Page 48 of Gravity
Slava glares, but he grumbles a “hey” at me and says nothing about finding us against his door in the middle of the night.
Then it's packing and checking out, boarding the team bus, and arriving at the airport. We haul our gear to the charter plane and dump it on the tarmac, then file on board and collapse in our seats. Bryce and I have our heads leaned close to each other, our hands held and hidden beneath the backpack I’ve laid across both our laps. I'm wearing an Étoiles t-shirt with Bryce's number and his name on the back.
He and I are exhausted, and we're asleep before the plane begins its taxi to the runway.
Vancouver. Landing. We wake before we’re ready to and stumble off the plane. Grab our gear and head to the bus again. The team is going to the hotel where we'll eat and change, then re-board the bus to head to the arena. Practice, and then a rest period, and then the game puck drops at center ice at seven p.m.
Bryce and I linger in the hotel's lobby, waiting for the keycards to be distributed by Coach Richelieu's assistant. He works off no organizational system whatsoever, and he hands out keys to whomever is in front of him. Good for the guys who want to get to their rooms first and snag a nap before the team lunch.
Neither of us see Slava until he's in our faces. “You,” Slava says, barking at me. “Give me your keycard.”
Behind Slava, MacKenzie, Valery, and Etienne are desperately looking away. They're staring at the potted plants, the escalators, the grouting in the tile. Their faces are red and their lips are pressed tight.
I frown and hold out my keycard.
Slava snatches it, then presses his card into my hand. “You two want to talk all night? Fine. Leave me in peace.” He stalks off and slides into the elevator that MacKenzie is holding. The doors close, and the last of the team disappears.
Bryce stares at me. I stare back at him.
“So… we are roommates now,oui?”
“Looks that way.”
* * *
We throwour duffels down and kick the hotel room door closed. Bryce strips faster than I've ever seen him move. I tear off my shirt and pants, and then we're on each other, kissing like we're desperate for each other. Hands everywhere, like we've been starved of touch. We hit the bed and bounce, crawling up the mattress without breaking our kiss.
He straddles me. I slide my fingers into his short hair and hold him tight as we relearn the feel of each other's bodies. It's only been a week since we made love, but it feels like years since I've been pressed against the heat of his naked skin. The smoothness of his chest compared to the furriness of mine. His sleekness, my brawn. He fits in my arms like he was made to be there.
Our cocks drag against each other, hard and hot and aching. His fingers land on my cheeks, and he breaks the kiss with a quiet gasp. I nibble at his lips before dropping kisses onto his shoulder and his chin.
A groan, and then he rocks forward. Precome burns against my belly. He won't last long, but that's all right, because we don't have long. This is supposed to be a bag drop before lunch, and our entire team is going to be wondering where we are if we don't hurry.
He circles his hips and rocks against me. I grab his waist and meet his thrusts. Heat. Friction. Sweat-slick skin on skin.
Bryce buries his face in my neck and moans. It's a constant sound, one long note, punctuated by breathy exhales as I grind into him and his fingers dig into my shoulders. I'm going to have marks on me, and the guys are going to see them in the dressing room.
I don't care. Not right now. I chase his heat and the feel of his body, thrusting harder, faster. He bares his teeth against my skin. I hear him try to speak, but he's muffling himself. Thank God, because he can be loud, and if anyone stops outside our door and hears Bryce's cursing and this bed shaking, our shitty little subterfuge is up.
Don't think about that. This is now, and now is Bryce. Raw sensation, white lightning, perfect pleasure. My muscles are firing, my legs clenching and trembling. He's shaking. He always shakes before he shatters.
“Bryce—” I've been saving this one, practicing it on the ice under my breath and before I fall asleep and when I'm showering. Trying to nail the accent so Bryce will understand what I'm saying. “Je veux être avec toi pour toujours.” I want to be with you forever.
He makes a strangled noise as he buries his face deeper in my shoulder and bites down. I grab him, drag his face to mine, and swallow his cry in my kiss as he flies apart in my arms. Wet heat slickens my thrusts as his come covers my stomach. In seconds, I follow him.
We kiss until the world fades, until dizziness threatens to pull me under. He's gasping for breath, and so am I, and we press our foreheads against each other. His blue eyes are like cracked ice. “Moi aussi, je veux être avec toi pour toujours.”
I brush my thumb across his cheek. He is so beautiful. More beautiful to me, in fact, with each day that passes. I cannot imagine a future that doesn't include—
Banging rattles our door almost off the hinges. We jump nearly to the ceiling.
“Are you two coming down for lunch or what?” Mackenzie's voice hollers through the room. “Allez, allez!”
“Tabernak.” Bryce groans, and when MacKenzie bangs on the door again, he shouts, “Calisse de crisse, attends un peu!”
“Hurry up,capitane!Calisse!”
* * *
