Page 35 of Gravity
“I told you the truth on the way up here. I don’t know if I’m straight. I never met anyone who made me wonder, and maybe that’s because I hadn’t met you yet.”
“You also said I was your hero. That's what you felt, that’s all. It was just hero worship.”
“Maybe that first night, yeah. I was totally starstruck. But then I metyou. Not the Bryce Michel on my poster or the rookie who blew my world.You. And I’m…” His eyes search mine, and again, his thumb brushes across my cheek. “I am head over heels foryou.”
It’s like we’re back in Vegas. Fractional light falling on our faces. Our eyes locked, desperate questions racing between us.
Is this really happening? Here, in the far reaches of the province, out on the lonely upland, in the middle of a snowstorm that’s stranded us in thisdépanneur? My eyes close because I can’t keep looking at him. He looks too much like he does in my dreams when my imagination of him whispers, “Je te desire. Mon coeur bat la chamade pour toi.”
“You asked what it all means,” he says. “I didn’t know then, but I think I do now. I think we were meant to find each other, and I think we were meant to do this all together. Everything. Play this game, live our lives. Be us. That’s what I want, Bryce. I want you. I want to bewithyou, on the ice and off. I’ve held you after a goal, but now I want to hold you like this. And… more.”
His cheeks are rose red and his pupils are blown wide, like he’s staring at something—someone—he desires. But he’s looking at me.
Impossible. This isimpossible.
I grasp his wrists and squeeze. Feel his pulse pound beneath my fingers. “S'il te plaît. Please. Please,mon chéri.” I’m babbling, and I don’t know what I’m asking for.Please let this be true. Please be certain. Please don't hurt me.Please, please.
“Kiss me again,” Hunter whispers. “Please, kiss me, Bryce.”
Les rêves deviennent-ils réalité? My hands move from his wrists to his cheeks, and I mirror the way he’s holding me. Hands cupping his face, thumbs brushing over his skin. His lips part, and the bottom trembles as he exhales. His pulse leaps at his throat below his jaw. I did that. Me, my touch.
My thumb drops and traces his lower lip. He kisses the pad, feather-light.
I close the distance between us. My eyes never leave his. A breath away, I feel him whisper, “Bryce—”
And then my lips are on his, and we are kissing.
This time, Hunter’s lips part beneath mine, and his hands slide into my hair. He pulls me into him like he needs this kiss to keep him alive.
We move from sweet to fevered in a moment. Need slams into me, and I have to touch him, have to feel him. My hands move over him, down, slipping beneath his shirt. My fingers play over his belly, over his hips and the waistband of his pants.
He groans, and hauls me even tighter into his arms. Then he’s moving, walking me backward, taking us to the nest of sleeping bags we made.
We can’t stop kissing, not even to shed our hoodies. My lips move over cotton as I tear mine over my head. A second later, he flings his away, and we come back together and collapse onto the air mattress. Dust billows and the plastic squeals. We’ve probably blown the duct tape right off the American’s shitty patch job.
Hunter pushes me back and slides his legs between mine as he rests on top of me.Mon Dieu, this, this is what I have dreamed of. A man in my arms, a man above me, his weight against me.Non, not just any man. Hunter. I have dreamed of Hunter.
I want him to kiss me forever, but his lips leave mine, and then return on my jaw and neck. He trails kisses down to my collar bone, and his hands slide beneath my shirt and run up my ribs until he peels the fabric over my head.
Another kiss to my lips, and then to the center of my chest. These are slow, gentle, and careful. He rests his cheek over my heart and closes his eyes. “Je t’adore,” he whispers.
“Tu parles français?”
“I’m learning.” A kiss to my shoulder. “I want to speak French with you.” Another kiss. “I want to do everything with you.”
He is going to ruin me. I hook my leg around his hips and tug him to me, then work his shirt over his head. Dark hair covers his chest, spreading from pec to pec. I sit up to bury my face in it.
This is my first time doing what I’ve dreamed of, of being skin to skin—lips to skin—with another man. I bite down on the curve of his muscle, and then slide my tongue across his nipple. He holds me to him, and then tears me away with a curse. He’s on me again, kissing me, covering me. I capture his moan inside me and hold it in my heart.
I’m so hard I’m dizzy. Harder than I’ve ever been in my life, and I’m grinding against Hunter like a cat in heat. He’s hard, too, and he thrusts against my thigh as our kisses burn out of control. His hands are everywhere, all over my body, traveling across my chest and down to my jeans and then back up to cradle my cheek. I can’t get enough of him, and we make out like this—shirtless, kissing, and thrusting—until I feel like I’m about to faint.
He slides his hand down the front of my jeans and cups his hand around my aching cock.
Our kiss breaks. We stare into each other’s eyes. No man has ever touched me like this.
“Is this okay?” he breathes. His lips are swollen, his cheeks red and stubble-scratched.
That is something my dreams didn’t prepare me for. Beard burn on his cheeks, from me. I had no idea at all how it would feel to see him wearing my desire.
