I take a step toward the bed. “Is that an invitation?”
“Do you need one?”
It’s the sexiest fucking game of Questions Only I’ve ever played. But my dick is done with games. It wants action.
“No.” I shrug my jacket off and let it fall on the floor. My shirt is next, then I kick off my shoes and slip my thumbs under the waistband of my track pants.
“Wait.”
I let out a frustrated groan. “What now?”
He crooks a finger, beckoning me closer. “You’re too far away. I can’t see the show from all the way over here.”
“You’re the show-off, babe. Not me.”
“I’m sure you meant to say showstopper.” He lets one leg hang off the edge of the bed, proving his point by giving me even more of an exhibition as he continues to stroke himself. “But don’t sell yourself short, Puck Boy. You do a hell of a striptease.”
I glance around the room. The lights are off, but he’s got candles everywhere. On the desk, the bureau, the nightstand. There’s even one in the shape of a maple leaf on the windowsill. He must have brought them from the bookstore. Their warm glow casts rippling shadows on the walls. “Maybe if you turned on a light instead of relying on candles, you’d be able to see better.”
“I was trying to set the mood.”
“What mood is that?” I tease, moving closer to him, my thumbs still hovering around my waistband. “Fire hazard?”
“I’m trying to be romantic, Puck Boy.”
“So Tate was right.”
“About what?”
“He said you were planning some sort of grand romantic gesture, like in the movies.”
“I don’t know if this is movie-level quality—X-rated, maybe—but that’s the general idea.”
“You know you don’t have to try so hard. I already like you.”
“Maybe I want to try hard.” The hand on his cock slows and he does that lip-biting thing that’s ridiculously hot but also tells me he’s nervous about whatever he’s going to say next. “Maybe I want you to more than like me.”
I’m already way past like, but the words stick in my throat. So I decide to show him how I feel, peeling off my track pants and boxer briefs and covering his naked body with mine.
He lets out a soft “oof” as I land on him. I start to roll to one side, worried that I’m crushing him, but he wraps his legs around my waist, locking them at the ankles and trapping me right where I am. Right where I want to be.
I raise myself up on my elbows. “I don’t want to crush you.”
“You’re not. I like the way you feel.” His free hand comes up to circle my biceps. “You’re so much bigger than I am.”
“Not everywhere,” I say, rocking my dick into his so he knows exactly which body part I’m talking about.
“You know what I mean. It’s all those hockey muscles.”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing. That’s one of my favorite things about sex with Kolby. We laugh. A lot. And it’s not oh-my-God-this-is-awkward laughter. It’s holy-fuck-this-is-fun laughter. “That’s kind of the problem.”
He laughs with me, the warmth of his breath skating over my cheek and ruffling the hair behind my ear. “Not from where I’m standing. Or lying.”
“Promise you’ll tell me if I’m hurting you.”
“You won’t, but I promise.”
He surprises me by letting go of his cock and grabbing mine, wrapping his fingers around the head and squeezing. It’s not fair. Two seconds in and I’m hard as iron, almost ready to blow. And that’s not how I want this night to end.
