Across us, Coach turned Jace around.
Rook's grip on the chain tightened one more degree and then he eased it, slowly, the pressure releasing from my throat in increments until the collar sat neutral again.
“On your knees,” he said.
I went down smooth and immediate, the carpet soft against my shins through the stockings, and the chain fell forward off my collarbone and pooled in the space between us.
The smell of him this close was all sweat and clean skin and the particular scent of the rink that clung to him for hours after practice ended.
His free hand came down and traced the line of my jaw with one knuckle. I turned my face into the touch and pressed my lips to the inside of his wrist without being told.
“Start at the bottom,” he said.
I lowered myself further, bracing one palm on the floor, and brought my face down to the worn leather of his trainer. The laces were double-knotted the way he always tied them. The toewas scuffed in a specific place from the way he pushed off during drills. I knew this shoe. I'd seen it in the entryway a hundred times, lined up next to mine by the door.
I pressed my lips to the laces. I dragged my mouth slowly across the leather of the vamp, the material cool and slightly damp from practice, and the sound Rook made above me was barely there but I felt it in the tension that went through his thigh where my shoulder was pressed against it.
“Yeah,” he said, low. “Keep going.”
I kissed across the top of his foot to the outside seam and back, working slow, learning the shape of the shoe with my mouth the way I'd learned his body with my hands. My tongue traced the stitching along the side.
He stepped back from me without hurry, leaving the chain to pool on the carpet at my knees, and crossed to the corner of the room where the reading chair sat angled toward the windows. It was a heavy thing, leather and worn wood, the kind of chair that looked like it had been in this house longer than Rook had. He dragged it across the floor until it sat a few feet back from the window, facing the glass, and then he sat down in it with his legs spread wide and one forearm resting along the armrest.
“Come here,” he said.
I went down onto my hands.
The carpet was warm under my palms and the chain dragged along the floor with me as I moved, the sound of it sliding across the weave a small constant presence under my own breathing. I crossed the distance slow.
When I reached him I stopped between his knees and sat back on my heels and waited.
His hand came down and traced the side of my neck, thumb brushing along the edge of the collar, and then he tipped my chin up with two fingers and looked at me for a long moment.
“Finish what you started,” he said.
I bent and got my mouth back to the shoe I hadn't undone yet. The laces were tight against my teeth, and I worked them slow, feeling his eyes on the top of my head the whole time. The knot gave. The tongue of the shoe loosened. I pulled the laces free and Rook lifted his foot slightly and let me slide the trainer off and set it aside on the floor beside its partner.
I pressed my lips to the arch of his foot through the sock.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Pants next.”
I moved up.
My hands found the waistband of his training pants where they sat low on his hips, and I worked the drawstring loose with my fingers while keeping my eyes on his. He watched me do it without speaking, one elbow still on the armrest, the other hand resting loose on his thigh, and the attention in his face was complete and unhurried.
The drawstring came free. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband.
“Lift,” I said softly.
He lifted his hips off the chair and I pulled the pants down his legs in one slow drag, and he worked his feet free one at a time and let me set the pants aside on the floor. His boxers were black and snug and did absolutely nothing to hide how affected he already was, and I looked at the shape of him through the fabric for a beat too long before I caught myself.
“Leave those,” he said. Reading me. “Not yet.”
“Yes.”
I settled back on my heels between his bare thighs.
His hand came down and rested on top of my head, heavy and warm, fingers spreading through my hair once before going still. I could feel the pulse in his wrist where it pressed against my temple. He wasn't looking at me anymore. His eyes had moved past me to the window.
