Page 28 of Melting the Ice

You’re so wrong.

It feels fucking amazing.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“We could . . .uh . . .keep doing it.”

“I want to.”I want you. As crazy as it sounds. As crazy as it seems.

“You’re not—” Brody paused, chewing his bottom lip, red and wet from Dean’s mouth.Let me do that. I wanna do that, to you.“You’re not drunk, are you?”

Dean realized it had never occurred to him that any of this was happening because of the handful of shots and the two or three beers they’d drunk over the course of the party and then after returning to their apartment. He was more relaxed, sure, and less up his own ass. But that might also be because he genuinelydidn’t have anywhere else he needed to be, and that was an intoxicatingly freeing feeling.

But maybe Brody was. Maybe that was why Brody had suggested it in the first place.

Shit.

“No,” Dean said. “Are you?”

“No, no,” Brody said hurriedly. “No. I just . . .maybe I was a little tipsy when we got back here. Like calm. Relaxed. But not—not like that. That’s not why I said anything, I just wanted to make sure—”

“No, I’m not drunk,” Dean agreed.

God, he’d just been about to tuck Brody underneath him and really kiss him, to make out with him and touch him and he hadn’t even double-checked that he wasn’t too drunk to consent.

Of course, he hadn’tseemeddrunk, but the possibility sobered Dean up anyway. Brought him up short.

“Oh good. God, sorry, the thought just occurred to me, but obviously, someone like you, someone your size . . .” Brody laughed, self-consciously, gesturing up and down Dean’s body. “A couple of tequila shots wouldn’t be enough.”

“No,” Dean said. “But I should’ve—”

“Stop.No,” Brody interrupted, his voice firm and sure, before he could go down that road. “I want this.”

Good. Me too.

He could’ve said the words; probablyshould’vesaid the words.

Instead he kissed Brody. No hesitancy. No holding back. Poured everything he didn’t know how to say into it.

Like dry kindling, Brody caught fire and kissed him back, fiercely, tongue slipping into his mouth. Then suddenly, they were making out, and Dean was losing himself to the push and pull of their mouths, to the feeling of Brody’s hands skimming over his body. His chest, his shoulders, his stomach, his thighs. Feeling nearly every inch of him.

Every inch but one.

Not that he was averse tojustkissing, but his dick was so rock-hard in his jeans, he felt like he might spontaneously combust if Brody touched him—even by accident—or if hedidn’ttouch him.

But Brody kept studiously ignoring it, fingers skating around his cock so deliberately it had to be on purpose.

There weren’t many thoughts left in Dean’s brain—or much blood, honestly—but he reminded himself that they could just dothis, mouths moving together, hot and easy. That was fine.

Hadn’t he just told Wes a few weeks ago that sex was kind of overrated?

Sex did not feel overrated now.

Sex felt like something he craved so badly he thought he might cry if he didn’t get it.

No. No. It’s fine. You’re just gonna enjoy this, exactly the way it is.

He trailed his hand down Brody’s back. It was strong and firm with muscle, and Dean wanted more. Without even thinking about it too hard—or thinking about it at all—he slipped his hand up Brody’s shirt, reveling in the feel of his skin, all those muscles shifting underneath his touch.

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