Page 55 of The Callahan Effect

His breathing caught as our eyes met.

Jack lifted one hand to the back of my neck. His fingertips settled there gently. Without another word, I leaned forward and kissed him, letting everything else disappear as the afternoon slipped onward.

He tasted faintly of coffee, and beneath that was something that was uniquely Jack. The kiss was soft at first, a question and an answer all at once. Then it deepened, and my palms lifted to cradle his face, my thumbs stroking the line of his jaw. He sighed into my mouth, a silent, breathy sound that caused tremors to shoot through me.

Jack pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and full of a question I understood without difficulty. I nodded, and he smiled, a small, private smile that felt like it was meant only for me.

He shifted, turning to face me fully on the edge of the bed. His hands gripped the hem of my shirt, his fingers brushing the skin of my stomach, making me shiver. I raised my arms, and he pulled it off over my head, tossing it to the floor. His gaze traveled over my chest with open admiration, as though he was memorizing every inch of me. He leaned in and pressed his lips to the center of my chest, right over my heartbeat.

I reached for the buttons of his shirt. My fingers felt clumsy, thick with want, but he was patient, still. He watched my face as I plucked each button free. When the shirt fell open, I pushed it from his shoulders. His skin was pale and smooth in the fading light, and I traced the line of his collarbone with my fingertips, then my lips.

We moved together, lying back on the bed, a tangle of limbs and uneven breaths. There was no soundtrack except the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of the mattress, and the sound of our breathing growing gradually more ragged. Every touch was a conversation. The press of his palm against my hip said stay. The arch of his back as I kissed down his stomach said more.

When we were both bare, skin to skin, we paused and just gazed at each other. The last of the sunlight gilded the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his waist. He was beautiful, grace and gentle strength. He reached for me, his hand sliding down my side, over my hip, and pulling me closer until our bodies aligned.

What followed was a language of touch, a silent symphony. The slow, deliberate slide of his hands learning the map of my back. The way his breath hitched when I touched him, a sharp, soundless intake that I felt against my neck. His eyes never left mine, wide and trusting, reflecting the storm of feeling I knew was in my own.

There was no rush, no frantic race. It was a slow, sun-drenched exploration. A learning. When we finally joined, it was with a shared, shuddering breath that felt less like an ending and more like a beginning. His body opened to mine, and I was lost in the sheer, overwhelming rightness of it. His hands gripped my shoulders, not pushing or pulling, just holding on as we found a rhythm that was ours alone.

The world outside the window disappeared. The distant sounds of campus faded until all that remained was the warmth of Jack's body, the rhythm we shared, and the unwavering trust in his eyes.

It built slowly, a crescendo, a slow ache coiling deep in my belly, spreading outwards until my fingers and toes tingled with it. I saw the same tension gathering in Jack, in the tight line of his jaw, the desperate clutch of his fingers. I bent to kiss him, swallowing the sound he couldn't make. It was the trigger. His body tightened around mine in a series of silent, rhythmic pulses, and I followed him over the edge, my own release crashing through me with a force that stole my breath and blurred my vision.

For a long time afterward, we simply lay tangled together, slick with sweat and spent. The afternoon light had softened into dusk, painting the room in shades of blue and grey. I could feel the frantic beat of his heart gradually slowing against my own.

I shifted just enough to pull the rumpled comforter over us. He turned into me, his head finding its place on my shoulder, his leg hooking over mine. He let out a long, deep breath that seemed to come from the very core of him, a sigh of pure contentment.

I pressed a kiss into his hair. No words were needed. The quiet of the room, the warmth of his body, and the steady rise and fall of his chest against my side felt like the first real page of a story we were only just beginning to write.

Together.

Chapter Ten

MASON

An hour or so passed before either of us paid any attention to the time again. The room had grown noticeably darker, the late afternoon sunlight giving way to the softer glow filtering through the window as evening settled across the campus.

Jack remained tucked comfortably against my side beneath the comforter, one arm draped across my waist as though he'd belonged there for years instead of only a few extraordinary hours. Every now and then our eyes met, and one of us would smile before the silence reclaimed us.

I'd spent my entire life believing happiness had to arrive accompanied by celebration, noise, or achievement. Instead, it had found me in a dorm room with the man I was beginning to fall in love with resting against my shoulder.

I found myself tracing absent circles across the back of his hand, still trying to comprehend how completely my life had changed in a few short days.

When I arrived on campus, I was determined not to let anything distract me from hockey. Every decision I'd made revolved around becoming the best player I could possibly be, and I'd convinced myself there wasn't room for anything else.

Then Jack had walked into my life with his unwavering confidence, kindness, and the remarkable ability to communicate more with a glance than most people managed in an hour of conversation. Between the rink, an Italian restaurant, walks across campus, and everything we'd shared since, I'd stopped thinking in terms of only my own future. Every plan I thought about now seemed to include him without conscious effort.

Jack shifted slightly before reaching for his phone resting on the bedside table. He balanced it against one knee beneath the comforter, typed a short message, then turned the screen toward me.

Any regrets?

The question caught me by surprise and I shook my head.

"Not one."

He studied me, almost as though deciding whether to believe me.

Not even telling Coach?