Just this.
He shifts suddenly, and before I can fully process it, his hands drop to my hips and he lifts me clean off the ice.
I gasp against his mouth, breaking the kiss for half a second. “Ty?—”
He doesn’t let me go.
“Hold on,” he murmurs, already moving.
My legs instinctively wrap around him, anchoring myself as he skates, smooth and steady even with me pressed against him. His hands slide up to my thighs, firm, fingers flexing just enough to keep me there. I feel it everywhere, the heat of his grip sending a sharp, fluttering rush straight through me. It knocks the breath right out of me for a second, turning it into a laugh before I can stop it.
One of my hands grips his shoulder, the other still tangled in his hair, holding on maybe a little tighter than necessary now, and I can’t even pretend I’m not laughing, breathless and a little wild.
“This feels like a terrible idea,” I say, even as I lean back in.
“Yeah?” he says, like he doesn’t believe that for a second.
But we don’t stop. We don’t slow.
His mouth finds mine again, and this time there’s nothingcareful about it. There’s heat and want and something that’s been building since the second he texted me on Sunday and finally snapped into place. By the time we reach the bench, I’m already gone for it.
He sets me down, so I’m sitting on the edge, and he steps between my knees like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Still a bad idea?” he asks, voice rougher now.
I don’t even pretend to think about it. “No.”
He kisses me again, hands braced at my waist, pulling me forward until I’m right there at the edge of him. My arms slide around his neck, closer now, easier, like we’ve already crossed whatever line there was to cross.
There’s a rhythm to it now—less rushed, but no less intense. Like we’re both aware this isn’t just a moment anymore. He doesn’t give me space to second-guess it.
Not when I’m already leaning into him. Not when his hands are still at my waist, pulling me forward like he’s already decided this is where I belong.
I shift on the bench, and he follows, sitting down in front of me in one smooth motion. Somehow, without either of us really thinking about it, we end up facing each other, knees brushing, then closer?—
Closer.
My legs slide around him, instinct taking over, and his hands tighten at my hips like he’s anchoring me there.
“Vivian…” he murmurs, but it doesn’t sound like a warning this time.
I don’t answer. Instead, I kiss him again.
Slower now, but deeper. Like we’ve both settled into it, like we’re not rushing anymore because there’s nowhere else we need to be.
His hands move, one sliding up my back, the other still steady at my waist, and I feel the flex in him when I tip my head to one side, giving him the space without even realizing I’m doing it.
His mouth trails from mine, warm against my skin as he brushes a kiss along my jaw. Then lower.
My breath catches.
“Ty…” It comes out softer than I mean it to.
He doesn’t stop.
His lips drag slowly down the side of my neck, not rushed nor careless. It’s like he’s paying attention to every single reaction. Like he’s learning me in real time.
My eyes close before I can stop them, my fingers tightening at the back of his neck as I lean into it, into him, into the way everything suddenly feels a little too good and not nearly enough at the same time.
