Page 47 of Cold as Ice

That certainty was fading by the second.

Not when Elliott raised up on his toes, stretching out that long, lean form as he searched for one last thing. His skin was milky white and strong, muscle bunching underneath it. It looked soft.You want to touch it. Touch him. All over.

A creaking noise surprised Mal, and he realized he’d fisted the edge of the bench and it was protesting at the strength of his grip.

“Here we go,” Elliott said, turning around finally. His gaze was full of concern. Soft with it, but there was that same challenging spark of heat, too.

The one that Mal always saw when he looked at him.

He’d always told himself he didn’t like it. That he didn’t want to be challenged.

But maybe he did.

“Turn a bit,” Elliott said, and just as Mal complied, he reached out and tugged down the waistband of Mal’s underwear.

Not all the way. But nearly enough.

Mal yelped in surprise.

“Sorry,” Elliott said, but the corner of his mouth was upturned, and he didn’t look sorry at all.

Then he was crowding in close, ointment on his fingers that he soothed over the spot in question. He was practically between Mal’s legs, Mal’s gaze glued to the top of his head.

His hair was brown. Or else Mal had always thought it was. But it was more than brown too, with hints of red and blond running through it. Elliott kept it cropped pretty close, but there was enough of it that he could easily reach out and tangle his fingers in it . . .

No. No. No, you won’t.

The bench creaked again.

“Sorry,” Elliott repeated. “Trying to be gentle.”

Like Mal was actually losing his mind overpain.

Well, it did fucking hurt. If Elliott looked down, he’d get a full view of how much unrequited pain Malcolm was in. All that arousal, going nowhere.

Elliott was actually pretty good at this. Finished putting on the ointment and then stuck a thin pad against it. Expertly tore off a piece of tape with his teeth and then secured the bandage with it.

“There,” Elliott said, taking a step back, “that’s better.” He reached down and tugged the waistband carefully over the spot, eyes never leaving Mal’s.

And they twinkled, practically, with mischief and care and something else.

Mal knew he was trembling. So horny that if Elliott touched him one more time, he might not be responsible for what happened next.

Elliott’s gaze finally drifted down, not to his cock but to his lips.

It would be easy, Mal told himself.You could just give in. Lean in. Find out why all these boys pant after him.

Except that Malcolm had never, ever wanted to be one in a long line of suckers.

He’d pathetically hoped, a very long time ago, that he might be special. He hadn’t been. Learned the hard way that maybe he wouldn’t be.

But then, if he really believed that was true, why hadn’t he ever broken this standoff with his body?

Mal didn’t know.

“You good?” Elliott asked, tongue flicking out and wetting his lips. They were moist, now. They looked as soft as the rest of him.

“Uh . . .” Mal didn’t know how to speak. Heard the roughness in his throat. Tried to clear it. Once. Twice. “I’m good.” The moment dragged on. Mal wondered why Elliott didn’t just lean in and take. He wanted to. At least Malwantedhim to want to, and he never really had before.

---