Heat it Up: Off the Ice - Book One (9 page)

I drive us to his apartment and we walk up the first flight of stairs. But as his breathing increases with the exertion, it becomes clear from the grimace on his face that his ribs bother him. How much, I can’t tell.

“What floor are you on?” I ask.

“Sixth.”

“We’re taking the elevator.” I don’t give him a chance to argue. I walk to it and press the up button. The elevator opens soon after and we enter, both lost in thought. The doors reopen on his floor, and we walk down the short hallway to his apartment. He opens the door and lets me in.

The place is bigger than Muumu’s apartment, but that’s because it has two bedrooms instead of one. Kyle points to the door at the end of the hallway, where it turns into a T-junction, and tells me he’ll meet me there in a minute.

I end up in the bathroom. Even though two guys live here, the place is clean. The navy towels are lined up neatly on the towel rack. The tub is clean, and so is the sink. Not at all what I was expecting.

I check the damage to my face in the mirror. The cut isn’t deep, only half an inch. It might not leave a scar if I’m lucky, but there’s no way I can hide it from Muumu. And how the hell will I explain what happened? She’s going to freak. Or maybe I can pretend I accidentally walked into a branch. With me, that’s highly believable.

Kyle returns with a first aid kit. “Okay, jump up.” He pats the counter next to the sink. Once I’m up, he nudges my legs apart and steps between them. He examines the cut, his fingers tracing the skin below it.

And I examine his lips.

An electrifying buzz hums through my body, starting from where our bodies touch. I’m both vulnerable and on fire, and I don’t want the feeling to end.

“True or false,” I whisper. “You have a pet Chihuahua in Minneapolis.”

His chuckle is a low, sexy rumble. “I prefer bigger dogs. My parents have a golden retriever.”

“Those are my favorite breed.”

His gaze drops to my lips for a heartbeat before tearing away. He removes gauze from the first aid kit, rips the package open, and leans around me to turn the tap on, placing his hand on my hip. His ocean scent eases its way around me, embraces me, fires me up. His chest glances mine, and the electric buzz intensifies to the point where I’m ready to forget the cut. I want him. All of him.

Water splashes in the sink behind me. It stops and Kyle moves slightly back. His eyes focus on my cheek and he dabs the cut. The cold, wet gauze soothes the stinging. Next, he opens the Steri-Strips and applies them to my cut, sealing the edges together. His gaze shifts from my wound to my eyes and he drinks me in for a long second.

My heart flutters against my ribs, like Mina in her birdcage when she gets excited. With Kyle as close as he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if his neighbors can hear it.

As if some magnetic force pulls us together, we drift toward each other, hesitate, then our mouths collide. Tasting. Wanting. Thriving. I moan as his tongue teases mine. Normally I wouldn’t find his beer taste so erotic, but everything about this man gets me excited. Even when I know he shouldn’t have this affect on me. Even when I know I should walk away and protect my heart.

But I can’t, and it goes beyond wanting to have sex with Kyle and temporarily forgetting the past. There’s something about him, his sense of humor, his tenderness, his thoughtfulness, that makes me want to learn everything there is to know about him. To know all his secrets and his dreams.

I tangle my fingers in his hair. The soft strands curl loosely around them. My legs wrap around his hips as if they have a mind of their own. My short skirt hikes up to the tops of my thighs. I’m exposed, vulnerable, but I don’t care. I want to feel him next to me. Against me.

The thickening length in Kyle’s jeans presses against my panties and the aching throb beneath. Kyle leans in, and I moan in his mouth at the sensation rocking my body. My fingers tighten their grip on his hair. But just as I think he’s going to do me right here on the counter, he pulls away from my lips, breath ragged, and rests his forehead on mine.

“We need to stop,” he whispers, though he sounds like stopping is the last thing he wants. My body silently groans in protest.
I
silently groan in protest. But then I remember why he’d want to stop, and it’s not because he isn’t interested in me.

I finger the hem of his t-shirt and inch it up until I’ve exposed the skin where the guy viciously booted him. Kyle reaches down and whips the fabric over his head, then tosses it onto the floor. I catch the tail end of the wince on his face from the movement, and my gaze skims over his hard chest, covered with a scattering of fading scars, to where he was hit on his side. A bruise the size of my fist is already forming. The bruise is faint, but by tomorrow it will be black.

I touch it, my finger tracing over his skin. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s fine.”

“And you’re lying.” I jump down from the counter. “Go lie on your bed. I’ll be right there.” I start to leave, but realize I have no idea where his room is. I don’t exactly want to step into his roommate’s by mistake. I turn back to Kyle. “Which one’s your room?”

“The one across from the bathroom.”

I locate the kitchen and rummage through the drawers until I find a small plastic bag. I open the freezer and remove the ice cube trays. After dumping ice into the bag and tying it up, I track down Kyle’s room.

I find him lying on his bed, eyes closed, t-shirt still off. I kneel next to him. The bed dips under my weight but his eyes remain closed. “Are you sleeping?” I whisper.

“If I am, don’t wake me up. I don’t want this to end.”

I frown. “You don’t want the pain to end?”

He peers at me. “No. I don’t want to wake up and find out I only dreamt you were in bed with me.”

I wiggle a little closer to him and place the icepack on his ribs. “I got some ice to help with the bruising.”

He closes his eyes again. “That wasn’t quite what I imagined in my dream.” His words fade with the final ones and his breathing eases.

I yawn, the events of the evening heavy on me like a blanket, pulling me into a state of sleepiness. I blink it away, and cover Kyle with the bedding.

“Please stay,” he mumbles, but I can’t be sure if he’s awake or saying it in his sleep.

“Okay.” I climb under the covers with him, remove his glasses from his face, and lean over him to place them on his nightstand. “I’ll stay for a few minutes.” To keep the ice against his bruise.

• • •

The room is dark when I wake up, other than a faint glow from the curtains next to the bed. There’s something off about its location. I’m not at Muumu’s.

Panic seeps in, like rainwater after a storm, giving life to my fears. It takes a few moments as my eyes adjust to the darkness for me to remember I’m with Kyle, in his bed. It takes even less time to figure out what woke me up as the panic fades away.

I twist around to find Kyle moving restlessly in his sleep. He mutters something but the words are too soft to hear. I can’t understand what he’s saying, although one thing is clear, he’s having a nightmare.

“Kyle?” I say quietly so not to scare him. When that doesn’t get a response, I place my hand on his arm, and say a little louder, “Kyle, it’s okay. You’re having a nightmare.” But despite my words, he’s still restless. He still looks vulnerable. Maybe even more so than I felt earlier when we were in the bathroom.

I click on the bedside light. A soft light fills the space around us, leaving the room in long shadows. The restlessness and murmurs stop, and Kyle slowly opens his eyes as I stroke his bare arm. His face twists in confusion.

He blinks, attempting to bring me into focus since he doesn’t have his glasses on. The confused expression eases from his face. “You’re here,” he whispers.

“You were having a nightmare. You wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “No.” A sad smile ghosts his lips. “Can I hold you for a bit?”

I place the bag of ice water on the floor, and shift closer to him so our bodies touch. “Sure.”

He drapes his arm over my waist, and his fingers stroke lazy circles on my lower back. His intense gaze locks on my eyes for a heartbeat, then drops to my lips.

In an easy move that lasts both a brief moment and a million years, he lowers his mouth to mine. Our bodies shift, so I’m lying on my back and he’s on top of me. The weight of him sends a thrill through my body that matches the one the kiss ignited.

We deepen the kiss, the passion and lust growing stronger with each passing second. Needing more of him, I wrap my leg around his hip, then place my hands on his butt and encourage him to rock against me. He does and the throbbing between my legs builds, climbing toward the peak I sense coming, but have never reached before. I push away the thought that maybe that’s why Ian had found sex with me boring, and a moan escapes my lips.

“Oh, God, please,” I beg.

Kyle pauses, pulling back slightly, his eyes dark with want. But want isn’t the only the emotion peering back at me. He’s deliberating something.

Before I can ask what’s wrong, his hand inches under my tank top, and with a skilled flick of his fingers, my bra comes undone. My body screams that it needs to feel Kyle, all of Kyle against me. I sit up and remove my tank top and bra, and toss them to the floor.

His fingers trace along my shoulder and glide between my breasts. His thumb teases a nipple and a soft gasp falls from my lips. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his mouth returning to mine.

We lay back down and kiss, pouring every emotion, every desire into it, before his lips move away. They travel along my neck and chest, leaving a trail of goose bumps. He swirls his tongue around a nipple then takes the hard bud into his mouth. Like he did with his thumb, he teases me with each flick of his tongue, and pushes me closer to the release waiting for me at the peak.

He switches breasts and teases the second one into submission like he did the first. He then plants tender kisses along my ribs to my belly button. He hits my ticklish zone and I giggle.

I open my mouth to ask him about his bruised ribs, but don’t get far as his fingers skim along my inner thigh and trace the edge of my panties. I inhale sharply, the sound quiet yet rough. His fingers then shift and brush against the seam of my entrance. The throbbing between my legs grows stronger, more desperate. My body jerks in response and I moan softly.

I want to touch him, to feel him, but he’s too far away to reach. All I can do is tangle my hands in his loose curls.

He hooks his fingers on my panties and slides them down my legs. Once they reach my ankles, he removes them and tosses them onto the floor to meet up with my bra and tank top. He pushes the hem of my skirt up and separates my legs.

Panic floods me, and I fight to keep afloat. It was never like this with Ian, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Part of me wants to run. To hide. To not feel as vulnerable as I do now. The other part, the much larger part, wants to take my lesson much further. That part wins and I relax, closing my eyes briefly.

“God, Sofia, I want to taste you so badly.”

Before I realize what he means, his tongue strokes and swirls against the oversensitive nerves between my legs, stoking the fire there, pushing me further and further toward the crest. Promising to take me to the stars and beyond.

I’ve never had a guy go down on me before. Clearly I’ve been missing out.

Unable to help myself, I squirm against Kyle’s tongue. He slips a finger inside me and then another. They press against the soft lining, and a small wave of pleasure fans out from the spot. A mind-numbing taste of things to come.

A moan trembles from my lips, pleading for him to continue. He slowly pumps them in and out while his tongue continues its magic. I expect him to stop at any second, so we can physically share this moment together, but he doesn’t. And the next thing I know, the throbbing radiates out, exploding between my legs, sending an aftershock that shatters my body.

I scream Kyle’s name along with “Oh, God.”

He moves up my body and kisses me deeply before pulling away. I reach for the zipper of his jeans, but he wraps his fingers around mine before I can do anything.

He moves off the bed, putting distance between us. At least with Ian, he’d flop next to me on the bed once he was done and hold me. Kyle can’t get away from me fast enough. A sinking feeling sits heavy in my belly. I screwed up. Again. And I have no idea what I did wrong so I can do it right next time.

“I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

I pull on my underwear to the sound of the shower raining against the tub. Struggling to push away the pain and disappointment at what just happened, I retrieve my tank top from the floor and spot a silver chain with dog tags on the nightstand. They aren’t the cheap kind. They’re the kind you give someone you care about. A hockey stick is engraved on one side. On the other side are the words ‘Forever yours, Gabby.’

The apartment door clicks open. A man speaks in what is supposed to be a hushed voice, except he’s too drunk to realize he’s anything but quiet. A female giggles, followed by a thud.

I hastily reach behind me and drop the dog tags on the nightstand. Without giving them another glance, I yank the rest of my clothes on and walk into the hallway.

“
Hei
.” Nik stumbles as he tries to kick off his shoe.

Knowing he’s too drunk to think before he speaks, I ask, “Who’s Gabby?”

The female who was all over him at the nightclub giggles, again.

Nik looks confused for a second then his face lights up. “She’s Kyle’s wife.”

A pain similar to what I felt when I found out Ian was cheating on me slashes through my chest, destroying what little faith had remained that not all guys are like Ian and my father.

I should have known better.

I turn the freezing water off and stand in the bathtub, letting the goose bumps remind me that I’m an idiot.

When I woke up from the nightmare, the last person I had expected to see was the very person I’d been dreaming about—Sofia. I had been reliving the night of the accident, which was typical for my nightmares. What wasn’t typical was that Sofia was dead in the passenger seat of my car, not Gabby.