Page 67 of Iced Out

“Being reckless,” I surmise with a playful smirk.

He wipes the water from his face and shakes his head, a mixture of irritation and panic painting his expression. “Someone could’ve seen you.”

“Just relax,” I soothe, keeping my voice low. “I checked to make sure no one saw. Most of them are gone already as it is, and by the time I’m nice and squeaky clean, they all will be.”

He gives me a wary look, one clearly stating he doesn’t believe me.

“I promise, it’ll be fine. Just keep your voice down and no one will be the wiser.”

It takes a second, but for once, he nods. The tension in his shoulders melts away before my eyes, and he lets out a sigh.

“You scared the crap outta me,” he says, his voice a gruff whisper.

I let out a soft laugh and step into his space, my hands itching to touch him. “I had no idea.”

“Okay, smartass.”

I grin more as he grabs the body wash, handing it over to me. He watches for a second as I lather the soap in my palms before he steps out from under the spray. Thinking he’s about to dry off and leave—which makes little to no sense if he’s concerned about blowing our cover—I pivot.

“Stay. Less likely for people to catch us,” I say, not letting myself second-guess the reasoning. Because as much truth is behind it, I just want to be near him and in his presence. Feel the electricity humming between us whenever we’re this close to each other.

I’m already as addicted to that feeling as I am to being on the ice.

“You think I’m about to pass up this show?” A slow smile creeps over his lips as his eyes rake up and down my naked body. “Not a chance, de Haas. I was just getting out of the way to get a better view.”

My cock perks up at the want dripping in his voice, and I’m instantly filled with annoyance about the other guys still milling around the locker room.

Not that we’d be fooling around even if it was empty.

Oakley’s been a stickler with this hooking up stuff, and since we don’t have a game tomorrow, neither of us will be getting off. With each other, at least, because I know he won’t touch me tonight. Even if I begged him to take me in his fist or his mouth, he wouldn’t.

But from the way I feel him staring at me while I lather his body wash over my chest, it’s clear I’m gonna have to partake in some solo action when I get home later. He’s got me all kinds of keyed up from looking alone.

Watching like a voyeur.

And apparently he’s into it, because his cock thickens as my hands move down to my crotch, cleaning my own dick. I fight the temptation to start stroking, but only just.

Waves of want and desire flow through me at breakneck speeds. It’s so strong, I have to turn away from him to rinse off. Turn away so I can’t see the need written on his face or the way his cock—hard and standing at attention—waits for me to drop to my knees.

My eyes sink closed as I try to rein myself in.

Damn him.

Damn him for being so fucking...hard to resist.

To the point where I don’t even know why I’m bothering—

“I’m fucking obsessed with this,” he mutters, cutting into my thoughts. His fingertips trace over the lines of the tattoo covering most of my back in a featherlight touch. “It’s so sexy.”

The grin taking over my face is instant, even though he can’t see it.

It’s not the first time I’ve caught Oakley looking at my ink by any means—he’s asked me about plenty of them—but he’s never voiced his opinion on them before. And call me vain, but it feels good.

Two large hands slide over my wet skin, down each side until they reach my hips, leaving trails of heat in their wake that have nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

“I thought you were staying in here towatch?” I point out.

“Couldn’t without touching you.”

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