Finally, he slows down, grabs my hand, and pulls me backward so I’m facing him. We glide together, his fingers tangled with mine, the ice whispering under us. We don’t say anything. It’s just movement, breath, and the quiet of being together in this place that’s ours. Doing something that we’re both good at.
I thought skating would burn off the sexual tension from earlier, but I’m finding that’s not the case. I may have seen Luke skate before, but actually being on the ice with him, I can feel the power with each stride he takes. Without the padding on, I can see the way his muscles flex with the movements. I’m more worked up now than I was in the car earlier, and that’s saying a lot.
“You keep looking at me like that and I’m going to take you down to the ice.” His words penetrate the haze I was in. The one where I was imagining the way he would look with his broad shoulders between my thighs, his muscles flexing as he made me his. “Would you like that, Buttercup?” I lick my lips. I would, but I’m all sweaty.
“I’m kind of gross,” I admit.
“Shower it is,” Luke says, his voice rough. “They’ve got facilities here.”
I look at him. The shift hangs between us, playing to something else. Should I say yes? I want to, and I really don’t want fear to rule, so I jump.
“Okay.” Luke sucks in an audible breath. “Didn’t think I was going to say that?”
“Buttercup, I promise you keep me on my toes.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?”
“Both.” He takes my hand, leading us off the ice to remove our skates.
The locker room gleams with polished wood and brushed metal. There are individual stalls with nameplates and leather benches. The shower area is tiled in slate gray with several showerheads overhead. Glass panels separate each shower, frosted for privacy. Everything here feels expensive.
“Is this okay?” he asks as he flips a switch and the water comes on, cascading from above in wide sheets. He tests it with his hand, adjusts the temperature, and then turns to look at me. Really look.
I nod. “Yes. This is okay.”
He crosses the space between us, slow and deliberate. “I want to undress you. Can I?” I nod, fighting back shyness. “We only go as far as you want. Got it?”
“I got it, Luke.” I place my hand on his chest. “I trust you.” All of his actions toward me, while often a little over the top, are with the intent of not hurting me.
His fingers find the hem of my shirt and lift it over my head. His eyes track down my body, hungry and reverent. He unhooks my bra and slides it off my shoulders. Then my leggings, my underwear, kneeling to pull them down my legs. I stand there, exposed, and watch him watch me. I’ve never been naked infront of a man before. I thought I’d be uncomfortable, but the way Luke is looking at me has me anything but.
He stands and quickly sheds his own clothes; shirt over his head, revealing broad shoulders, defined abs, and the V of muscle cutting down his hips. I don’t miss the shadow of bruising along his ribs from playing such a physical sport. Hockey has made him powerful, every line of him hard and purposeful. He pushes off his pants and boxer briefs and stands before me, just as exposed.
And then I see it. His cock, thick and heavy against his thigh, way bigger than I expected, almost intimidating. I try not to stare, but my eyes keep drifting back, wondering how that could possibly fit inside me. He catches me looking, reaches down, and gives himself a slow stroke, smirking. I swear I almost come just watching. The ache between my thighs grows unbearable. The need for him is beyond anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice low.
I swallow, heat flooding my face. “It’s... a lot.”
He laughs softly and steps closer. “I’d never hurt you.” I believe him. He’d never want to hurt me.
Luke takes my hand and pulls me under the spray with him.
The water runs hot over my shoulders and my back. Luke reaches for the soap, lathers his hands, and starts with my shoulders. Slow. Thorough. Massaging me while washing me clean.
His rough palms slide down my arms, my sides, and my stomach. He covers every inch. Worshipful, almost. It’s a sweet torture that I’d sign up for every day. With each brush of his hand, my breasts start to feel heavier, my nipples hardening. The ache between my thighs is dying for Luke to stroke it away.
I take the soap from him and return the favor, taking my time to wash his chest, his shoulders, and the scar on his ribs I have never noticed before. Water streams over us, the onlysound besides our breathing in the room. The quiet somehow heightens the experience.
His fingers linger, making my breath catch. I can sense the shift before he sinks to his knees in front of me. I grip his shoulders as his hands grip my hips and press me back to the tiled wall.
Slowly he slides his hands over my hips and thighs. He bends down farther to wash my calves and my feet, then stays there. He looks up at me through the water streaming down his face.
I know what he’s asking without words.
“Luke—”
He doesn’t answer. He just sets the soap aside, his hands sliding back up my thighs, parting me. His mouth follows, hot and insistent. His tongue finds my clit, circling slowly and deliberately, and I gasp, fingers finding his shoulders and his hair.
