Page 56 of King of the Crease

Alittle while later, we drive back to Hank’s house. My heart rattles in my chest, wondering if we’ll kiss again tonight. I’m officially addicted.

I say good night to Brody, who hugs his dad, then goes up to his room to play on his Nintendo Switch. Leaving Hank and me alone downstairs.

I’m buzzing from tonight and still buzzing from yesterday. Crackling and twinkling like a string of lights. Hank walks us into the living room. We sit on the sofa, some space between us, as I resist the pull of his gravity.

I’m not sure what to say. Are we saying good night? Goodbye?

Hank closes the space between us. God, I love how he does that. It’s like his version of sweeping everything off a desk so he can have me. He strokes a hand through my hair all while keeping his eyeline fixed on me.

“I love your hair. It’s soft and kind of curly,” he says, running his hand through the back, setting off fireworks on my skin.

He gently leans me toward him for another kiss that I melt into. Our lips are hungry but tentative. It’s a delicate dance that I am totally unprepared for. His tongue massages mine as I gasp into his mouth.

In my royal life, I am a ten on the tasteful scale. I know how to be reserved. But Hank ignites my ravenous, gaudy side. I lean against him and push us back on the couch. I collapse against his big, bear chest and protuberant stomach, his body the perfect mix of soft and hard. He gets more into it, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close.

He moans into me as he pulls me close.

“I really enjoy kissing you.” I’m no longer embarrassed to say what’s on my mind in front of Hank. It’s freeing.

“Likewise.”

“Is Brody going to come down?”

“I hope not. But he’s loud enough that we’ll have warning. I like where your head is at.” He smiles against my lips, his skin hot like fire.

His big, calloused hand caresses my beard as we kiss while his other hand skims down my back.

“Would it be okay if I grab your ass? I’ve wanted to do that since our first practice,” he says.

I love a man who asks permission.

I give him a nod. Hank palms my cheek and squeezes, an electrifying moment that elicits a moan from both of us.

“You’re on your way to a hockey ass.” Hank gives it a sweet little slap. There’s caution in his moves, like he wants to remain a gentleman.

I brush his shaggy strands of hair away from his eyes. A quiet moment hangs between us.

I like you. I really like you. The words are on my tongue, but I hold back, afraid of what that admission could mean.

His midsection deserves to be touched. I luxuriate in running my hands over him, obsessed with the muchness of Hank. His lumps and curves. I’m getting to make out and touch the guy I’m hot for. No wonder gay is a synonym for happy, because nothing else has ever brought me so much joy.

“You’re sexy, Hank.”

He laughs at that, a surprised humph.

“What?”

“That’s not something I usually hear.”

“Well, people are blind and stupid.” I give his nipple a squeeze, surprising both of us. “I think you’re fucking hot.”

I have never said such a filthy statement. Has any royal? Prince Harry, probably. He seems like a guy into dirty talk.

And because I’m feeling extra bold (and extra horny), the feeling that only comes from getting exactly what you want in the exact moment when you want it, I grab his erection over his pants.

And I stroke.

“Is this okay?” I ask.