Poetry On Ice (Totally Pucked, #1)

by Jesse H. Reign

By the time I get to my car and slam my door shut, my hands are shaking so hard it takes me two attempts to start the ignition. It’s not the ink that got to me. Not the roses or thorns. Not the swallow, the moon, the stars, or even the shocking realism of the serpent coiled up his spine that’s affected me like this. It’s the fact that, against my better judgment, before I left the shower, I looked down. And Ant Decker was rock-hard.

“You know people can see when you visit their profile page, right?” even though I promised myself I wouldn’t bring it up. His eyes widen till there’s a clear ring of white around his pupils and his jaw drops. Fury

AAAHAAAHAHAAHAAHAAAAAH

I let my gaze travel across his chest, up his throat, his chin, and settle on his lips. They’re parted slightly, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. That’s the one I bit. The bottom one. That’s the one I had between my teeth. Soft, warm flesh. Dusty pink when I found it. Dark red when I left it.

It was the socks and the white Calvins. It was the legs. But mostly, it was his face.

“McGuire,” he growls, “don’t be a slut.” “Why not?”

I came to the sight of his face.