I bit softly down on his bottom lip and tugged. Taylor groaned, opening for me, and I licked my way inside, my tongue twisting against his until he broke away to go explore, his hands and mouth moving over me.
His kisses grew more insistent, and our movements became more frantic. When he pushed up onto his palms, holding himself above me in a plank position, I immediately missed his weight.
His gaze traveled over my face, his expression turning worried. “I don’t want to fuck this up, Seb.”
“Not going to happen,” I rushed to assure him.
“I haven’t done this with … well, anyone else.” His voice dropped. “Just you.”
“No one?”
He shook his head. “I thought about it once, but chickened out. After, I told myself it was probably for the best. Thatnothing could ever be as good as what we had. I mean, maybe that’s just me …”
His honesty caught me off guard, and I rushed to assure him, “No, it was really good.”
Relief softened his features.
“Are you …”
I trailed off, unsure how to ask the question on the tip of my tongue. I’d tried being with women in both high school and college—tried to be someone I wasn’t. It had never worked.
But that was me, and I knew labels could be difficult for some people.
I watched his eyes, noting the moment he realized what I was asking.
“Oh. I’m definitely bi. But I’ve never actually been with a man, so … maybe no sex tonight?” He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, his expression uncertain.
It was that uncertainty that made me study him more carefully.
The years had sharpened his features, but when he bit his bottom lip that way, he looked exactly like the twenty-one-year-old who used to hover over me in my narrow dorm bed, unsure of what he was allowed to want. If he even understoodwhathe wanted.
The heat that had been building in me shifted into something gentler.
“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
If all Taylor wanted to do was kiss me until the sun came up, I’d enjoy every damn second of it.
Did I want more? Yes, always. But this was enough, too.
“Oh, I want this,” he said softly, lowering himself down so that our bodies came together again, grinding his cock against my inner thigh.
“Good,” I exhaled. “Because I want you, too.”
My fingers traced a thin scar that bisected his left eyebrow.
“Stick to the face during my rookie season,” he said, leaning into my touch. “Fifteen stitches. Hurt like a bitch.”
I hated the thought of him bleeding on the ice while someone stitched him back together.
A small smile tugged at his lips. “But I was back on the ice the next period.”
“Of course you were.”
That was the Taylor I remembered. Stubborn, determined. The same guy who’d played an entire game with a bruised rib, barely able to breathe, because the team needed him.
My thumb drifted to his mouth, tracing the shape of his bottom lip. There was a small scar there too, barely visible. I wondered how many marks he carried that I’d never gotten to learn.
“I’ve missed this mouth.”
