Page 37 of Fresh Ice
They had done it. Alonso had done it. He hadn’t even been able to predict what he’d been missing—not just the experience of finally having a fulfilling sexual encounter, but the closeness and intimacy and affection he had felt during it.
That he still felt, a secret burrowing deeper and deeper where Alonso wouldn’t be able to pull it out and crush it.
The truth was, his skin still yearned to be touched, but with tenderness instead of heat. He wanted to just fall forward and let himself be held by Levy without worrying about what it meant.
But Alonso could only indulge his Omega desires so far.
“Okay, well…I should go shower,” Alonso said. Something inside him tightened as Levy’s expression shuttered, but the distance was necessary in order to keep their relationship as intact as possible.
“Yeah. Me too,” Levy replied.
Alonso got up on wobbly legs, thankful his clothes were easily located. He couldn’t stand the humiliation of searching Levy’s room naked.
Alonso pulled his underwear on awkwardly, pausing at the door on his way out.
“Thanks for…for doing that,” Alonso said quietly. He didn’t doubt that Levy had enjoyed it at least physically, but he wouldn’t have done it if Alonso hadn’t asked.
“Yeah. Don’t mention it.”
Alonso nodded and left the room feeling cold.
That was just it, wasn’t it? Some things could be done, but only in the shadows—to be remembered but never spoken of.
It was the bed Alonso had made, and now he had to sleep in it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alonso knew something was different the moment he woke up. It took him a second to realise the familiar bruises and pains that came with playing hockey were overshadowed by a deeper ache that could only come from one thing.
Dumbly, Alonso blushed as he stretched, body sore in a way that would have been satisfying if it weren’t for the dread in the pit of his stomach.
The previous night had gone better than Alonso could have dreamt up. Alonso had known that his previous experiences with Alphas couldn’t be the norm—if it were, no one would be in a relationship.
Still, he hadn’t expected the real thing to be as good as it was.
One of his favourite things about playing hockey was the intimate connection it forged with his body. The strain and demand of the sport made him feel like he was in control of himself, and it was a relief.
Repressing his Omega hormones, though, took some of that from him. It made it necessary to hide things from himself, to be ashamed of the parts that wanted to scream the loudest.
The previous night had managed to give him that connection back. He’d felt in harmony with the riptide of himself, the current that roared under the surface.
It was liberating in a way he’d never experienced.
The aftermath of the night, however, was something else entirely. The satisfaction he experienced was like a ghost—something that had been and gone but was trying desperately to hold on.
With a shake of his head, Alonso got out of bed. There was no point in lingering. He had promised that it wouldn’t change anything—that his relationship with Levy would remain intact, and that was what he’d make sure would happen.
The apartment was silent as Alonso showered and got ready for practice. He ate breakfast alone, an ominous feeling falling over him. It wasn’t unheard of for Levy to stay in his room until the last minute, but Alonso couldn’t help but think it was purposeful this time.
It was five minutes before they had to go when Levy finally appeared, glancing at Alonso sheepishly.
“Sorry. Overslept,” Levy said.
Alonso nodded. It would do more harm than good to overthink Levy’s excuse.
They took Alonso’s car to the rink, Alonso wincing slightly as he sat down.
Levy frowned at him. “You okay?”
