Penalty Kill

Harper

I'm having another out of body experience as I stand in his living room, watching as he crosses the floor, expertly taking off the coat of his tux as he moves. Huey had greeted us at the door, tail wagging furiously as he lavished us both with kisses, and we returned the favor with plenty of pets and scratches and lots of "Who's a good boy?" 's.

He'd trotted off to somewhere else in Jake's beautiful, high-rise apartment after we'd greeted him, and now he wasn't anywhere to be seen. There were just enough floor-to-ceiling windows to offset the beautiful dark green paint that covered the walls, making it both open and cozy at the same time. I watch as he tosses his coat onto the nearby couch without looking, his focus on whatever is on the far wall in front of him. He's rolling up his sleeves as he moves, and my eyes catch on the tattoos covering one of his forearms.

The skin is nearly completely covered. It's hard to make out from where I'm standing what exactly all the ink is on his skin, and I make a mental note that I'll definitely need to ask about those later. Now, in the quiet of his apartment, with so much going on in the silence both between us and inside of us, it doesn't feel like the right time to delve into his one inked arm.

Shifting my focus from the undeniably most magnetic thing in the room, I take in the minimalist decor, noting the few books on the couple of shelves that line the fairly sparse walls. There's family photos in abundance, and while I stay glued to where I'm standing, I can tell that they document various stages in his career, some with his parents from his peewee days, one from college, and one from when he was drafted.

The space is intimate, and even though he's invited me in and it's been made abundantly clear that I'm overwhelmingly welcome here, I still feel like I'm intruding. My eyes flick to his back again, his shoulders moving under the fabric of his long-sleeve white dress shirt and straps of his suspenders as he fiddles with something that I can't see. Just as I'm about to try and calm my frayed nerves by taking in more of his space, music fills the room.

It's something soft and slow, something I haven't heard before. I swallow hard as he turns around, his expression relaxed as he smiles before raising his hand out towards me—an invitation to come dance with him, here, in the middle of his living room among his family photos and the pillows and blankets on his couch where he and Huey have clearly made themselves comfortable time and time again.

It feels like I'm standing inside a corner of his heart. It's so intimate, so raw. It catches me off guard, and it takes me a few seconds too many to get my bare feet to pad across the rug to where he's standing, his smile and calmness unwavering as I get closer. His rough, calloused hand is warm, enveloping mine entirely as he pulls me close, placing my arms exactly where he wants them—wrapped around his neck.

I hear a relaxed and anticipatory sigh escape his lips as slides his hands down my sides slowly, sending shivers shooting down my body to the tips of my toes. They stop just before the curve of my waist, sending a sudden surge of want coursing through me. I realize I want his touch where it'd been earlier tonight—grabbing me through the flimsy fabric of this dress that suited me beautifully. We're barely swaying in time to the music, our focus intent and content to be on one another instead of trying to pretend like we should be dancing.

The fact that this man has somehow picked out the perfect dress for me—a feat I have yet to accomplish in my 28 years of life, still grinds my gears to no end. The thought rolls out of my mind quickly as he pulls me into him further, our bodies resting against one another fully as we hold the other in our arms. His forehead drops away from mine, and he starts to place soft and slow, delicate kisses along my jaw, down my neck.

My hand grips the hair at the nape of his neck reflexively, my eyes shuttering at how good each teasing kiss feels against the unbelievably sensitive skin of my neck and crook of my shoulder. The air hits each little wet spot as he moves on, causing more shivers to shoot through me like little lightning bolts of pleasure.