“Careful,” I murmur against his lips when he moves to arch against me. But I don’t stop. I slide my leg over his, pinning him gently to the mattress so he doesn’t twist his torso. “Don’t move. Just let me…”
Our mouths collide again, frantic and wet, his tongue tangling with mine. This isn’t the same as the almost-kiss from the other night. That was curiosity. This is survival. He’s drowning, and I’m his oxygen.
And god help me, I want to be.
My usually noisy brain, cluttered with constant stats and analytics, goes completely silent. The only thing I’m aware of is Louis. The slide of his lips, the feel of his tongue, the heat from his body. I slide my hand from where it’s still cupping his cheek to the back of his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair, holding him in place as I devour him.
“Tanner,” he groans again, breaking the kiss to bury his face in the crook of my neck. His breath is hot against my skin.
Hearing my name from his mouth undoes me. I press my hips down, grinding my rock-hard cock against him, careful not to put weight on his chest but needing him to feel me. Needing him to know I’m here and solid and real.
“I’m here,” I grit out, sucking gently on the pulse thundering under his jaw. “I’m right here.”
He hums, a vibration against my throat, before turning to capture my mouth again. He sucks on my lower lip, biting down hard enough to sting, and a groan escapes me becausefuuuuuck, it feels good.
It could be five minutes or five hours, I have no idea. We’re just heat and breath and desperation in the dim light. I forgetabout the game, the standings, and it’s possible I forget my own goddamn name. I don’t care.
Suddenly, a shrill, electronic beeping cuts through the room, hitting us like a bucket of ice water.
“Motherfucker. That’s my alarm. Bus in fifteen.”
Louis goes still beneath me, his chest heaving. His eyes are hazy, his lips red and bitten, and his dark hair is a disaster. He looks so fucking hot.
He blinks up at me, and it’s almost as though I can see the weight of reality crushing back down on him. He lets go of me, letting his good arm drop to the bed.
“Right,” he whispers. “The bus.”
I scramble off the bed, almost unsteady on my legs as I reach for the phone to kill the alarm. Once the annoying-as-fuck beeping stops, the silence that follows is almost worse.
Louis watches me, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Louis, I—”
“Let’s not do this now,” he cuts me off. “You got a game to win, Rookie.”
I hesitate, not sure what to do. Wehaveto talk about what just happened, but I also have to get myself ready to play, both mentally and physically.
I hurry to gather my things, changing into my suit as fast as I’ve ever done it in my life. But it’s like I’m moving underwater, and by the time I’m ready to leave, I’m cutting it close if I want to make the first bus. I always prefer to be at the arena with plenty of extra time. It helps me get my head on straight. Considering what we just did, I’m going to need all the time I can get for that.
I open the door, pausing and turning to where Lou’s still lying on the bed.
“Uh, are—are you gonna be there?” I manage to choke out, trying to hide how desperately I want him to be there. I need him there, as insane as that is.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “I’ll be in the press box.”
“Okay. Yeah. Good. That’s good.” I nod, knowing if I open my mouth, a bunch of words I shouldn’t say right now will come tumbling out.
The door clicks shut behind me, but as I hurry toward the elevator, it’s not the Edmonton Arctic Wolves and their red-hot power play that’s filling my mind.
Focus,I tell myself sternly.Lock it down. Now.
But it’s no use, because as I step into the elevator, I can still taste him on my lips.
***
The Edmonton visitors‘ locker room is loud, as usual when we’re all in pre-game mode. Gino is today’s DJ, and he’s got old-school heavy metal cranked up while we get ready. I’ve spent the last couple of hours desperately trying to get into a calmer headspace, but I’m not sure it worked. At this point, I’m just hoping my instincts take over once I get onto the ice.
I’m working on positive self-talk, telling myself I’ve got this, but my hands are shaking slightly as I lace my skates. Instead of armor that makes me feel invincible, my gear feels restrictive and suffocating today.
