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“I think I’d like to teach,” I say. “In a university.”
“Where does hockey fit into it?”
I mimic the rungs of a ladder with my hand. “Undergrad. The NHL. Then grad school.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just gets up and starts to clean. He picks up our plates, takes them to the sink, and turns on the water.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
He ignores me and does the dishes.
And I have no idea what to think.
I get up from my seat and clean up the empty pizza boxes Soren and Hayes left behind. Otherwise, the room is pretty neat, and it’s not like there’s anything else to straighten, so I just lean my ass against the counter, cross my arms over my chest, and watch him.
He puts the plates away and turns around.
He’s very calm as he steps toward me and erases the empty space between us.
I can see the tiny silvery specks in his blue eyes. Like little pinpricks of light in the pools of blue.
His eyes seem darker somehow right now. Filled with intentions.
I think… I might be the intention.
His fingers go to the button of my jeans. Knuckles graze my abdomen as he flicks the button open.
His eyes stay locked with mine.
There’s a clear challenge in them.
Chicken out.
Look away.
But there’s also naked hunger.
And fuck it, I can’t look away.
The zipper sounds thunderously loud in my quiet apartment. My heartbeat moves from my chest to somewhere in my throat.
He pushes the jeans lower, and they get stuck somewhere around my upper thighs. He rubs over the bulge in my boxer briefs before he tugs those lower, too. Cool air hits my dick, and a hiss of pleasure escapes from between my lips.
Lake wraps his hand around the base of my cock, and he gives it a squeeze before dragging upward. The dry friction of his skin on mine prickles like little charges of static electricity.
His thumb moves over the top of the crown. It sweeps back and forth a few times and I slam my eyes shut and draw in a slow breath. When I open them again, he’s looking down at where his fist is wrapped around my cock, his long fingers circling the tip.
He spits.
A precisely aimed string of saliva hits overly sensitive skin. The friction goes from dry and prickly to wet and slippery. Blood roars in my ears.
I clutch the edge of the counter. I might have to pry my nails out of the wood later.
The apartment is silent save for my harsh breaths and the rustling of Lake’s clothes when he moves. He angles his head and presses his lips against my neck. Moves lower. Sinks his teeth into the bitemark he left there the last time.
I wince. There’s still a bruise there, and it stings. He laughs softly, lips vibrating against my skin.
“You want more?” he murmurs into my ear.
