Page 78 of Ice Dance

Navarro’s breathing changed. He’d told me to look at him before, and I’d struggled, racked by all the past voices telling me not to. But he’d told me this was okay, and it felt good, felt more than good.

He was hard . . . because of me. A fierce pulse of need had my own dick aching.

He reached down, as though to take himself in his hand.

“Don’t.” I swallowed. “For the next few minutes, it’s all mine.”

He let his hand drop but looked down, watching. I wrapped my fingers around him, learning the weight and shape of his cock without the frantic urgency from before. His stomach tightened. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes, lips parted.

The first touch of my tongue on him made his hips jerk. I smiled.

“Fuck,” he told the ceiling.

I did it again, working lower, exploring the sensitive, veined underside of his erection. He twitched. His breaths quickened. I’d spent months learning Navarro’s body under my hands, where to place pressure, how much force he could take, the smallest adjustment necessary to help him balance. This wasn’t like that, but also . . . it was. Touch, adjust, learn.

I took him deep into my mouth, and his fingers tightened in my hair.

“Fuck yes.”

Heat rushed through me. My own hips moved, seeking more.

I took him deeper. His thighs tightened beside me. His hand flexed again, then eased, as though he was afraid of forcing me down on him. I pulled off.

He looked down.

“You can lead,” I offered.

His lips parted.

When I took him between my lips again, his hand settled into my hair and held. My hand closed around what my mouth couldn’t take, and I found a rhythm between the two, slower than he probably wanted. He tried to chase it, hips shifting, lifting, his hand pushing down gently.

“Ren.”

My name broke as it left his mouth. I liked that, the sound of him coming apart because of what I was doing to him.

I stopped and lifted off.

“Hey, don’t stop.” He grinned. His pupils had blown, making his blue eyes shine and look drunk. “I gotta admit, I never thought I’d be lying here with your mouth on my dick.”

“Trust me, neither did I.” I went down on him again, took him deeper, working him into a rhythm again. His fingers tightened sharply in my hair. I let him move. Let him set some of the pace, answering him instead of controlling every second. The salty slickness of him had me working him faster.

His breaths came eager now, his body trembling as he half fucked my mouth while I sucked and rolled my tongue around him. I knew his body’s tells, knew the tension in his thighs was new, knew the broken rhythm of his breathing and the way his stomach tightened. He was close.

His whole body pulled tight, then broke. His hand clenched, his back arched, his mouth fell open, and he came, hips stuttering and body jerking. I stayed on him through it, swallowed hard without shame.

When I lifted my head and wiped a thumb across my lips, he lay there, spent.

“That was fucking hot.”

“You’re welcome.” I crawled over him, straddling his hips, and kissed him hard on the mouth. He didn’t care where my mouth had just been, he just looped an arm around my neck, dragging me down onto my side beside him.

He kicked his pants all the way off. I did mine, and all at once, we were naked, skin on skin, with no fabric between us, not even a thin dancing costume. The feel of him, warm and firm, muscle and heat, pressed against my chest, my hip, between my legs. I’d never had that. Not with anyone.

He turned onto his side and kissed me slow, kissed me deep. This was different, sensuous and gentle, and even after what we’d just done, this felt more intimate, felt more . . . real.

Eye to eye, there was no looking away, and no reason to.

I kissed him slower, the push and pull barely there now, just a slow, sensual tease of our mouths together. I worked down his jaw, his neck. He arched away, and I flicked my tongue over a nipple.