Page 31 of Date With Skates

“I thought he didn’t speak French? That sounded like good French to me.”

I shake my head. “He knows enough, and the pronunciation comes naturally. But when he starts stringing sentences together, it’s a mess.”

A slow smile creeps across his face. “Then perhaps I should ask him for lessons.”

Fury rises up in my chest. I lean forward, holding his gaze steady as I smile.

“Ask him. Go ahead,” I say sweetly. “See what happens.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Hockey Boy,” I say with a laugh. “I don’t make threats. I make promises, and I always keep them.”

“Is that so?”

I shrug, playing it cool, even though inside I’m shaking.

“Besides, there’s only one thing you really need to know in French,” I say as I stand up.

“What’s that?” he asks, mischief alight in his eyes.

I lean forward, lowering my voice, and say, “Mon nom. Quand tu le cries.”

The look on his face is priceless, his eyes lighting up with excitement. I bet they’d get even more heated if he knew I said the only thing he needs to know in French is my name when he screams it.

Chapter Fifteen

Connor

I push Étienne’s face deeper into the mattress and fuck him harder, like he begged me to do just a second before.

“Connor,” he moans. “Fuck—”

“That’s right. Say my name as I fuck you good and hard, just the way you like.”

“Ne t'arrête pas,” he says breathily. “S'il vous plaît, ne vous arrêtez pas.”

I’ve never said out loud how much him speaking French turns me on, but he’s figured it out all on his own. Because he’s doing it on purpose. My lower stomach swirls with heat, my orgasm right there on the edge.

I shift my hand from his head to his shoulder, gripping it so I can pull him into me harder. He cries out, then turns his head to look at me. His eyes are watery, but nothing in them tells me he’s not enjoying this. A slow smile pulls at his lips.

“Donne-le-moi, garçon de hockey.”

I suck in a deep breath at his smart words, and the orgasm hits me like a freight train. My vision goes black, my ears ring, and my body feels like it’s burning from the inside out in the best way possible.

When my vision comes back, I see him looking up at me with a cocky look on his face. I reach for him, turning him to face me. It’s messy, my cock falling from his hole, my cum dripping between us. I get a quick glance at the puddle of his cum that he left on my bed—again.

I smash my lips to his, and he kisses me back just as frantically, like we can’t get enough of each other, even though we both just came. I touch him everywhere I can; his shoulders, neck, arms, face. I hold him still, taking everything I can from him. His fingers dig into my sides, his dick hard again; brushing against my stomach.

I don’t know why, but the kiss turns slower. Deeper. Passionate. Long strokes of his tongue, soft moans. I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him closer, wanting to feel every inch of his lithe body against mine. I cup his cheeks, kissing and kissing and kissing until we’re both breathless and our lips are raw.

We stare at each other, trying to catch our breaths, both panting, our chests covered in a layer of sweat and cum. Something passes between us, something more than the fucking we’ve been doing. Something more than being so turned on that I ravage him in a way that I feel bad about afterward, because I think I’ve been too rough. He promises me I’m not, that it’s perfect and exactly what he wants, but something in the back of my head still worries. He’s a lot smaller than me, and I could really hurt him if I am not careful…

He never looks or seems hurt, though, and he’s never complained. But it’s still a concern.

A slow smile crosses his lips until a small laugh bubbles from his throat. I smile back as he moves out of my touch and gets to his feet, reaching out for me to steady himself.

“We always make such a mess,” he says.