Page 64 of Hearts on Ice
His brow flicked. “That good or that bad?”
“That good,” I said, honestly. “Damn, Coach.”
Color hit his cheekbones. He looked away for all of half a second, and that alone nearly finished me. Big, calm, composed Drew—blushing for me.
“If you keep calling me ‘Coach’ in here, my brain’s going to stay at the rink.”
“Okay,” I said softly. “Drew.”
His eyes snapped back to mine like the name landed exactly where he needed it.
“Your turn,” he said, and his voice had a rough edge to it now. He reached for the hem of my shirt, fingers brushing my stomach. My whole body lit up. He slid my shirt up and off, slower than Ihad with his. His gaze drifted down my chest, my stomach, then back up, lingering.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re…”
“Guapo—handsome?” I offered, teasing.
Color hit his cheekbones. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “That.”
That voice did things to me.
Shirtless, inches apart, it hit me how evenly matched we were—Drew maybe an inch taller, a shade broader through the chest. He could cover me if he leaned in. Shield me. Pin me.
I’d thought about that way too many times since Sunday, and my body remembered every one of them at once.
The thing was, my instincts didn’t want tobethe one covered. They wanted tocover him—to be the one holding, anchoring, keeping him there.
The heat that shot through me was instant, low and sharp, enough to make me shift my stance.
His eyes followed the movement, then flicked back up to mine.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“A little,” I admitted. “I’ve never… been with a guy before.”
He nodded once, eyes steady. “Me either.”
The air changed—so much honesty in so few words. Two men with no map, choosing to learn each other anyway. The simplicity of it steadied me more than any bravado could.
I leaned in and kissed him slowly. Not the hungry, slammed-against-the-wall kiss from the front door. This one was deeper. Softer. Learning him. His mouth opened under mine, and I licked into him, tasting salt and spice and the faint tang of citrus—Drew and dinner and heat—and his breath caught like I’d stolen it straight from his lungs.
“Okay,” he said, voice shaky against my mouth. “That’s… Jesus.”
“I got you,” I murmured. “Tengo ganas de ti, Drew.”
He shivered.
“What does that mean?” he whispered.
“It means,” I said against his jaw, letting my lips drag there, “that I want you. So bad.”
His answer was this quiet, helpless sound from somewhere in his throat. The kind that made my stomach drop and my cock throb, and yeah, we were officially past pretending either of us wasn’t gone.
I kissed down his neck, taking my time because this was new territory for both of us—my first time touching a man like this, his first time being touched by one—and I wanted every second to count. And my god, every sound he made told me we were figuring it out right.
He tilted his head for me without me even asking.
That trust? That did me in.
