“You can laugh, Nick. It’s fine. I’m comically bad at this.”
“Well, if I can teach you to skate, then you’ll have to teach me how to play volleyball next time.”
I looked up with a grin. It was nice being able to look up at a guy. Being 5’10”, I didn’t get that opportunity much. But Nick was tall. Very, very tall. “Deal.”
I was able to stand on one foot and pushing off didn’t go so bad. He skated backward, holding my hands the whole time.
"Too fast! Too fast!" I squealed at one point.
“I got you, baby. Don’t worry,” he said. There was a rasp to his voice that made my insides clench. He circled to get behind me. He put his arms under mine and my feet between his legs. “Leanback. I want you to feel the balance.”
Nick’s feet weaved in and out by mine, propelling us. I loved the feel of his chest against my back, his lips next to my ear, laughing softly. “There you go. You’re doing great.”
He propped me back up on my own and turned back to my front, holding my hands again. We made another circle, and his grip on my hands loosened. “I think you’re ready to fly solo, baby bird,” he said with a smirk.
“Don’t you dare let go, Nick Oberbeck!” I shouted. His hands had already dropped, throwing me off balance. I overcorrected forward, then backward, my hands flailing in the most embarrassing way possible and shrieking all the while.
He chuckled and skated in to try and catch me to no avail. I landed square on my ass. In his attempt to catch me, he came down with me, kneeling with his legs scissoring mine.
“You ass!” I cried, smacking his arm. “You said you had me!”
“You were doing so good. Sometimes you’ve just gotta let go.”
His green eyes shone, flicking between mine and to my lips. Want pulsed through me. Thoughts raced through my mind as I took attendance of who all was in the building. Eric, the rink’s owner, was still there. The Goran Skate rep was gone. It was just me, Nick, and the owner of the place, who was allegedly in his office doing work. But he probably had a camera.
The cold wet of the ice was soaking through my jeans, but all I could think about was the beautiful, sweet, kind-hearted man on his knees in front of me.
I raised my half-frozen hand, grabbing the bill of his hat. I turned it backward, because it was time. I wanted him, needed his goofiness and his attempts at dominance and his gentle sweetness. July was far, far too long ago, and I needed a reminder of what he tasted like.
My fingers toyed with the little bit of hair that stuck out the back of his hat. Nick grinned and gave a soft laugh, his pupilsgoing wider. Then I trailed my hand down his chest, which rose and fell with panting shaky breaths. His expression turned serious as I bunched his sweatshirt in my fist. There was no way his stomach wasn’t turned inside out and upside down because mine sure as hell was. His nerves were making me nervous.
We both spoke at the same time.
“Annie, I’m going to—” from him, and “Fuck it,” from me.
Our lips crashed together and his hand tangled in my hair. The kisses we’d had before when we first met, those were special. But this one was electric. I gripped Nick’s jaw and torso, unwilling to miss a second of contact with him. He tucked me more under him as his tongue met mine, his thigh driving into my crotch and making me moan into his mouth. Encouraged by my sounds, he writhed, rocking the seam of my jeans against my center and for once, I mentally thanked whoever invented jeans and their sturdy seams. With one hand on the ice, his other coasted down my back and to my unfortunately wet ass.
A door shut somewhere in the background and I pulled away, gasping. “We can’t.”
His gaze cast down. “Shit.”
“But I really want to,” I added.
Nick’s brow furrowed, then lightened. “Come with me.”
He pulled me to stand and towed me to the rink’s entrance, making a beeline for the locker rooms. He knocked on the wall as we entered the women’s locker room, waiting to listen for any sounds. We were alone.
Nick turned to me, talking to my shoulder instead of my face. “I, uh, I don’t want to screw this up. But I want you.”
“What do you want to do?” I asked, my voice going dark.
His voice was gravelly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I want to make you feel good. To touch you.”
“Then touch me.”
“Annie, I don’t want to mess up,” he started to protest.
“Do what feels right. Touch me. I’ll direct you if things go south.”
