Page 14 of A Loser by Christmas
I speed up my speaking, gabbling faster. “B-but I did read that hockey and Pride don’t truly go together. Faking it could get you off the hook, right?”
“Wrong.”
I’ve faced underwater killers. He surges forward, as powerful as any orca, and I should say my prayers.
Instead, I get kissed by a big, bad hockey player.
5
His mouth meets mine,and if I had time to think, maybe I’d expect roughness from someone so often described as savage.
What registers is softness.
And that it’s over too soon, which means this contact in a dark alley could be accidental. Except there’s nothing accidental about his mouth finding mine again, no way to describe this second kiss as anything but surprising.
He cups my jaw once it’s over, his voice hoarse. “Did that feel fake?”
Non.
Nope.
No, it didn’t.
Who knows what my face shows him. Presumably enough to know that I’m on board with him pressing Rewind and Replay if he wants to. Calum must see that as clearly even in these shadows. “What about this?”
He leans in again.
This time, I go up on tiptoes to meet him halfway.
Calum kisses me for a third time, and I thank everything holy that my camera is clipped to the breast pocket of the suitI borrowed. That leaves both of my hands free to clasp a pair of shoulders that don’t even give a fraction under my gripping fingers.
He’s so broad and solid.
So easy to wrap my arms around and cling to, our mouths still connected.
You better believe it’s nothing like that one time his older brother hauled me from salty water and held me this close. Reece never slid great big hands down to my arse, and I wouldn’t have wanted him to pull me as hard against him as Calum does now. I guess it’s lucky timing that there isn’t an egg between us. It would shatter, and I’m not sure I’d even notice when he gathers me closer than could ever be strictly heterosexual.
His lips parting confirms it. Our tongues touch, slick and sliding, his hands hefting me upward. Calum holds me where he wants me, and that really gets my motor running. So does being pressed against an alley wall with no way out, which I wouldn’t have guessed would do it for me. I’m hemmed in by his bulk. Caged by strength.
If this is a hate-sex precursor, it’s wild how close it feels to freedom.
Calum’s thumbs brush my cheekbones in soft contradiction to his reputation. His tongue in my mouth is another. I suck on it, and it’s beyond hot that he can’t keep in a hungry sound. That suggests there’s nothing fake about what is happening in this alley. His dick pressing hard against me is more proof.
Angels sing. Or a singer’s voice does, at least. It swoops and soars somewhere close by, and so do I at the fact that at least one part of him likes me. That nearby music soars even louder only to cut off abruptly.
A door closes followed by footsteps approaching in a hurry, and I don’t need to be able to see past Calum to know who says,“Ugh.” I do wriggle out of his hold when a different voice speaks up.
“Let me through, Seb.” Once upon a time, I made a fool out of the man who now hovers at the mouth of this alley. Tonight, Jack asks, “Did Valentin agree to help you solve your problem, Cal?”
Calum backs up a step, his voice rough and raspy, while the light on my camera blinks in time with his staccato confession. “Still working on it.”
Jack nods, but the narrowed-eyed elf beside him is still dubious about me. “Working on it? How? By shoving your tongue down the throat of one of the worst people on the planet?” He huffs. “Just wait until I tell Lynne that you’re still aHoat Christmas.”
Jack laughs.
Calum doesn’t.
He’s back in my space, predator-fast all over again. This time, he doesn’t kiss me. He asks a question splashed with Cornish softness. “Will you help me?” His voice lowers to a whisper, and he’s never sounded more like his older brother. “Even if faking a queer sex tape isn’t an option?”
