"One bad night isn't the problem. A pattern is."
"Then don't let tonight become one. Come back tomorrow as Heath Donnelly, line one winger."
"Okay," I said.
I crossed the kitchen, stopping close enough to Kieran to place my hand flat against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat through the cotton.
"I need to not be in my head for a while."
Kieran put his hand over mine. His fingers closed around my knuckles.
"Then don't be."
He kissed me. Slow. His mouth tasted like the beer and the salt-clean taste I'd learned over weeks of exploration. I let him set the pace for five seconds, and then something in me unlocked and I took over.
I kissed him the way I'd wanted to all night. Since the first turnover.
He didn't resist. His body recalibrated, the way it did on the ice, reading where I was going and adjusting before I arrived. He put his hands on my hips, thumbs hooking into the belt loops of my jeans as I walked him backward out of the kitchen.
Kieran's bedroom was dark except for the city and the glow of a small aquarium on the nightstand. At twelve floors up, Chicago didn't leave you alone. Light from the skyline bled through the blinds in long horizontal bars across the bed and the far wall.
I undressed him piece by piece. The hem of the shirt gathered in my fists as I pulled it up over his head, causing that brief blindness of fabric across his face before it cleared and I saw his eyes again.
The drawstring of his sweats required me to press my knuckles against the flat muscles of his stomach to unknot it. The waistband slid almost soundlessly over his hips.
What remained was Kieran, bare, breathing harder than he wanted me to notice.
I pulled my shirt off. He reached for my belt, unbuckling it with steady fingers.
We fell onto the bed together. The sheets were cool against my overheated skin, and Kieran's body was warm everywhere I pressed against him: chest, hips, and the hard length of his thigh pushed between my legs.
I took my time. Kissed his jaw first, my lips and tongue tracing the outline, over a faint rasp of stubble. I explored the hollow at the base of his neck with my tongue.
Down the center of his chest, my hands flat on his ribs, feeling them expand as his breathing sped up. His stomach contracted when I kissed below his navel, the muscles pulling tight beneath my lips.
When I reached the inside of his thigh, his back arched, and he made a soft sound, part grunt and part moan. I placed a hand firmly on his hip, holding him in place.
His cock was hard, and I took the head into my mouth. Slow. Unhurried. A tremor ran through his body as I bobbed my head forward and back.
He reached out to rake his fingers through my hair and grip it tightly in a fist. I worked him with my tongue and the tight, wet drag of my lips. His thigh tensed against my shoulder.
When his fingers tightened in my hair, he didn't try to guide me. He was holding on.
I hollowed my cheeks and took him deeper, wrapping my fingers around the base of his cock. An involuntary flex raced through his body.
When he came, it was against the back of my throat, his hips lifting. His entire body vibrated against me as he growled, "Fuck."
I stayed through it. Let him finish. Let the aftershock run through his legs while I pressed my mouth to the crease of his thigh.
He pulled me up. Kissed me hard.
Kieran rolled me onto my back, pressing me into the mattress, his body covering mine. The full length and breadth of him pinned me in place. He was carrying the load now, and my eyes burned at the corners.
He wrapped his fingers tight around my cock, sweeping his thumb across my exposed head with each stroke. He watched my face while he increased the speed, reading the shifts in my breathing.
I didn't try to be quiet. Low, guttural sounds came from my diaphragm. I arched my hips into his hand.
I came with one hand reaching out, gripping the back of his neck.
