Page 66 of Born of Ice

“Yep, I’ll make a Marvel fan out of you, little star. But please don’t drool over Captain America too much, okay?”

None of what he’s saying makes sense, but the movie starts, and he shushes me to stop talking, motioning to the screen.

I’ve never watched anything like this. Action and fantasy or whatever you call this wasn’t my thing. Romance? Sure. But even those I watched maybe once every few months. Erik wasn’t a fan of anything, preferring to have friends over for his fancy cocktail hours and all that or we were simply training nonstop, yet as minutes pass, the scenes flashing on the screen in front of me, I find myself eating it up.

And I didn’t even flinch at the memory of my ex’s name…

Exton makes little comments here and there, helping me understand what’s going on since he apparently watched the first Captain America a few times already and every time there is an intense moment on the screen, his hand that is still on my legs squeezes them.

I can’t feel the action itself, but I’m very much aware of it. My whole body is.

I keep expecting him to pull away, to move into a more comfortable position, but the longer the movie is going the more familiar he gets, gliding the palm of his hand over my thighs, massaging my weak muscles like he did in the gym this morning. And the gesture sends a ripple of tinges over my skin.

“So, you like it? The best parts are coming soon,” he says halfway through the movie, pulling my thoughts back into the right gear.

“I think I can get behind this movie.”

“Yeah? The plot is really good, right? And all the effects! It gets better and better with each movie,” he asks with excitement, and I almost feel bad when I add, “Mm-hmm, Captain America is hot! I can watch that bare chest all day and night long.” And the smile on his face falls so fast it’s almost comical. I’m downright holding in my laugh when he pinches me, sending a glare my way.

“Maybe I shouldn’t show you Thor then, you are already drooling all over your shirt,” he grumbles, and I roll my lips tohide my smile at his petty tone. “Didn’t get that reaction whenIwas shirtless,” he adds in a hushed voice, but I catch it anyway and my breath hitches.

Is he…jealous? But no, he’s just joking because Exton Quinn couldn’t care any less if I look athimlikethat.

“I am not,” I protest, going back to where I’m comfortable but before I can say another word, Exton leans into me, eyeing me like a predator in a wild jungle. I feel his hand inching toward my mouth as the slightly rough pads of his fingers drag down my bottom lip in agonizingly slow motion, as if he is feeling every crack and groove on it.

My mouth parts in shock, or at least I hope it’s shock and not something entirely different but still, Exton’s eyes are now glued to my mouth, his breathing slightly faster than it was a second ago.

“See? Drooling.” His voice is gruff like gravel as he pulls his fingers off my lips and my gaze falls on his thumb where sure enough and to my utter embarrassment, there is a drop of saliva on it.

Only, I’m not so sure it’s for Chris Evans. Without thinking, I sink my teeth into the lip he just touched and my mouth floods with his taste. A shudder runs through me. As something shakes him as well.

What the hell is going on with me? Why do I have such a reaction to this lunatic all of a sudden? I close my eyes for a second, trying to get my bearing when I hear Exton growling.

“Electra.”

I don’t know what that means. Why he’s saying my name like that, as if he’s the one in pain and I don’t want to know. I don’t need another disappointment in my life when I’m just somewhat climbing out of the last one.

“I promise to keep my drool to a minimum, but now you must show me this Thor guy, I need some new material for my lonely nights.” I go back to what’s familiar. To jokes and taunts.

Exton doesn’t respond though and we both turn our attention back to the movie as I will my body to calm down which is hard, because Exton never took his hand off me. In fact, he moved it up, to my upper thigh and holds it as one would hold his woman’s with his hand sneaking in between both legs and holding me protectively.

That same hand that has bandages over it.

By the time the credits are rolling, I’m begging Exton to turn on whatever movie is up next, and he grumbles some more about creating a monster, but indulges me anyway.

It’s almost three AM when my attention is pulled away from the movie when I see his hand twitching on my leg, followed by a soft snore. I look over and find my burly hockey player asleep, his mouth parted and his face peaceful.

A smile tugs on my lips at the sight. Such a conundrum, this guy is. Every time I think I’ve got him figured out, he proves me wrong and that would be okay, if all those sides wouldn’t be pulling me into him like a moth to a flame.

A stupid moth that will burn in his fire, or rather, an ice cube that will become a puff of air after he leaves, yet my hands reach out to him nonetheless as my own fingers lightly brush away that stray curl that keeps falling over his face.

It’s soft and warm and comforting.

Exton doesn’t stir at my light touch, making me feel bolder and infinitely more stupid. I lace my fingers deeper into his strands, running them through the dark, curly mess until I hear a soft purr come from his throat.

I startle, pulling my hand away but he seems to be chasing it because he is slipping down, his body falling past my legs, following the retreating fingers while he’s sound asleep andbefore I realize what’s happening, Exton is sprawled over my body, his face just above my waistline and I’m not breathing.

Oh my God…

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