Page 68 of Home Ice

I was halfway to the stairs when I saw the shadow. There was a man at my door.

It was Rafe. I knew the shape, but he hadn’t knocked. I waited a moment longer, but he didn’t move.

I didn’t turn the lights on. There was enough light from the street to navigate the shop. I opened the door.

Cold rushed in around him. He didn’t smile. He was a tired man in an open coat.

He stepped inside, and I shut the cold out behind him.

“I keep starting to—“ he said, and stopped. Then he tried again. “I talked to Hal and Mark and my parents. I answered all of them. I did everything right, Niko, and then I got in the truck and I—” He cut himself off. “I don’t know what I’m—”

He didn’t wait for me to speak. He stepped forward, and his mouth landed on mine with his hands on my chest. I stumbled backward, and the bench caught us.

My marking pencil rolled off the end of it and hit the floor. He kissed me hard at the wrong angle. I turned my head and fixed the angle.

Our first kiss had been brief, and it was over before I understood what was happening. This wasn’t that.

Rafe poured his whole day into it, hungry and raw. I slid my hands under his open coat and felt his heart pounding hard against my palms.

I pushed his coat up and off his shoulders, and it fell to the floor. He stopped.

“Sorry,” he said, breathing hard. “I should’ve—I don’t really know what—“

“Rafe.” He looked at me. I saw nothing but desire in his eyes. “Upstairs,” I said.

My hands were unsteady as I opened the door to my apartment. Then I took his hand. I’d never done that.

His fingers closed around mine and held on tight. I walked him down the hall.

My bedroom gets its light from the streetlamp through the front window, a low amber that makes my walnut bedframe glow. Rafe stood at the foot of my bed and began unbuttoning his shirt.

I stepped forward and took over, taking my time undressing him. He took my face in both hands and kissed me again.

“Let me know if you want me to stop,” I said.

“Niko, I’ve never done this.” His voice was low and even. “Is that—“

“It’s fine.” I put his hand on my chest so he could feel my heartbeat. “Everybody starts somewhere.”

I pushed the shirt off his shoulders. It was one thing to have watched him in a suit at the Palmer House and another to have his chest bare in my bedroom.

I’d never seen a serious athlete up close like that. His shoulders were built broad and powerful, and bruises of various degrees of intensity told the hockey story.

I leaned forward to kiss his collarbone, and he hissed. I kneaded his firm chest, and when my thumb crossed a nipple, he made a short, surprised sound.

He pulled my shirt off with less patience than I’d shown his, and one of my buttons skittered across the floor. Then his hands were on me, both palms flat, moving over my chest and shoulders and down my back.

We got the rest of our clothes off in a graceless tangle. His belt. My jeans. His socks, hopping on one foot. Then he was naked in the amber light. His cock was hard, and he stared at me.

I wrapped my fingers around the length of it and gave one slow stroke just to see what happened. He swayed and grabbed my shoulder.

“Fuck, Niko.”

I wondered whether swearing was new to Rafe, too.

We tumbled onto my bed together, with his knee hitting my thigh hard enough to bruise. He rolled over onto me, all two hundred pounds of him pinning my one sixty-five frame to the mattress. His cock pressed into my hip.

He reached between us, taking both of our cocks in his big hand and rocked his hips forward. It was a little clumsy, but that didn’t matter. I was falling, and I wanted every single awkward ounce of him.