Page 29 of On Thin Ice

It hit me hard, shooting straight through my gut to my dick and setting every nerve ending I had on fire.

Bell’s mouth parted on a gasp, and I took full advantage of the opening, sliding my tongue against his in a kiss that felt less and less like a choice and more like a fucking inevitability.

He tipped backward, sprawling onto the mattress and dragging me down with him.

The hard ridge of his dick pressed against my thigh, making my whole body jerk with raw, electric need.

I tore my mouth from his with a loud groan, my breath coming in heaving pants. I rested my forehead against his as I tried—and failed—to catch my breath.

One of my hands slid from his hair, trailing down the side of his neck, his chest, lower still, until I was clutching his hip like I needed something to hold onto.

I pulled back a few inches to stare down at him, this beautiful fucking guy who’d completely annihilated me. His eyes were wild, his pupils eating up the blue of his irises, his chest heaving under me.

“Ethan,” he rasped, his voice wrecked. His hands flexed against my sides, like he hadn’t decided whether to pull me back in for another kiss or push me away.

Please don’t push me away, I thought desperately, my hips rolling against his as if moving of their own volition.

My whole body shuddered at the contact—the hard, aching press of my dick against his thigh, the friction from my clothes against my skin causing a jolt of pleasure so sharp it was almost painful.

It lit me up from the inside out, but it still wasn’t nearly enough. All the raw, desperate parts of me that had been starved for too long needed more.

Needed him.

I moaned, my fingers digging into his hips like I could somehow anchor myself there, like holding him would keep me from coming apart completely.

Bell made a broken noise—half gasp, half groan—and his hands slid lower, cupping my ass in his wide palms. He flexed his fingers into the meat of my muscles, gripping me hard, and he rocked his hips up in a slow, filthy grind that knocked the breath clean out of my lungs.

“Fuck,” I gasped, my voice raw and needy. “Do that again.”

Bell’s eyes fluttered shut for half a second, like he was trying to get control of himself. Then he complied, pressing up against me. “Ethan.” My name on his lips sounded like a plea.

Like a benediction.

Something inside me snapped. I fumbled for his belt, desperate to get my hands on him. My fingers were clumsy as I popped the button on his slacks, yanked down the zipper, and slid my hand inside to palm the hard line of him through his boxer briefs.

His hand closed over mine. “Ethan,” he said roughly, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. “Is this really what you want?”

For a brief second, his words floated between us, until something wild and reckless tore out of me—a sharp laugh that startled both of us.

I leaned in close and whispered against his mouth, my tongue snaking out to lick over the seam of his lips. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

He didn’t need to know that was three years ago. That the night the Aces drafted him, I’d taken my dick in hand and blew my load all over my chest, imagining all the ways I wanted to ruin him.

All the ways I wanted him to ruin me, too.

“I want you,” I said, my voice dropping into a deep rasp. “I want to taste you. I want to choke on your cock, and I want you to come down my fucking throat.”

Bell’s body jerked under me. His fingers flexed against my hand like he was fighting a war with himself and losing.

The air between us was molten, charged with a tension so thick I could barely breathe.

Then his voice—low and wrecked and commanding—cut through the haze as he pushed lightly against my shoulder. “Then get on your knees.” His hand slid up into my hair and gave a gentle but insistent tug. “Pull out my cock and show me exactly how bad you want it.”

The words had barely left his mouth before I was sliding off the bed, my knees hitting the carpet with a mutedthud.

I looked up at Bell—standing now, his chest heaving, his hair a rumpled mess from where I’d gripped it, his lips swollen from our kisses, and his cheek slightly red from the burn of my beard. His hands rested loosely at his sides, but I could see the tension running through him, the way he was holding himself still, waiting for me.

I brushed my palm against the hard line of his dick straining against his open slacks. He didn’t move or make a sound. Just let me have this moment.

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