“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I want this too.”
That’s all he needs to hear. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me like he’s been starving for it, like the three days since the conference room have been three years. I kiss him back with the same desperation, my hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer and hold him tight against me.
This isn’t like the other times. This is slower, more deliberate. Like we have time to explore what’s between us.
His hands slide under my practice jersey, and I shiver at his touch. His skin is warm against mine, and the calluses on his palms from years of handling hockey equipment rough against my skin.
“Take it off,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I pull my jersey over my head. He does the same with his shirt, and then we’re skin to skin. His heart races in time with mine.
“Fuck,” he breathes, running his hands over my shoulders, down my arms. “You’re so... ”
“So what?”
“Perfect.”
He backs me against a rack of equipment, his mouth finding the sensitive spot on my neck that makes me gasp. His cock is thick and hard against my hip, and it makes me crazy knowing he wants me as much as I want him.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“You. However I can have you.”
“Take me any way you want.”
“Dangerous words,” he says.
“I trust you.”
He pulls back to look at me, and pain flickers in the depths. “You shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to hurt you. Not because I want to, but because I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Not always.”
“Then make one now. Choose this. Choose me.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as we can.”
He stares at me for a long moment. The safe choice versus the honest one.
“Okay,” he says finally.
“Okay?”
“Okay. For as long as we can.”
He kisses me again, and this time there’s something different about it. Something that feels like a promise.
