. Navarro?”

It wasn’t anyone special, just the housekeepers, probably coming back with the fresh towels I’d asked for.

I shoved his hand off and whispered, “Housekeepers.”

He frowned., like the interruption had reminded him who we were, and where we were.

“Hey,” I called out. “It’s fine.”

“The towels⁠—”

“Yeah uh . . . can you please leave them out there?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you!”

We waited, and when nobody opened the door, Hasegawa relaxed. His gaze came back to me, smiling, but the thrill we’d been caught up in had begun to fizzle out. I could feel it in him, the tension returning. He pushed up and tucked his dick away.

I lay where he’d left me, boneless, spent, and smirking.

His gaze came back, dragging all over me, all the way down to my half-hard dick. I let him look. He probably didn’t get much male eye candy in his life.

“You’re shameless.” He smiled as he said it, then sat back and ran a hand over his hair, trying to fix it. It was going to take more than a few hand sweeps to fix that mess.

I sighed. “You have no idea.”

“No doubt.” His gaze kept bouncing back up, finding my face then dipping down, until it ping-ponged away again as though he wasn’t allowed to look.

“Look at me,” I told him.

He did. My eyes. My mouth. My eyes again. We were dancers, our bodies were made to be looked at, but this was different.