Page 92 of Hearts on Ice
That one second was enough to light me up from the inside out.
By the time I made it back to the hotel, my body ached in places I didn’t know could ache. But the adrenaline hadn’t faded. Not even close. We’d won. And all I wanted now was to share that win—with him.
After showering, I wrapped a towel around my hips, hair still damp. I crossed the carpet and knocked—three quick raps, not nearly soft enough to hide the urgency underneath. The lock turned. The door opened. And there he was.
Chapter 33
Drew
Miguel stood in the doorway.
And Christ, he was beautiful.
Six months ago, I wouldn’t have believed I could look at another man like this — want him, ache for him, and think he was beautiful. But it wasn’t just want anymore. It was recognition. Something in him fit something broken in me.
And he was mine—in every way that mattered, just not in the ways the world could see. The thought still startled me sometimes. That I could belong like this — to him, with him — and no part of it felt wrong.
His towel was knotted low on his hips, droplets tracing paths over his pecs and the defined ridges of his stomach. His eyes, dark and intense, roamed all over my body. Each place his gaze lingered, my skin seemed to tighten around it, like I’d forgotten how to breathe.
He stepped inside. The soft click of the latch felt louder than a whistle on the bench—privacy, permission, both at once.
The towel tented and his arousal was no secret. The sight punched heat straight through me; every ounce of composure I wore as coach peeled away in a heartbeat.
“Miss me much, huh?” The words came out lighter than I felt, a thin joke to cover the way my pulse wouldn’t settle.
He didn’t answer—the towel hit the carpet with a softwhuff, was answer enough. His cock sprang free; thick, veined, and curving upward from a nest of trimmed dark hair, with his balls drawn tight. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tipof his dick. My mouth watered, my jeans were suddenly too tight.
Miguel closed the gap, his hands cupping my jaw, tilting my head down for a kiss that was pure fire; our lips crashed, tongues dueled, and his stubble scraped mine. I tasted the mint from his toothpaste, mixed with the salt of his skin. My hands roamed his back, tracing the flex of muscles honed from endless drills, and I pulled him flush so our bare torsos pressed together, his nipples hard points against my chest.
We stumbled toward the bed. I shoved my joggers down my thighs. My boxer briefs followed, my cock springing out, rigid and leaking, slapping against his thigh.
“Fuck, Drew,” he growled into my mouth, palming my length, giving it a slow, firm tug that made my knees buckle. “You were so hot in the locker room, talking about how this win wasn’t luck, I had to adjust my cup twice.” His thumb circled the head, smearing pre-cum, the slick pressure sending jolts straight to my balls. I groaned, thrusting into his fist, my own hand wrapping around his shaft which was hot, like velvet over steel, and pulsing under my grip.
We hit the mattress in a tangle, him pinning me briefly before rolling so we were side by side, our cocks aligned, grinding together in a messy slide. His foreskin bunched over mine, the friction raw and electric, pre-cum lubing the way. I hooked a leg over his hip, pulling him closer, our balls brushing against each other, heavy and full.
“It feels so fucking good, Miguel, your dick against mine, leaking all over.”
He chuckled, his minty breath hot on my neck. He nipped the skin there as his hand joined mine, both of us stroking intandem, the wet sounds filling the room. His free hand explored lower, cupping my ass, a finger teasing the rim, circling my hole without entering. It fluttered, needy, remembering the stretch.
“I want your mouth on me,” I rasped, pushing him back. He grinned, that playful spark in his eyes, and slid down, his beard tickling my abs as his lips closed over my cock. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling the slit, drawing out a curse. “Shit, yes.”
He took me deeper, his throat relaxing to swallow half my length, then he hummed around it so the vibrations buzzed through me. His hand worked his own dick in lazy strokes, but his eyes were locked on mine, watching my face. I threaded fingers in his hair, guiding him gently, my hips lifting to fuck his mouth. His saliva dripped down my shaft, pooling at the base, his cheeks hollowing with each bob.
“You fuck my face like a pro,” he mumbled around me, popping off to lick the underside of my cock, tracing my veins before sucking my balls into his mouth, rolling them gently.
The edge built too fast, his tongue too skilled, all too potent. I pulled him up, kissing him fiercely, tasting myself on his lips, his tongue.
“Not yet. I need to feel you inside me.”
He nodded, eyes gone dark and hungry—and even through the haze, he was still Miguel, still thinking.
“Hold on,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to my shoulder before reaching for the towel he’d left behind earlier.
A quick shake, a smooth spread across the bed. The fabric was still warm from his skin.
“Didn’t want us ruining the sheets,” he said, mouth curving.
“Always thinking ahead,” I murmured, and it wasn’t just lust tightening my chest.
