Pratt moved close, and he put two fingers under my chin, gently angling my chin toward him. Then he kissed me.
I’d been kissed in a lot of ways.
There was a guy in high school who kissed me while he was still half-watching a video game over my shoulder, like he didn’t want to lose his place. One guy was so careful that he waited for me to give permission.
There were the drunk ones in college, enthusiastic at first and then losing focus. Some kisses felt like a formality, something to get through before the real night could start.
When Pratt kissed me, he got it right. He was steady and didn't rush. When I pulled back slightly, he gave me the space and waited.
I pulled him closer by the front of his shirt. He came without resistance and took the hem of my shirt in his hand, tugging.
"That's a tactic," I said against his mouth.
"It works."
We moved to the bedroom without breaking contact. Pratt had one hand on my waist, guiding me through his internal map of my condo.
The backs of my knees hit the bed, and I sat. He stayed standing for a moment, looking at me in the low light from the hallway.
He took the hem of my shirt in both hands and pulled it over my head. Climbing onto the bed on his knees, he pushed me back and kissed the side of my throat, then the ridge of my collarbone.
I had to remember to breathe when his tongue trailed over my bare chest. I reached up and gripped his short hair.
He smiled and then pulled back to strip his shirt off. His chest and abs were lean and cut. It was the kind of body I didn't think I'd ever get to touch. They didn't show the goalie shirtless on TV.
I swung my legs around and pushed back toward the pillow. Pratt gripped my thigh and planted kisses down my stomach, unzipping my jeans in one clean motion.
He leaned back and looked at me. I'd been told I was easy on the eyes, which I'd always taken on faith. Nice to have confirmation from someone who knew what he was looking at.
He leaned forward, wrapped his fingers around my cock, and took me into his mouth. There was no preamble or checking in. Just his mouth, hot and wet, with a grip on my hip that communicated clearly that he had a plan.
I made a noise that had no dignity in it whatsoever.
He didn't rush or let his concentration wander. He found the exact pressure and angle that worked. Something he did with the flat of his tongue sent a sharp signal up my spine all the way to my back teeth. He repeated it—methodically.
It happened fast. He didn't push, but my body had its own schedule. "Pratt—I'm going to—"
He didn't stop, but he made a slight change, a fraction of difference in pressure and suction. It slowed me down—for a moment.
He pulled off, and I learned how to breathe again. I untangled my fingers from his hair and reached lower, but he pushed my hands over my head, anchoring them to the mattress with a goalie's grip.
My eyes opened wide. No one had done that with me in bed before. I started to say something, but I didn't get there. He stretched his body out and took me into his mouth again. It took him seconds to take me there, to the edge, where I both wanted to stay and couldn't bear the tension.
I came with my shoulders arched off the bed as far as his grip would allow. My entire body spasmed as I unloaded.
I lay there for a moment, fighting for a breath. Pratt and I had been through… something.
He moved up beside me. I turned my head and found him watching me. Was that a satisfied smirk? It wasn't a smile exactly, but it was in the same county.
"Okay," I said, when I could form words again. "That was—that was a complete sentence."
"Yes," he said.
I reached for his cock, wrapped my fingers around it, and his breathing changed immediately. He burrowed his face into my neck, his composure beginning to fracture.
I took my time the way he'd taken his, keeping my grip certain and my pace steady, but it didn't take him long. He gripped a shoulder with one hand and my hip with the other.
He came quietly with an undignified, decidedly sexy grunt. His fingers left marks on my hip.
