just as I’m about to go to her door, the elevators open and Rene steps out, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt.
“Hey, you coming right?” he says to me. “I forgot my nice shoes.”
I glance down at his shoes, Adidas trainers.
“Some bars won’t let you in without dress shoes,” he says, looking me up and down. “And as much of a pretty boy as you are, no one is letting you in dressed like that.”
“I’ll meet you later,” I tell him, and quickly lie. “I’m just getting some ice.”
He gives me a funny look.
“Ice machine is the next floor up,” I go on, pointing to the elevators.
“You’re not carrying an ice bucket,” he muses.
“Oh, right.”
I turn to walk back to my room, and he walks with me, stopping at his room.
I grab the ice bucket from my room, but then he’s outside my door and talking my ear off about both the game and all the girls he’s going to score with tonight as he walks with me back down the hall to the elevators.
Well, shit.
He presses the down and up buttons on the panel.
The up elevator arrives first.
Guess I have to go in.
I give him a wave goodbye as the elevator takes me up to the floor above. As soon as those doors open, I immediately push the button for them to close.
That button never seems to work.
Finally, the doors close and I press the button for my floor, and the elevator takes me back down.
The doors open.
Rene is still standing there waiting for his elevator down.
“What happened?” he asked me, frowning at how fast I came back down and my lack of ice.
“Crazy elevators,” I say as an excuse, shrugging as he gets in the elevator with me.
I push the button for the floor below and get off.
“See you later?” Rene says, though now he’s eyeing me suspiciously.
“Sure,” I tell him as the doors close on his frowning face.
To be safe, I go to the ice machine on this floor, fill it up with ice, then take the stairs back up to my floor. No one’s around when I quickly rap on Thalia’s door.
Hurry up. I’m running out of excuses.
Thalia opens it with the chain across and peers at me and the ice bucket. “I don’t recall ordering any ice,” she says, then smiles as she undoes the chain.
I step inside and quickly close the door behind me, ready to take her in my arms.
But I stop.
She’s wearing an oversized Real Madrid jersey, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s wearing my jersey, the one I gave her oh so long ago when coffee spilled all over her.
And this time, it’s straight out of the fantasy I had that day.
She’s wearing that and nothing else.
She might not even be wearing underwear.
“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” she says rather coyly, her voice sounding all sex kitten-ish. That sound and this sight is all it takes for me to be harder than I’ve ever been in my life. “I sleep in it sometimes.”
I can barely put the ice bucket down on the TV stand before I’m at her, pushing my hands into her hair to tilt her head towards mine, my tongue slipping against hers, our kiss deepening and deepening as the hunger starts to roll through me.
She puts her hands on my biceps and pushes back a bit to look at me. “You were amazing, Alejo,” she says breathlessly, squeezing my arms. “You looked like you belonged out there, more than you ever have before. I’m so proud of you.”
My heart swells from her words.
My dick swells from her touch.
I kiss her again, not sure how to show my gratitude, and then we’re falling back into the bed.
But as much as the lust and desire is coupling with the adrenaline from tonight’s crucial match, I don’t want to rush things. I don’t want to pound her senseless.
Not yet.
I want to take my time and savor her, though I’m not sure she has the same idea.
Her hands go to my track pants, gripping the outline of my cock, her thumb moving back and forth over the tip until I’m groaning. I have to stop myself from pushing harder into her palm. I want to take time and break it into tiny pieces, so that we have more of it to explore each other, to feel everything.
She lets go of me and starts to remove my shirt from her head, but I make her stop.
“Keep it on,” I