Crack In The Ice - Chapter 23: Chapter 23

My alarm startles me awake.
Usually I wake up smoothly when my phone rings out my wake up call, getting up without trouble and ready to get Dean up and going. This morning, though, I'm not in my own bed.
It takes me a minute to recognize where I am.
And how I got here.
I feel Liam stir awake next to me as I turn off the alarm and sit up in bed.
"Sorry."
Liam lets out this sort of half-mewl half-sigh as a response. His eyes stay closed as he rolls onto his back, short hair flattened on the side he's been sleeping on and sheets draped loosely over his midsection just over his hipbones.
Gingerly, I step out of bed, starting to collect my stuff. It's a slightly more awkward process than I'd like, since they're scattered all around the room.
"Where are you going so fast?" Liam mumbles sleepily, rubbing his eyes open.
"Need to go home to shower and change. Gotta be at the rink in two hours," I say, putting my underwear on before grabbing my jeans and sweater. I can't find my t-shirt. "Dean will notice I'm gone."
I pull on my jeans, with my back to the bed.
I hear Liam shuffle around. "Do you really need to go? Can't you call in sick or something?"
With my back still turned, I open my mouth to object, but stop short when I feel a hand on my hip, fingers grazing intentionally over the bare skin exposed over my jeans. I bite my lip, movements halted just as I was done doing my zipper up.
Liam's kneeling by the edge of the bed, still naked, sheets wrapped around him as he leans into me. He sets his chin on my shoulder.
I will myself to take an even breath. I don't have time for this.
"I can't," I say, less firmly than I would like. "We're leaving for New Jersey later today. Haven't packed anything yet."
Liam's other arm comes up to wrap around my hips. "They wouldn't miss you for one game," he mutters into the skin of my shoulder, dropping an open-mouthed kiss that shouldn't send my stomach into a frenzy. Not after last night.
I close my eyes. Get a grip.
With iron will that leaves a lump in my throat and a chill on my back, I shake his touch off as gently as I can, stepping out of his reach and pulling my sweater on. My t-shirt isn't that important anymore. I just need to get out of here.
"Would Chloe miss you for just one competition?" I ask him, turning to face him. From a safety distance. Because I don't trust myself near him.
"That's different," he huffs. "We're partners."
"Dean and I are partners."
Liam gets off the bed, bed sheets wrapped around him. "There are other defensemen."
I look at him. "What are you doing?" I hope my voice doesn't sound as defenseless as I feel. "It's my job. You know this. Last night was already..." A shiver runs down my spine and there's no way he missed that. I bite down on my lip, trying to regain control over my own breathing. "It was risky, and a little crazy, and-"
"Amazing." Liam smiles and my heart squeezes painfully.
Yeah, it was pretty fucking amazing. Even for us.
I purse my lips to try to conceal the smile and roll my eyes at him. It's useless. He knows it too.
Liam steps into my space and I let him.
The kiss he gives me is chaste and sweet, just lips on lips, and I'm disappointed in myself for not putting up even a little bit of half-assed resistance.
When the kiss does evolve into something deeper, it's me who starts it. I'm the one to put my arms around him and pull him closer. I'm the one to coax his mouth open. I'm the one to sigh into the kiss.
"Do you really need to go home to change?" He murmurs against my lips.
I let my head fall on his shoulder. "The guys will notice if I'm wearing the same clothes from last night."
"Because hockey players are known for their attention to fashion?" He puts his hands around me again, over my own arms around him, bringing me into his bedsheet cocoon.
I'm hyper-aware of the fact he's fully naked underneath. I can feel his warm skin touching mine from hip to shoulder.
"Dean will know." My voice sounds strained.
Liam snorts. "His ADHD wouldn't notice if you wore the same outfit four weeks in a row."
That's not true. Most days, yeah. But some days that's exactly the kind of thing he would notice when no one else does. And he has context now. He doesn't know about Liam, but he knows about me.
I make a plan to object. Or at least that's what I will tell myself after today. To be honest, I know I was doomed since I started pretending I had any intention of winning this fight.
Allowing myself the indulgence, I pull the sheet from around us, revealing Liam's bare body. He smiles as I warp my arms around him, welcoming my lips into another kiss. I push him backward onto the bed. He crawls back on the mattress to make room for me.
I latch onto his neck, tasting us both. There's a mark on his right collarbone that I made. I lick over that, wondering how long it will last before it fades. Certainly not long enough to hold until the next time we see each other.
Mine.
The thought doesn't ask for permission to exist, and once it's in my head I can't put it away. With a hand on his chest, I make him lie back and mouth down his torso, taking my time despite my own earlier protests.
No one will know if I wear the same clothes today. And if they do, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters outside this bedroom. Only Liam. His lips, his skin, his hands on my hair anticipating what I'm about to do and guiding me to where he wants me. Nothing matters outside of Liam's body.
As a kid, I used to be great at disciplining myself through the normal desires of a teenage boy. I was extra careful to attach all my cravings to strangers on screens and magazines, never real people. Whenever I had a crush, I repressed it. Whenever I felt lust for someone in my real life, someone of flesh and bone, I meticulously redirected those feelings to a faceless fantasy or some celebrity.
Then Liam happened. And I was powerless.
He infiltrated my thoughts, my fantasies, my dreams. I had to work overtime to deal with a kind of desire I had never known. Real desire for someone real. Someone I could touch. Suddenly, there were no more faceless fantasies. Anything I ever wanted to do and everything I ever wanted to try, I wanted to do it with him. Try it on him.
All this time we have now, between encounters, has heightened that. Days, weeks, months become bearable only by allowing myself to think of everything we can do when we see each other again. Things we've done before, things I still want to try. I anticipate his reaction and plan my own responses.
The first time I did what I'm about to do now we were in a car. And Liam wouldn't shut the fuck up.
He's still very vocal whenever we do this, but in a different way. The sounds coming out of him as I take him into my mouth aren't quite words.
The first time, he seemed too surprised to do anything but sit back and let me navigate my way through the moment with the little knowledge and zero experience I had. Nowadays, he has no problem using his hand on my head to show me exactly what he wants.
I like that.
I don't know if it's a Liam thing, or a me thing, but there's something about the way I can always count on him to tell me what he likes and show me how he likes it.
I know he's close when his grip on my hair becomes almost painful. I don't let up.
"Fuck," he gasps.
I want to see him, but I don't want to stop. He lays an arm over his face, covering his eyes, chest heaving unsteadily. That's how I know he's there.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. I love you."
I pull away too fast and too abruptly.
Freezing cold pools over my chest, chilling my lungs. I can hear Liam trying to steady his breathing behind me, but I need a minute to regain control over mine own.
I heard him say it last night. Of course I did. But neither of us acknowledged it then. And we've both said things in the dark that were never meant to be repeated in daylight.
I hear Liam shuffle to pull the comforter over himself, and I stand up to grab my shoes from near the bathroom. I think I had a t-shirt to find still, but I don't bother looking for it. Suddenly, I can't get out of here soon enough.
When I look at him, Liam's sitting up against the wall, blanket up to his stomach, bottom lip tucked tightly between his teeth, watching me.
For a moment, it looks like he's going to say something. Speak up. Address it.
But then he doesn't.
Without a word, I grab my jacket from the floor, near the door. His key card is there too. I pick it up and slide it inside the fissure on the wall. The lights turn on.
Then I leave.
Closing the door, I let my head fall back and hold my breath.
I meant to take a minute before getting moving again. Dissolve the lump in my throat, soothe the thumping in my chest.
Instead, I see her and my stomach drops to the floor.
Chloe looks like shit. Mussed up dark hair, bags under her eyes, face a little greenish. And she's staring at me with dead eyes.
"I went to fill my water at the machine." She shows me the plastic bottle in her hand.
I nod, speeding my step towards the elevator.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.