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Thirty minutes later, my thighs burn from being on the ice, and my cheeks burn from smiling. We’ve made multiple laps and even if my steps aren’t as graceful as I’d like, I’ve found a groove. I won’t be snapped up by the NHL anytime soon, probably not going to join a beer league either, but I can do this again. I will do this again. Quinn has graduated toward more gliding steps, too. She still prefers to push off with only her left foot, keeping her right foot planted underneath her, but I can help her work on that next time. We’ve both been able to focus on conversation and while I know we both need to take a break and warm up, I don’t want this to be over.
When the sun hits her hair, glowing copper in the light, crowding her up against the boards is an instinct.
I lean into her space. One hand finds her hip and pulls her into the wall of my chest. I like the way she feels against me, even through our layers, and I suck in a deep breath. My other hand slides around her neck and my fingers spear through her hair. I tip her head back and her lips part in invitation. I want to devour her. I want to stamp her taste and her scent and the way she looks right now, so deep into my memory that even a crowbar can’t remove it. Nothing will remove her. I suspect that’s already true, as my heart pounds in my chest. Pressed tight to my front, I can feel Quinn’s pulse sync with mine. I lower my mouth to hers.
One of us moans.
Before Quinn, I never thought it possible that I could make a sound and not know it, but she makes me lose my mind. I’m so focused on the press of her lips that I do not know which one of us made the noise. Maybe both of us. Her mouth is warm and soft against mine. Her lips clinging to mine as I pull back to tilt my head for a better angle. I brush my tongue over the seam of her lips and she opens for me. I can feel her smile into our kiss, and I don’t waste time with tentative brushes of my tongue. I push into her mouth and take everything she has.
The kiss is hot and wet and urgent, our tongues slipping and sliding together, curling around each other. When breathing becomes an issue, I pull back and suck in a lungful of cool air. Then I take her mouth again. Her hands fist in my pea coat and I wish they were against my bare skin, her nails digging into my ribs. I need that bite of something to keep my dick in line. I’m already hard as a lead pipe, cock aching and heavy in my jeans. I’m sure she can feel it pressed against her abdomen as she rocks her hips against mine.
“Let’s get out of here,” Quinn says, panting her words against my chin. I’m struggling to control my breathing, too. Struggling to think beyond kissing her again. With the boards for leverage, I could hoist her into my arms. My balance is solid now. It would be worth it. “My place?” she asks, and it’s a quick reminder that we are in public, even if the rink is deserted.
I press the word “yes” into her mouth, letting her swallow it with a smile.
We stumble through my front door, Erik muttering a brief “ow” against my lips as his elbow connects with the door frame. We’re fused at the mouth, have been since we fell out of the Mercedes. We would have driven home the same way if we could. Never had I ever been happier that Jen was out of town for the weekend. We can fuck on every surface we choose. The evidence of Erik’s desire is pressing against me. He’s been hard since he pushed me into the boards.
I want his sweater off. I want my hands on his skin again. I want his hands on mine. This might be the worst idea I’ve ever had. This might make my crush a million times worse, but I’m willing to risk the fallout. We can christen the counter later. I have condoms in my nightstand and it’s faster for us to go to my room together.
“Upstairs,” I pant against his mouth, but he ignores me to press his tongue deeper. I fist his sweater and drag him to my room, pushing Erik down to sit on the edge of the mattress. I reach for the hem of my sweater. Erik reaches for me.
“Let me,” he says. His eyes are dark, hot, as they sweep over my face. “I have been fantasizing about this moment since the last time we were together.”
“Taking off my top?”
He nods, his cheeks a ruddy pink as he grips the bottom of my chunky knit and the shirt underneath, lifting it up over my hips. His knuckles brush the skin along the waistband of my pants and I suck in a breath, pulling my stomach away from his touch.
“You did it for me last time.” His hands move higher, even with the soft curve of my belly button. “I loved it, but I wanted to take each piece off you, to press—” he kisses my stomach, “my mouth to your skin as I bared every inch.”
Erik’s mouth follows his hands. He stands up, pulling both my shirts up and until I have to lift my arms over my head. He drops them on the floor and his lips find my neck, leaving wet, sucking kisses against my overheated skin. My hands come down to tangle in his hair and he sinks his teeth into my throat as I tug at the silky strands. Heat blankets my system. I tip Erik’s head back to take his mouth with mine this time, pressing my body tight to his as he closes his hand over the curve of my breast. The pressure is exquisite, and I ache and arch into his touch.
We break our kiss long enough for Erik to strip too, and it feels like I’ve taken a blow to the chest. How can I have forgotten how sleek and strong he is? A smattering of blond hair spans the space between his flat pink nipples. His stomach is flat, ridges of muscle apparent every time he sucks in a deep breath. I want to bite into the skin over his ribs, but I’m not sure I can. He’s solid, his body hard everywhere.
Erik slips a hand behind my back to flick the clasp of my bra. He has to help pull the straps off my shoulders, and he presses his mouth to the red lines left behind. His hands cup the heavy weight of my breasts, and his thumbs graze my nipples. They harden into tingling points, and Erik purses his lips, blowing hot air over the sensitive tips. I shudder again, my brain melting into a swirl of incandescent color as his hands slip further down my body and under the waistband of my leggings.
I reach for the button on his jeans and it’s Erik’s turn to suck in his stomach. He burns under my touch, his muscles tense and hard under the silk of his skin. I slide down the zipper and delve my hands down into his straining boxer briefs to cup him where he’s even hotter and harder. I can’t resist squeezing his erection in my fist—I hadn’t forgotten how big he is—and he moans into the curve of my neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.
I think I’m going to lose my mind. No matter how many times I’ve imagined having him back here, the sight of him dropping to his knees, pulling my leggings down my thighs, has me choking back a moan. Erik leaves nipping kisses along the pale dimpled skin he uncovers, taking great care to lift one of my feet and then the other to pull each pant leg off. I’m not sure what I expect next, but it’s not for Erik to prop my foot on his shoulder and trail his mouth up my skin to my knee.
“Wait,” I say as his kisses move to my inner thigh. His hair tickles the sensitive skin there and my core clenches down on nothing. “My underwear—”
“No.” Erik’s fingers stroke my center through the fabric and my hips buck into his touch. “They’re staying on to slow us down, Quinn.” His fingers dip under the elastic. “Last time we got carried away and these are staying right here over your gorgeous ass and beautiful pussy so that I remember to slow down.”
I’m so wet the cotton is well on its way to being ruined, especially when his entire hand slides underneath the fabric to toy with me. He traces my opening and my lashes flutter. I’m swooning like a character from a historical novel.
“Slow is overrated,” I pant. “We can take it slow next time.”
“Quinn.” He stops the maddening touches and pulls away from my core. His eyes turn solemn and I feel weird with my foot still propped up on his shoulder. Erik steadies me with his hands braced on my hips as I let my leg down to the ground. He locks his elbows, pushing back to put some space between us, and looks up into my eyes. “There might not be a next time.”
His words are slow and quiet, as if they’ll hurt less at a lower volume. Even though I know it’s true—I’d meant next time as in “round two”—hearing him say it out loud is like dropping a gallon of paint on my toes. I saw it coming, knew what to expect, and I’m still shocked by the intense pain.
“The hospital is in a good place,” he says. He drops his chin to his chest, almost muffling the words, but my ears ring as they clang around in my head. “Any help they need from here on out can be done remotely.”
“You have family. You’ve been getting along better. You can visit them!” I say.
I know I sound needy, desperate, but the reality of never seeing him again hurts. I have a flash of memory. This is why I sent him packing the last time, and it gives me zero satisfaction to know I’d been right. It hurts more after this visit. After an actual date. After all our messages, and phone calls, and time getting to know each other. Hell, he’s become the first person I want to talk to. About everything.
Erik’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I will.” He boosts himself up to sit on the bed again and tugs me to stand in the V of his spread thighs. “I can’t promise when, or how often, and it would be inappropriate to expect that you’d drop whatever you have going on in your life to see me whenever I’m in town.”
