Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)

by S. R. Grey

  “Come on.” I motion to a side alley. “This way is a shortcut.”

  We turn down the narrow passageway and it feels like the clock is ticking on our time bomb of lust. We have about five minutes before we reach my place, and I really need to get a hold of myself by then. Fortunately, I’m given a few extra minutes’ reprieve when a tattoo shop along the way catches Brent’s attention.

  Stopping in front of the store, he suddenly asks, “Do you have any?”

  Peering in at the colorful display of artwork available to be inked anywhere a person desires, I clarify, “Do I have any what? Tattoos?”

  “Yes, Aubrey. Do you have any tattoos?”

  Shaking my head, I admit, “No. But it’s only because I’m a really big sissy when it comes to needles.”

  Brent smiles over at me. “You shouldn’t let that stop you. It’s really not all that painful.”

  “Says the hockey player who’s immune to pain.”

  He laughs.

  This is a very interesting development, however. Not the pain part. As noted, Brent has a high tolerance for discomfort. I’m sure needles don’t faze him. It’s the ink thing that has my curiosity piqued.

  I’ve never noticed any tattoos anywhere on his body. Not like with Benny, who has loads of them. With the way Brent runs around the house, though—semi clothed half the time—you’d think I’d have seen a tattoo somewhere, right?

  Yet, I haven’t seen any ink on him. And that begs the question, “Do you have any tattoos?”

  “Yeah,” he replies with a smug smile, “actually I do.”

  “Do you have many?” I’m insanely curious as to where all this ink could be hidden.

  But then I understand better when he says, “Nah, I only have one. It’s not very big, either. I’d like to get more eventually. Something more detailed, for sure.”

  Cocking my head and staring at him curiously, I ask, “So where is this secret tattoo? I’ve never seen it.”

  He looks at me pointedly. “You’ve not seen all of me, now have you?”

  “Just about,” I blurt out before I realize how that sounds.

  While Brent chuckles amusedly, my cheeks warm. He’s right, though. I’ve not seen all of him. He always has on shorts… or a towel… or a comforter covering the goods. Like that morning when he was hard as steel.

  Clearing my throat—and my head of deliciously obscene images—I ask, “What is it of? Your tattoo, that is.”

  His gaze never leaves me as he says, “My number.”

  Say, what? “You have a tattoo of your number?”

  He smiles at me, like he knows just where my thoughts are headed. “Uh-huh. I have the number fifty-one tattooed on me. You know, Aubrey, kind of like the number that’s inked on your green”—he coughs—“friend.”

  It’s all I can do to keep my eyes from popping out of my head. And then all my filters fail and I blurt out, “You really have your number tattooed on your dick?”

  “I prefer to call it a cock,” he coolly replies.

  Holy crap! Real Brent is just like Brent 51. Only his, er, appendage is attached to a real man, with real skin, not some cheap imitation with a green plastic cover.

  But still, a tattoo on his penis? I have to ask, “Wow, Brent. Didn’t that hurt like hell?”

  He laughs. “I didn’t say my tattoo was there.”

  “You didn’t say it wasn’t, either,” I counter.

  “True.”

  “So which is it?”

  Brent Oliver then has the nerve to say to me, “Guess someday you’ll just have to find out for yourself, Aubrey.”

  I’m Done Holding Back

  Okay, so the number 51 is not on my cock. But I let Aubrey think it might be. I gotta give her something to think about, especially for when I get in that damn townhouse of hers and get busy kicking Al’s ass.

  I’ve been so damn patient. And she’s such a tease. That little maneuver she did when I held out the latte for her, like she didn’t plan for me to imagine her lips wrapped around my cock when she did that thing with the straw. Of course, she’d need to open her mouth a whole lot wider if it were me.

  I snicker and she looks over at me. “What’s so funny?” she asks as she unlocks the door to her townhouse.

  “Nothing,” I reply.

  It’s true. Any humor seeps out of me at the prospect of meeting this other guy in her life. But something is weird. When we walk into her high-ceiling, open-space home I don’t notice any signs of someone living here. It’s empty and quiet, and has a closed-up feel.

  Still, she clearly mentioned an “Al” to her sister. And he’s supposed to be here.

  Done messing around, I flat-out ask, “Where is he, Aubrey?”

  She looks totally confused, and I don’t think it’s an act. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Al.”

  Aubrey gives me a look like I’ve just lost my mind. And then she starts laughing, like hysterically. “Oh my God, you were totally listening in on me when I was talking to my sister. This is too funny.”

  How can she find this amusing? It’s definitely not.

  Instead of pretending I wasn’t eavesdropping, I admit everything.

  “Yeah, okay. I was listening in. And yes, I heard you mentioning some dude named Al. You told your sister you’d take a picture of the guy. And give him a fucking kiss.” I make a face of disdain. “Really, Aubrey, you have no room to ever judge my past exploits.” I let out a snort. “You and your sister sharing some dude and keeping him at your house like he’s a piece of meat has to be one of the most crossing-the-line, taboo-sick-shit things I’ve ever heard of. And trust me, I’ve heard and seen a lot!”

  Aubrey is doubled over with laughter before I even finish my diatribe. I’m dumbfounded that she finds this so amusing.

  But she does.

  Laughing so hard that she’s bending over and holding onto her black legging-covered thighs for support, she snorts out, “Oh, Brent. You’re killing me here.”

  “I’m not trying to kill you, Aubrey,” I say dryly as I scan around for signs of this Al dude. “But someone may die tonight.”

  She can’t respond due to the convulsing chortling fit that comes over her next. “Oh my God, Brent. You have to stop. My sides are hurting.”

  Sarcastically, I mutter, “It’s really nice you find this all so amusing. ’Cause I sure as hell don’t.” I take a breath, square up. “Where is this guy, anyway? You may as well tell me now. There’s no point in hiding him. I will find this dickhead and deal with him.”

  “Come on.” Finally calm, she takes my hand. If I weren’t so pumped to lay this Al motherfucker out, I’d find her move endearing.

  I let her lead me up the stairs, all the while wondering if she’s taking me up to engage in a threesome with this Al guy. Why else would she so willingly lead me to him? Has she mistaken my anger for lust? We’ve already established that she and her sister are little freaks.

  Sorry, but kinky as I can be, I am not sharing Aubrey with anyone. When I get to have her, if I ever get to have her, it’s going to be strictly one-on-one action. The things I have planned for her don’t need an audience. And she certainly won’t have energy to spare on someone else.

  Just the thought that there could be someone else gets my blood boiling. When we reach a closed door, I stop and disengage my hand from hers.

  “Hey, I think I should go in alone to talk to this guy, okay?” That makes her snicker. “It’s not funny, Aubrey,” I add, seeing red.

  “Brent, calm down.”

  “I don’t want to calm down.”

  She pushes on the door and I press my lips together. I make a fist with my right hand as I follow her into what is clearly her bedroom. She asks me to stay put as she heads over to a large walk-in closet. She goes in for a few seconds and then comes out with a fuzzy green, floppy-limbed two-foot-high alligator in her hand.

  Tossing the stuffed animal my way, she says, “Brent, meet Al, as in Al the Alligator.”<
br />
  I catch the thing.

  And then I start laughing.

  God, what was I thinking? Clearly, Aubrey Shelburne owns my ass. She makes me fucking nuts. I can’t even think straight. Despite every attempt I’ve made to rein in my feelings for her, they exist, indisputable, undeniable.

  And, frankly, I’m sick of fighting what I feel for her. Fuck everything. I’m done holding back.

  I want to go to her and kiss the hell out of her.

  But, whoa, she looks pissed.

  Hands on her hips, she informs me, “For the record, Lainey and I have never fucked Al the Alligator. That would just be…sick.”

  “Hmm, I can also see where that might be a problem.” I turn the stuffed alligator over to check out his junk, or lack thereof. “Impossible, it would seem,” I add.

  Aubrey lets out a snort of amusement. Thank God she’s not too mad. Since I can’t help but like her even more when she’s fired up, I’m quick to add, “Although…”

  “What now, Brent?”

  I pin her with a challenging stare. “Al is green. And we all know how much you like inanimate objects that are green.”

  “You are such an ass!” She throws something at me—a pillow, I think, from her bed. I duck, and she adds, “I can’t believe you’d bring that up!”

  “Oh, I think enough time has passed.” I take a step toward her. “Besides, it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. We talked about it that night, remember?”

  Shifting from one foot to the other, she says, “Yeah, I do.”

  In a husky voice, I go on. “It was actually really hot, Aubrey. I only wish I’d walked in on you sooner and caught you in the act.”

  She takes a step back. “Uh, maybe we should talk about something else.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess just because.” Clearly trying to change the subject, she says, “Hey, can you toss Al over to me? I should put him away.”

  I’m making her nervous. She doesn’t trust herself alone like this with me. Well, we’re even on that count. I’ve officially lost all control around her.

  I take another step closer. “Aubrey, we should talk.”

  Ignoring what I’m saying, she remains focused on the stupid green alligator. “Did you know Al is Lainey’s prized possession from childhood?” she tells me. “No, how could you know that? Well, anyway, he is. He’s kind of like a good luck charm to her.” Hmm, maybe he’ll work for me too and I’ll get lucky. “She forgot him here last time she stayed with me. We’ve been goofing around about him ever since.”

  “You’re rambling,” I say quietly.

  Aubrey sighs. ”We should go back downstairs.”

  “Like that sounds convincing,” I murmur.

  Another step closer and I can see in her eyes that she wants me as much as I want her. Despite the fact that she’s been backing away from me the whole time I’ve been approaching, her body language tells a different story. It’s a story that says, Come and get me, Brent.

  So I do.

  The bed is behind her and there’s nowhere to go. So, taking the final step to close the gap completely, I give her a choice. “We can go back downstairs if you really want. Or we can stay right here. Either way, Aubrey, here or there, I am going to kiss you. And then I’m going to do what I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

  “What’s that?” she rasps, swallowing hard.

  “Make you come so hard you scream out my name and beg me for more. I want you so dizzy with me that you can’t even think.”

  “Brent,” she breathes out.

  Cocking a brow, I ask, “So, Aubrey, what’s it going to be?”

  Flustered, she asks, “What was the question again?”

  I toss Al onto the bed. “Do you want it here…or do you want it downstairs?”

  “I want it here,” she whispers.

  Her arms slide up around my neck and I feel her giving in, relinquishing control over to me. “I want you, Brent. I have for so long now. We shouldn’t do this, but I’m done fighting what I feel.”

  “I’m done fighting it too,” I say.

  And then my lips crash into hers.

  Giving In Never Felt So Good

  This kiss is better than the one before.

  That time was amazing, yes, but this is out-of-this-world good. First, Brent isn’t drunk this time around. And secondly, there are no doorbells ringing.

  Plus, I think I might be in love with Brent Oliver.

  Oh my God, am I?

  I can’t think about that right now.

  He lays me back gently on my bed, his lips never leaving mine. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he murmurs when we finally come up for air.

  “Me too,” I breathe out.

  And then we’re done talking. Lips meet again, mouths open, and tongues intertwine. With our bodies pressed together, he slides his hand between us and up under my shirt.

  When he grazes a nipple through the sheer bra I’m wearing, I moan out a totally wanton, “Mmm, Brent.”

  He feels so good, even with just this little bit of foreplay. What will more feel like?

  Peering down into my eyes as I wonder, he mistakes my contemplation as hesitation. “Should I stop?” he asks.

  That question is easy to answer. “You better not.”

  “Just checking,” he says, chuckling.

  He lifts my shirt to just above my breasts, and then he unsnaps my bra. Rocking back on his heels, he lifts up the hem of his own tee.

  God, his washboard abs are totally lickable.

  It’s like watching the sexiest slo-mo commercial ever when Brent pulls his shirt over his head. When he’s done, he leans forward and tugs my leggings down. Low, low, lower, my panties go along for the ride. I try to kick them away, along with my shoes, but while my sneakers slip off successfully and drop to the floor, Brent stops me before I can make short work of the leggings and undies.

  With the garments wrapped around my calf, and my shirt still pulled up to just above my breasts, he rasps, “No, leave your clothes like that. I want you like this for now. Not completely naked, but half dressed. You look vulnerable, Aubrey. I never see that side of you. Not really, not like this.”

  Ooh, I can be vulnerable for him. I’m open to whatever he wants. As long as I get what I want too—him naked.

  “I’ll leave my clothes half on, Brent. But I want all of yours off.”

  His clothes are discarded in no time at all, and when his cock springs free from his boxers, I can’t help but blurt out, “Wow! Your dick is way bigger than I thought.”

  Did I really just say that? By the smug look on his face, I must have.

  I want him on top of me so I can feel his muscles and his strength, so I stretch out invitingly and crook a finger for him to get to sexing me up.

  Brent lowers his body to mine. It’s sweet how careful he is to distribute his heavily muscled body in such a way that he doesn’t crush me.

  Damn, his skin feels electric against mine.

  And he’s so freaking built.

  “I like your muscles,” I say as I run my hands up his arms, then around to his strong back.

  “I like your, well, everything,” he replies as he slides his hand down over a breast and along my side.

  The lust in his voice makes me want the rest of my clothes off. “I want to be naked with you,” I whisper.

  Together, we work to rid me of my bra, shirt, and the leggings and undies still wrapped around my calf. When I’m as naked as he is, Brent leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth.

  “Mmm, yeah, I like that,” I whisper to him as he devours one breast, then the other, with his hot mouth.

  When his hand starts to trail down my stomach, all I can think is, Yes, please. I need more of what he has to give me.

  “I’m so wet for you, Brent,” I tell him, which makes him release a raspy moan from around my nipple.

  Gently, he parts my folds and begins a steady back-and-forth gliding mo
tion over my clit.

  He quickly establishes a rhythm that leaves me begging for more. God, he’s good. “I want to feel you inside,” I murmur.

  “Like this?” he asks as he dips a finger into me, but only just a touch.

  “You’re such a tease,” I moan as I arch up, encouraging him to push in farther, to fill me, to pump in and out of me.

  He pushes in a tiny bit more, stretching me, but not enough. “What about now?” he taunts.

  “Better,” I groan, “but not enough.”

  Adding another finger, he plunges in, working me and leaving his hand covered in how much I want him. When he twists his hand a certain way, he hits the magic spot. “Oh, God, Brent. Don’t stop doing that.” At the brink, I gasp, “I want you inside me, Brent. Please, Brent, please. I need all of you.”

  “What part of ‘all’ of me do you want?” he asks, smirking as he props up on one elbow and peers down at me, his fingers still working my pussy like a fine instrument.

  “All of you, Brent,” I whisper.

  “How ’bout we start with this?”

  Before I can ask, “Start with what?” he shimmies down my body and sucks my clit into his warm mouth.

  Holy fuck!

  A few minutes of his even-more-talented-than-his-fingers tongue and I explode in an orgasm that has me crying out in pleasure and grinding down onto Brent’s fingers and face.

  He loves it. Or so he tells me when he stops licking long enough to rasp out a commanding, “Keep coming for me, Aubrey. Come for me again and again. I want you all over me.”

  I do as he asks, exploding over and over again. And every time I do I think I’m spent. But then Brent does something different—twists his finger up inside me just so, flicks my clit with his tongue—and I start pulsing all over again.

  “I think I might pass out,” I say at one point.

  He chuckles, amused. “You’re not going to pass out.”

  “I may.”

  He crawls up my body and presses his muscular self down onto me. “You won’t,” he assures me.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He kisses me, softly, gently. More melting occurs, which is really saying something since my limbs are already so gooey. But I perk up rather quickly—in a good, anticipating way—when I feel Brent’s hard cock pressing up against my folds.