Page 85 of Home Ice

I swallow, palms finding his back and spreading wide to touch as much skin as possible. It’s like I’m absorbing pure lust and butterflies just through our connection, and his grinning lips tilt against my ear.

“Surprised you’re still wearing this,” he shouts over the music as he gives my shirt a tug.

Considering Hawke feels like a furnace, I do us both a favor and strip it off. He takes it, tucking it into my pants, where his fingers linger a bit too long. Tingles erupt along my side, and all I can think of is the last time his hand was down my pants … and what he did with it there.

My dick hardens, and when Hawke slips his thigh between my legs and pulls my body against his, it’s easy to feel that his has done the same. Everything from the smell of his sweat, to him grinding against me, to the way his presence is so big, so physical, so consuming is turning me on.

We can’t talk over the loud music, but we don’t need to.

I just feel … I feel …

Different. I can’t place it. Not with the alcohol swimming in my veins and being chased by a healthy dose of lust. But with Hawke, I want him so much it’s like I want to climb inside his skin. Like I want him closer, closer until we’re the same person. Until his breath is my breath and the thrumming of his heart falls into rhythm and fills the dead spaces between mine.

Our eyes connect, and I know in that second that I can’t wait to get back to the hotel. My mouth finds his, and it’s instant relief.

We kiss, right there on the dance floor, forgetting to worry about the outside world. It occurs to me, too late, that Montreal is a hockey town and that he’d be too easy to recognize, but before I can back off, Hawke pulls me closer.

He kisses me in a way that feels inevitable. In a way that’s impossible to disconnect from. When his tongue meets mine, my groan starts in my gut and spreads outward, long and hungry, needing way more than this kiss.

“Hawke,” I mutter, but he can’t hear me. He nips at my lip, hips sealed to mine, heavy breathing hitting my chin.

I press my mouth to his ear. “I want to go!”

He pulls back, expression very obviously asking really?

“Yes!” I nod, just to make sure he didn’t miss it. “Now.”

He leans in, mouth sealing over mine and tongue dipping inside in the fastest, filthiest kiss I’ve ever had. Then he pulls back, takes my hand, and leads me off the dance floor. We didn’t leave anything at the table, so instead of saying goodbye to my friends, I steer Hawke away and toward the door. If we go over there, it’ll take forever to be free, when messaging will be much faster.

They already know we won’t be going home tonight.

The stifling heat of the club immediately disappears when we step out into the Montreal night. The sweat on my skin cools, and I tug my shirt back on to walk the block to our hotel.

Thank fuck for Hawke booking somewhere close. It’s going to be painful enough with my cock this hard, and it’s not going to go anywhere, knowing what’s coming next.

Especially when Hawke throws his arm over my shoulders and leans in. “What if I told you I wanted to fuck you tonight?”

“I’d tell you that I’m more than prepared.”

His heavy inhale goes straight to my cock. “I brought lube and plenty of condoms.”

“Excellent.” I turn so we’re eye to eye as we walk. “And I hope you brought your stamina because you’re definitely going to need it.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

JENSEN

The room I booked is on the nicer end of a standard hotel room. It has floorboards and a cement ceiling, gray walls, two yellow armchairs by the window, and the king-sized bed dominating the space. I toss my bag with some changes of clothes and the things we’ll need for tonight on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and turn to Barrett.

All six feet of his wiry build, damp shirt clinging to him deliciously, usually neat hair wet and messy, and eyes bright with arousal.

He’s fucking stunning.

I quirk my finger at him, and he steps closer. Even from here, I can smell the delicious scent of fresh sweat, and I want to bury my face in his neck and let it consume me. Barrett turns me on more than I can begin to describe, and I’m stuck in the indecision of wanting to push him down and fuck him or give myself time to enjoy this.

His lips quirk. “We have all night.”

How the fuck did he read my mind like that?