Rachel knew it was probably a bad idea. Knew going back to Mac's apartment right now, with this electricity crackling between them, was asking for trouble.
"Okay," she heard herself say.
Mac's eyes went dark. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But Mac—" She stopped, trying to find the words. "I'm not ready for... everything. Not yet."
"That's okay." He kissed her softly. "I just want more time with you. That's all."
MAC'S APARTMENT - 20 MINUTES LATER
They made it through the door, and for a moment they just stood there in Mac's entryway, the reality of where they were suddenly very present.
"Do you want something to drink?" Mac asked, his voice slightly nervous. "I have water, or—"
Instead Rachel kissed him. This kiss was different from the ones at the rink. More urgent. Mac's back hit the wall, and Rachel pressed against him, her hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders.
"Rachel—" Mac's voice was rough. "Are you sure about this?"
"I'm sure I want to kiss you." She looked up at him, her heart pounding. "Is that okay?"
"That's very okay." Mac's hands found her waist, pulling her closer. "Come here."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers. Rachel made a soft sound, and Mac groaned in response, his hands moving from her waist to her back, pressing her flush against him so she could feel every inch of him.
They stumbled toward the couch, neither willing to break contact. Mac sat down and Rachel followed, climbing into his lap without thinking, straddling his thighs. Mac's hands immediately went to her hips, holding her there.
"Is this okay?" Rachel asked breathlessly.
"God, yes." Mac's voice was wrecked. "Very okay."
They kissed again, and Mac's hands slid under her sweater, warm against her skin. Rachel arched into the touch, rolling her hips, and felt him hard beneath her. Mac's grip tightened on her waist, a strangled sound escaping his throat.
"Rachel—" His voice was strained. "You're killing me."
"Good." She rolled her hips again, deliberate this time, and Mac's head fell back against the couch with a groan.
Rachel's hands found the hem of his shirt, hesitating. "Can I?"
"Please."
She pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, and for a moment she just looked at him. Mac, shirtless and flushed, muscles defined from years of hockey, looking at her like she was everything.
Her hands traced his chest, his shoulders, the curve of his arms. Mac watched her with dark eyes, his breathing uneven.
"Your turn," Mac said, his hands on the hem of her sweater.
Rachel nodded, and Mac pulled it off carefully. His eyes went dark as he took her in, in just her bra and jeans.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're so beautiful."
"Mac—"
He kissed her before she could protest, his hands on her back, pulling her against him so she could feel the warmth of his bare skin against hers. Rachel's fingers slid into his hair as she kissed him deeper, grinding down against him.
Mac's hands roamed her back, then slid up to cup her breasts through her bra. Rachel gasped against his mouth, arching into the touch.
"Is this okay?" Mac asked, his thumbs brushing over her nipples through the fabric.
