When I come back to myself, he's watching me with a look of pure hunger.
He helps me get his jeans off, and then he's gloriously naked above me. I wrap my hand around his length and stroke him slowly, watching his face as pleasure washes over his features.
He pushes into me slowly. We both moan at the sensation. It’s been too long.
"Fuck, I missed this," he groans. "Missed you."
"Move," I beg. "Please move."
He does. He starts with slow, deep thrusts that have me gasping. But it's not enough. I need more. I need him to make me forget everything except this moment, except us.
The headboard starts hitting the wall with each thrust, but neither of us cares. His mouth finds mine, and we kiss messily, desperately, like we're trying to make up for all the lost time.
I can feel another orgasm building, tightening low in my belly.
A few more thrusts, and I'm gone, crying out his name as I come apart beneath him. I feel him stiffen, and then he's following me over the edge, burying his face in my neck as he finishes.
I curl into his side, my head on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat gradually slowing.
"So," he says after a while. “What now?”
I sigh. “Can we just take this one day at a time for now?”
Not exactly sexy pillow talk, but I want to be honest with him.
“For now, but we’re going to figure this out.”
I smile. “I believe you.”
A week later, and things are good. Mostly.
Declan and I exist in this strange, suspended state around each other. We’re not together, but we’re not apart. I haven’t slept with him since that night, but we have coffee in the morning. We hang out when I’m not working and he’s not at practice.
I don't let myself read too much into it. I try not to, anyway.
Trying to put a title on what we have is like rocking the boat. And I don’t want to do that right now. I like things easy. I need to focus on the upcoming game. I don’t want to be negative, but it’s very unlikely we’ll win. It will be the last game of my college hockey career, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“Hey,” Declan grabs my arm when I walk out of the bathroom.
“Hey, you.”
He gives me a quick kiss. “I’ll be at your game tonight.”
I laugh. “I’m sorry, it won’t be nearly as exciting as one of yours. I’m not sure I want you there.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re probably going to embarrass ourselves.”
“I’ll be there anyway, and then we’re going out to celebrate.”
“Celebrate our loss?”
“Celebrate the end of an amazing four years playing for Avalon.”
I kiss him. “Thank you. I will be looking forward to that when we’re getting our asses handed to us.”
I'm skating hard, pushing through the third period even though we're down by two and there are less than three minutes on the clock. My lungs burn, and my legs are screaming, but I don't let up. This is it—my last game. My last time wearing this jersey, skating on this ice with this team.
