Page 45 of Iced Out

But we still have another week and a half of classes, practices, and games to go, so I’m refusing to let my thoughts linger on it.

Instead, I shift my focus to the present and the naked man in front of me, about to redress after our latest roll in his sheets. My eyes trace over the sculpted muscles of his back, covered in intricate artwork, until I reach his smooth, bare ass. I can still see the faint imprint of my palm from where I was squeezing one cheek earlier while he fucked my face.

Yeah, I’m definitely gonna miss this view.

A classic side effect of really good sex. The top-tier, mind blowing kind of sex that can only happen when the chemistry between two people hits just right. Everything about the person becomes addicting.

Plus, this little theory has made us a lot more fluid with each other—both on and off the ice. It’s like we thought; we’re literally fucking out our aggression with each other, and now we can sort of get along.

But only sort of.

“I can feel you staring at me like a piece of meat,” Quinton chides, not even sparing me a glance as he slides a pair of athletic shorts on, sans underwear. Something he does a lot, and it’s far sexier than it should be. Or is fair, when he turns, and I catch the way the waistband hangs low on his hips, revealing the damn V that never fails to get my dick stirring.

And the tattoos.

Those. Fucking. Tattoos.

I’ve never been into tatted guys, at least to the extent Quinton has covering his body. In fact, I used to think they made him look like a delinquent, only adding to his reckless attitude and persona. Now, after getting to see each piece of art up close and running my tongue over each line inking his skin, I realize I was wrong, and tattoos are now my new kink. At least with him.

The ram’s skull across the top of his back and shoulders is sexy as hell. It’s more of a sketched style of artwork, the linework messy but the shading and depth created in it is impeccable. And as for why a ram…well, it’s because he’s an Aries.

Sometimes it really is that simple.

Maybe it’s why I like them, though. Because I can see little pieces of who he is through the artwork painted across his body. Tiny snippets into who he is inked on his skin for the world to see.

Out of them all, my favorite is the piece on his thigh. It’s a fractured old-fashioned clock—the kind with Roman numerals for the numbers. All the inner workings, the gears and mechanics hidden within, peek through the gaps of broken pieces, and the little shards were made to look like they’re piercing his skin.

I’ve never asked him about it, but I can tell there’s a meaning to it every time I touch or trace over it.

A sock hits me in the face out of nowhere, interrupting my eye-fucking session.

“I’m not a piece of meat,” he says again, but the playfulness in his voice tells me he doesn’t give two shits about me ogling him. From the way I see him flex his ass, he’s actually enjoying it.

“Mmm,” I hum, the rumble coming from deep within my chest. “Disappointing because you look good enough to eat.”

“Glad to know you really are attracted to me.” He chuckles. “I was worried there for a second.”

My brows knit as I continue to watch him move around the room. “What? Of course I am. Why would you think I wasn’t?”

He glances up at me from where he was bending to grab a shirt off the floor, giving me one of thoseget real, Reedlooks. Brows raised and all.

“It’s not like you made this whole”—he waves his arms around—“situationship easy. If anything, the roles should have been reversed and you should’ve been the one chasing me, since you knew you were into dudes. At least, that’s the way it happens in the movies and shit. The gay guy falling for his straight friend—”

“No one’s falling and we’re not friends.”

His face hardens slightly before the snark comes out. “Ah, yes. See, this is exactly what I mean. Why would you ever give me something like affection when you can keep being hostile?”

I smirk and give a single nod. “Now you’re catching on.”

That earns me an eye roll. “As I was saying…I had to practically beg you to get in bed with me, and even when you agreed, youstillalmost bitched out at the last minute.” He pauses, shrugging his tee on over his head, leaving his hair a tousled, sexy mess. “I thought maybe you weren’t attracted to me. You know, the wholehe’s just not that into youthing.”

“Definitely not.” I lean back against the wall, grinning. “Guess I just needed a bit more convincing.”

A returning grin appears on his lips, and it’s filthy. His eyes are heated as he stalks over to where I’m sprawled on his bed, not stopping until he’s climbed over me and straddling my waist. My dick takes immediate notice of this new positioning, and even though it hasn’t been more than twenty minutes since he came all over Quinton’s chest, he’s definitely a fan of getting a round two in before going home.

Too bad it’s probably against the rules.Myrules, but still.

“Or,” he says, palms landing against the wall on either side of my head, “you just wanted me to work for it.”

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