His cocky grin reappears, and with it the damned dimple. “I knew it.”
“That I’m bi?”
“That you like guys.” His mittened fists grab my jersey and his thigh presses into my groin. “That you likeme.”
In one smooth, clean move I roll over, taking him with me so our positions are reversed and he’s the one on the ice pinned beneath me.
“Not so cocky now, are you?”
“Oh, I’d say I’m very cocky.” He lifts his hips, arching into me so I can feel his hard-on against my thigh. “Growing cockier by the minute.”
Fuck. That’s his dick? It’s the size of a damn redwood. And not just any redwood. One of those huge, hundreds-of-year-old redwoods in California. I can’t imagine it getting any bigger. If it does, I’ll never be able to fit him inside my mouth. Or my ass.
Not that we’re there yet. I mean, there’s no way we’re fucking center ice. And we should probably at least make out first. Make sure we’re compatible. Although if his redwood dick—and my equally hard if not tree-trunk-worthy cock—are anything to go by, that’s not going to be a problem.
“Stop bragging about your monster cock and let me kiss you,” I growl.
“So you admit I have a monster cock.” He rolls his hips, grinding into me again.
Fucking tease.
I don’t answer, just give him a look that says,Zip it, or I’m going to fucking close that smart mouth for you.
“Fine, be that way,” he huffs, faking annoyance. But the truth is he’s enjoying our naughty back-and-forth as much as I am. It only heightens the anticipation. “You don’t have to tell me twice. Or I guess you do. But you don’t have to tell me a third time.”
He presses his lips together and makes a motion like he’s locking them up and throwing away the key. I’d laugh, but I’m too fucking far gone to do anything but lower my head and clamp my mouth over his.
He tastes like a mix of coffee, chocolate, and minty toothpaste, a combination that becomes even more intoxicating when he parts his lips to let my tongue inside his mouth. The kiss is lingering and leisurely, not rough or urgent. I don’t want to rush it. I’m too busy enjoying the contrast between the softness of his lips and his tight, firm body.
I’ve kissed guys before—a few, not a lot—but nothing like this. There’s no awkward fumbling. No furtive groping. No teeth clashing. This is a subtle, sensuous exploration, like we’re on a deserted island with all the time in the world to learn what turns each other on.
If the deserted island were at the North Pole and we were wearing hockey skates.
I close my eyes and let my other senses take over. The feel of his lips as they slip and slide against mine. The minty scent of his body wash mixed with the clean, crisp smell of the ice. The rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath me.
After what could be minutes or hours—I’ve lost all track of time and space—I break off the kiss, gasping for breath, and press my forehead to his. My cock throbs so bad that it’s painful, trapped in the prison of my cup.
“Shut the front door,” Kolby whispers, his warm breath teasing my cheek. “Puck Boy knows how to kiss.”
I don’t necessarily need a pat on the back to know I’m doing a good job. But it’s still nice to hear.
“Shut the front door?” I lift my forehead from his so I can look down at him. “Is that another of your substitute swears?”
He waggles his eyebrows. “You’re darn tootin’.”
“Exactly how many of those do you have?”
“You don’t want to know.”
But I do. I want to know everything about him. And that scares the shit out of me.
I start to roll off him, but he grabs my shoulders and pulls me back down, lifting his head up so our mouths meet. I may still be on top, but the balance of power has definitely shifted, and he’s the one in control.
His tongue swipes the seam of my lips, and now it’s my turn to open to him. I sigh into his mouth and try to press my body into his, frustrated that my damn pads and cup won’t let me get the full head-to-toe feel of him the way I want to.
He draws back, shaking his head and staring up at me with lust-glazed eyes. “I really like kissing you. But you know what I’d like even more?”
“What?” I croak, my dirty mind racing through the possibilities. Hand job? Blow job? I’m good with giving or receiving. Or both.
