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I can’t say no to this man, not anymore, which is why I end up nodding and letting him draw me off the boards and into the firm curve of his arm. There’s no more wood to hold on to, not as he pulls me toward the center of the oval, but my feet are barely on the ground at all. Vic is literally holding me up as we glide over the slick surface. I know he’s big. I know he’s strong. But I’m still impressed.
Give them a show…
This whole thing was my idea. Well, not the ice-skating but being a couple. Pretending we are so head over heels, we couldn’t resist shackling ourselves together when the opportunity arose in Vegas. That rather than making rash decisions, we’re a beacon of love, family values, and responsibility. I said that. I pushed that.
When did it stop feeling like it was all an act?
When did I stop remembering that it was supposed to be for show?
The first time we fucked? When I learned how wrong I’d been about the avoidance and the interview all those months ago? If there’s one thing I can understand, it’s protecting family. And Vic was right, my anger with him was misplaced. He didn’t let me down. I’m not entitled to his time. That I felt so betrayed by his decision to avoid me? A clear sign I had some kind of draw to this man even then. I felt like I wasn’t a priority. Something even I know is absolutely ridiculous. We were barely even colleagues. Not friends. Definitely not more.
Maybe that was the actual beginning of my heart’s slow slide into loving this man, because I do. I love him. Even if it’s messy and complicated and I shouldn’t, I do. And it’s as easy as breathing to trust him. With my body as he carries me across the ice, solid against his side. With my heart as he smiles down at me and the warmth spreads through every atom of my being.
And, if I’m reading Victor Varg correctly, he loves me right back.
An hour later, my hockey player is kneeling on the cold rubber floor covering and unlacing the skate he has propped on his over-developed thigh. His lips quirk as he smiles up at me from under the smudge of his lashes. A smile that tells me he knows I had fun, even if my legs are made of pudding, and I’m still grumbling about the cold.
“I told you I wouldn’t let you fall,” he says again, and I roll my eyes because catching me around the waist and carrying me around the ice under his arm like a football seems to violate the spirit of his promise. Even iftechnicallyI didn’t hit the ground. “This is the rink where my brother first stepped back onto the ice.”
My own grumblings are immediately forgotten as Vic slips my boot back on and switches my legs. He loosens the other set of laces and my ankles scream in relief. I know Vic said they had to be tight, but I don’t think I’ll need to worry about broken bones or wrenched joints if I’ve lost circulation.
“I didn’t know you could skate on a prosthetic,” I say, watching the different emotions flicker across Vic’s face.
“I didn’t either. I don’t think even Erik knew for sure. He brought Quinn here on a date while he was trying to convince her to give them a shot. He hadn’t wanted to try before.”
And I get it. Why he brought me here. It’s not about his profession. It’s not about smiling for the cameras. It’s about giving me a date. A real one. A moment in time where this thing between us is real and tangible. He brought me to a place that held a special meaning for someone who means the world to him. It’s beautiful in a way. And I feel guilty for bitching most of the time.
“Thank you,” I tell him as he slides on my second shoe. “For bringing me here. For planning this.”
His grin is huge as he meets my eyes, tossing both my skates and his over his broad shoulders. I can’t resist a quick peck to his lips. His mouth chases mine and I pull back, panting. Vic’s eyes squeeze shut, and he blows out a breath, the warm air breaking over my chin.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you a hot chocolate and a chance to walk out the stiffness in your legs.”
“My legs are just fine,” I say as he hauls me to my feet, looping an arm around the top of my shoulders.
“They’re better than fine.” Smooth asshole. “But I also know you were tense the entire time we were out there and you kept locking your knees. You’re going to be sore if you don’t loosen your muscles up.”
We leave the rink and walk down one of the smaller alleys. I know we’re headed to the coffee shop along the other main road, but being here, in the shadow of two tall buildings, I have the urge to take advantage of being alone. I angle my body, pressing Vic into the stone wall behind him. And okay, it takes a moment for him to realize what I’m doing and to allow me to move him where I want him, but then I’m up on my tiptoes as his arm drops to my waist and I’m pressing my mouth against his.
His mouth opens under mine and his tongue sweeps past my lips. He’s everywhere. His scent in my nose, his taste on my tongue, his hand gripping my hip as the other slides up to cradle the back of my head. His fingers spear through my hair and I feel the tension, the tug, between my thighs.
He groans into my mouth, a sound I’ve grown used to hearing even if this part of our relationship is still new. I want him naked. Now. I want skin, and heat, and—forget my legs—I want the thick slide of him stretching out every one of my feminine muscles until they’re the ones sore and trembling. My fingers have a mind of their own, pushing down the collar on his sweatshirt, trying to stroke whatever part of him I can reach.
Vic spins us, pinning me against the wall. The hand buried in my hair cushioning my head from the stone. His hips push between mine, holding me in place with the bulk of his body and those fingers that were leaving tiny bruises along my side slip up under my sweater, tracing patterns against the skin of my stomach. Never have I ever been so grateful that I forewent a coat. I shudder against him as his hand cups the weight of my breast and I roll my hips into the hard ridge between my thighs.
“Tristan. Kitty cat. Baby.” He’s panting between each word. “We can’t do this here. Come on, I promised you cocoa.”
His hands haven’t moved from my hair and my breast, so I shift my hips again and he buries his face against my neck and grunts into my flushed skin.
“Forget the drink.” He’s hitting the perfect spot, and I keep the steady roll of my lower body against his. “Warm me up like this.”
He curses against the column of my throat, but the hand in my hair tenses.
“This is what I thought about doing outside the wedding chapel,” he says. “And in the shelter parking lot. And at the smoothie place. I thought about pressing you down to the benches in the locker room. Or the couches in the lounge. I wanted to take you over Seever’s desk. That’s what you do to me, Tristan. You look at me with those big blue eyes and I forget that we’re in public, that we could get caught. I forget, and I lunge for you, anyway.”
I whimper, picking up the pace as he pushes back, telling me all the things he’s imagined doing to me. With me. All the places he pictured us together as he gripped his dick and brought himself off. I’m close from his words alone. I’m keyed up, and I can just see the edge of oblivion. Even now. Fully clothed. Then Vic stills.
“Holy shit.” A voice says from either right behind us or a million miles away. “Victor Varg getting lucky in a dirty alley. Who’d have thought.”
