Page 76 of Ice Dance

He looked ragged, but not as rattled as I felt inside. He was used to public assumption and being in the spotlight off the ice. Social media regularly put him through the wringer, but he seemed to be able to shrug most of it off. I admired that. I’d never been very good at personal scrutiny.

“I’m not very good at this,” I admitted, not sure what this was. I could say I’d meant the press, but what I really meant was having him to myself, alone.

“Wait, say that again?” His smile lifted. He straightened and crossed the room toward me. “Did you just admit to not being very good at something?”

“I’m not very good at a lot of things.”

He stopped close in front of me. I looked down to meet his gaze.

“I know several things you’ve very good at.” His hands came up to rest on my chest, and instantly my body knew this touch was different to the ones we’d spent on each other all day.

“Oh?” I sighed, and allowed the tension to fall away.

“You want me to list them?” He chuckled and stepped in closer. “Brackets, for one. Exquisite, especially with legs like yours.”

“Legs like mine?” I felt my lips tick. His warm hands stayed on my chest.

“Graceful, long, powerful.”

“Long?” I tried to fight a smile and lost.

He lifted onto his toes, bringing him almost eye level with me. “I’m not a poet, okay? You have long legs. I like them. They’re on the list.” His mouth teased mine, lips barely touching.

“You do?” I chased the contact, leaning toward him, but he pulled back. I dropped my hands to his hips, hoping to hold him still, and it worked for a beat, then he stepped back. I went with him. “What else do you like?”

He rolled his hips, putting a sway into them, and I matched, letting him lead for once. There was no music, just the soft beat of our bodies.

“Your casual strength, like it’s nothing to lift a guy off the ice and wrap him around your shoulders.”

“You’re not exactly large.”

“Not large?” He snorted.

I clearly was not a poet either. And I also didn’t really care what he was saying, because the rhythm had us, like it had at the club, with just our breaths timing our steps. He felt good, pressed close, my hands on his back, holding, but nothing more, not yet.

“I like your eyes,” he said quietly, lifting his gaze.

I arched an eyebrow. Was this a Japanese reference?

“Not that,” he said with a laugh, then caught my lips in a short, sweet kiss. I chased him again, needing more, but he pulled back, lifted his arms, and sashayed out of my grip. He knew exactly how to make his body curve and flow. The play of it, even under his bulky top, held me entranced.

He pulled that top off, tossed it with a wrist flick, and spun into a provocative lean against the table’s edge.

The T-shirt clung to his tattooed body, probably a size too small, riding up and showing some perfectly bitable midriff.

“What about my personality?” I asked.

“You know . . .” He pretended to think. “It’s a work in progress.”

I swooped in, gathered him into my arms, and kissed him hard on the mouth. He shifted, knees parting, letting me in between his thighs, and we were close again, two bodies moving as one. I hadn’t stopped thinking about him like this, hadn’t been able to get the feel of him out of my head. At times, during training, his closeness had driven me to distraction, making me forget whatever I was saying or doing.

He tore my jacket off, dropped it in a puddle of fabric on the floor, then pulled up my sweater, and off that went next. He moved fast, getting desperate. Like before, I wanted him slow, but needed him fast, as though there was never enough time to just enjoy his body.

He scrunched up my T-shirt, rucking it up with his hands, and his warm, wet lips swept up my chest. I leaned back, holding my fingers in his messy hair, and guided him.

God, it felt good being bad. Doing filthy things with him. Doing all the things I’d been told were wrong. He made it good, made me crave more and more. Crave him. I liked how unhinged he made me, how he took my control and crushed it under his soft mouth and quick, confident hands. Alone with him like this, my body came alive. He did that. Nobody else ever had, not like this.

I bracketed his face with my hands and brought him back up for a messy kiss, then admitted, quickly but softly, “I don’t know what this is.”