Turns out I’m not the only one who watches hockey practice. Violet and Willow accompany me, sitting high above the ice opposite the players’ benches.
“Coach will close practices sometimes, but other times he likes the motivation that those girls bring the guys.” Willow points to the section diagonal to us. The group is mostly girls, all decked out in CPU Hawks paraphernalia. Some hold signs for the players, although I can’t quite make out the words through the glare of the glass.
“Puck bunnies,” Violet murmurs. “It’s infuriating to watch them line up waiting for their slice of attention. Especially when they know that some of the guys have girlfriends.”
“Like Greyson and Knox.” I sink lower in my seat.
“And Steele,” Violet adds with a smirk.
The devil himself skates out onto the ice. He glances first to the groupies, then over to where Willow, Violet, and I sit. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he scowls.
“Why’d he want me to come if he’s going to be grumpy about it?”
“Why do any of them do what they do?” Violet asks. “I’ve stopped trying to map out Grey’s intentions.”
I eye Willow. “What’s up with you and Knox?”
Violet nudges her best friend. “Yeah, Willow, what’s up with you and Knox?”
Willow scoffs. “We’re having fun.”
“You’re dating,” Violet presses. “And…?”
“And we’re dating. So?”
“He flirts with everyone when you’re not around,” Violet points out. “And he’s probably more of a jerk than Grey—but…”
“But?” Willow stares straight forward. She’s tense, but it seems like more than that. A wake-up call she’s not ready for?
“He doesn’t act possessive.” Violet shrugs. “Steele does. He doesn’t want any guy talking to you. And he hasn’t so much as glanced at another girl since—”
“You can’t say that about Greyson, though,” Willow snaps. “He fucking made out with Paris—”
“We weren’t together,” Violet replies calmly. “He doesn’t give a shit about any other girls now. I’m his, he’s mine, it’s simple. But I’m just worried, Will, okay? I’m worried he’s going to hurt you. And…”
“It’s fine,” Willow snaps, finally looking at her best friend. “I love him, so, there’s not really much more we can do about it.”
They hold a glare, and then Violet reaches out and puts her hand on Willow’s leg.
“You love him?”
“He got under my skin,” Willow murmurs. “I haven’t told him. I’m not going to tell him.”
Love is never a good thing. Not in our cases anyway.
“I’d hate to see Steele in love,” I comment, more out of sympathy to change the subject than anything else. I find his jersey on the ice, marveling at the way he moves. Still, I know exactly what he’d do with love—and it’d be nothing good. “He’s a scary motherfucker as it is.”
They both burst out laughing.
I sigh.
Yeah, I get the feeling I’m screwed, too.
STEELE
You stick around?
ME
I figured you wouldn’t want me running off after begging me to watch you skate in circles for hours…
STEELE
You thought correct. Come down.
I sigh and roll my eyes. Willow, Violet, and I already came down to the main level. Greyson was one of the first out of the locker room, sweeping Violet under his shoulder. Knox followed, picking up Willow and twirling her around. Then other players.
It made me question whether Steele had slipped past me, although I stayed put mostly out of stubbornness.
With the text, I assume he means the locker room, so I push the door open.
There’s water running in one of the shower stalls against the far wall, with just an opaque white curtain hiding Steele’s naked body. My mouth waters for the strangest reason, and I’m half tempted to shed my clothes and join him.
My curiosity certainly doesn’t stop me from ambling closer.
He’s groaning under his breath. Groaning my name. I stop breathing and inch closer, until my shoes are on the tile, and the curtain is within reach. I slide it open and stare at Steele’s cock. He’s stroking it fast, his other hand braced on the wall. Water rushes down over the back of his neck, rolling down his back and perfectly sculpted ass.
Why have I never seen his ass before?
And his chest tattoos. The deer skull with the horns in the center of his sternum. Only the tips of the horns that frame his neck are usually visible with his shirt. There’s something I can’t make out on his stomach. And the scratches I left on him, too. They bled, and now they’re scabbed-over lines. It appears like he was attacked by a wolf or something, four claw marks on each side of his neck dragging down to his chest. In my haste to make him feel a fraction of what I felt, I didn’t stop to analyze his tattoos. Even when I ripped off his shirt.
He turns and looks at me, his eyes hooded. “You like to watch, too?”
I bite my lip. My gaze drops back down to where he’s jerking himself off. Slower now that he has an audience of one.
“Aspen, do you like watching?”
“I’m debating crawling in there and taking over,” I whisper. “But another part of me doesn’t want to touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
His eyes flash. “And what do you want me to do about that?”
I step back and shed my coat, dropping it over the lip of the stall. I tear off my shirt, too, and toe off my shoes. Socks. Until I’m in my leggings and bra, my chest heaving.
“I won’t ever gag you again,” he swears. He leaves the water running and steps toward me. “Was that it? Was that the line?”
I force myself to keep eye contact. “The spreader bar. The gag. The dark. The… combination of the three.”
“They’re gone for good.” His chin lowers, his gaze burning into me. “One day, you’ll tell me the whole story.”
I shake my head, my lips curling into a sneer. “No, Steele, I won’t.”
He lunges for me.
I jerk back, but I’m not fast enough to avoid him. He crushes me against the side of the stall, his wet body touching all of mine. Soaking through my leggings and bra in an instant. My nipples harden through the fabric, and I struggle to push him off me.
Instead, the only way he lets me go is toward the water.
I inch that way, and he herds me under the stream. Hot water douses me. I tip my head back and let it rinse over my face. I’ve taken to not wearing makeup lately, and I’m weirdly glad of that fact right now. No one wants streaks of mascara running down their faces.
My hair is drenched in an instant, sticking to my neck and back. My leggings are goners, too. I’ll be dripping by the time I get out of here. I reach behind me and unclasp my bra, tearing it off and throwing it at his face.
He catches it and smiles down at the fabric, some secret thought going through his head, then tosses it behind him.
Steele palms my throat, using it to push me back farther. My shoulder blades touch the wall, and the water goes over my head. It hits his chest, little rivers coursing down his body. I stare at him, taking him in.
His washboard abs, the tattoos. His hair is darker wet, and I give in to my sudden impulse to touch him. I run my fingers through his hair, spiking it a bit, and curl my fingers around the back of his neck.
I pull him toward me.
He doesn’t resist. He stays still when I press my lips to his once, twice. My nails bite into his skin, and I nip his lower lip.
When he grips my hips, I don’t move. He hooks his thumbs in my waistband and drags my leggings and underwear off, guiding my feet out of them and tossing the soaked material away. He rises and picks me up, urging my legs to wrap around him. My back hits the wall again, harder, and the water sprays him in the face.
I reach up and redirect it. I mean, I’d love to see him get blasted by it while he fucks me, but something tells me it wouldn’t add to the experience. Not this time anyway.
The head of his cock slides through my center, and I gasp.
He smirks. “Wet already, little viper?”
“Better than being caught masturbating…”
His smile widens. “I’ll admit, that wasn’t part of my plan.”
“What was your plan?” Sue me, I’m curious. But my voice comes out a bit shaky, because he’s still dragging his cock between my legs and teasing me into shambles. I hook my legs harder around his hips, locking my ankles and trying to force him closer.
“I was going to…” He leans in and kisses my neck.
I automatically tip my head to the side and give him more access.
His teeth score my throat, and I jump.
“I was going to chase you all around the stadium. In the dark. With a mask. And force you out onto the ice where I could fuck you right out in the open.”
Goosebumps rise on my skin that has nothing to do with the cooling water droplets.
“A mask?”
He leans back and nods, the corner of his lip curling. “You just got wetter, sweetheart.”
Fuck.
I look away, but he pinches my jaw and drags my face back to his. With one hand on my thigh keeping me steady, and his hips pinning me to the wall, he notches at my entrance and slides in without a word.
We both let out little huffs at the contact. I force myself to keep my eyes open, not wanting to miss the lust in his. His cock stretches me, sending waves of pleasure crashing through my body. Not an orgasm—but damn it, I could stay like this for a while.
“Why on the ice?”
“To erase my memory of you standing out there with that fucking twat Knight player.”
He pulls out almost all the way and slams back into me. He does it again, slower, and my lips part. He’s going slow and hard, setting a pace that my mind can’t latch on to. I want him to move faster, but each time he pummels me, I see stars.
“Is this what you imagined when you wandered into the boys’ locker room?” He releases my jaw and slips his hand between our bodies. His fingers find my clit. “Getting fucked in the shower?”
“I—” I lose the ability to talk, because my orgasm rolls over me like a tidal wave.
He keeps rubbing my clit, thrusting into me like he’s got nowhere to be.
“Fuck, Steele,” I groan. My head falls forward, my forehead touching his shoulder.
He holds me tighter, his grip on my thigh bruising.
“That’s it,” he whispers in my ear. “Come on my cock like the little slut you are. And after I use you some more, you’re going to come again. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Shit.
That does something to me.
He retracts his hand from my clit and pulls out of me entirely, setting my feet on the floor. My knees are still wobbly, but he guides me out of the shower. He points to the bench between the lockers. The one all the guys probably sit on to put on their equipment or whatever.
“Sit,” he orders.
I do, facing him. Ignoring the water still dripping off both of our bodies, pooling under us. He steps up between my legs and reaches down, palming my breasts. He pinches my nipples, pulling them until they stiffen even more between his fingers. They were already little rocks from the cold, but it seems like they react even more to his touch.
I arch my back into his grasp.
“I love your tits,” he groans. “But right now…” He releases them and fists my wet hair. “Open.”
My attention drops to directly in front of me. His cock, which he stroked in the shower, then plowed into me, stands at attention. The head is redder, clear liquid oozing out of his slit. I meet Steele’s gaze and shake my head.
“Make me,” I say.
He smirks. “Thought you’d say that.”
He yanks my hair hard enough to make me gasp. He takes that opening and shoves between my lips, filling my mouth. He hits the back of my throat, and I gag around him. I hold his thighs, my nails digging into his skin. I hope it makes him bleed.
I don’t mind it, though. In a way, it feels like I’m spinning out of control. A top let loose on the counter. Except Steele’s the one who set me off, and I have to trust that he’ll keep me from falling, too. Now that he’s learned from his mistakes.
So I stare up at him as he fucks my mouth hard enough to bruise, forcing his way down my throat. He yanks me off him, his fist in my hair, then he uses it to push me forward.
I take the fucking. I suck and swirl when the tip is in my mouth and breathe when he lets me.
What does it say about me that I like this?
He warns me that he’s going to come, and I don’t even think about it. I yank myself off his cock and manually stroke him before he can stop me. I point him at my chest, closing my eyes when hot ropes of cum coat my skin.
His fingers are still tangled in my hair. I hadn’t even realized it, that he let me pull away from him. It would’ve been easy for him to force my head down.
“This is a familiar sight.” He helps me stand.
Yeah, right. Except the last time I had cum on my tits, he left me to deal with it—and all my spilled papers—in the stairwell.
That feels like a lifetime ago.
We go back toward the shower, but before I can get in, he bear hugs me from behind. His body curls over mine. And for a split second, I think, Aw, this is nice.
But then he smears his cum into my skin with his palm, dragging it down between my breasts. He swipes two fingers through it, and his hand disappears between my legs. His other arm keeps me captive against him.
His fingers push into me.
I bite back a groan, more confused than anything.
“Should’ve come in here,” he says in my ear, then kissing the spot just behind it. “When is your period due?”
I narrow my eyes, looking back at him. “Why?”
“Because I’m just trying to figure out if you’re pregnant.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I—” I laugh. “This is ridiculous. I’m getting my period next week. You won’t be able to miss it.”
He adds a third finger inside me, and I shudder.
“I won’t miss it, huh? Someone has a blood kink I don’t know about?”
“Fuck off,” I groan.
“No, now I’m curious.”
I shift, pushing at his arm. Guys are weird about periods, aren’t they? I don’t need his judgment. “All I meant was that you’ll see that downstairs is closed for business next week,” I snap.
He goes silent. And almost still, except for those damn fingers twisting me up. My clit throbs, needing attention to come. But he seems content to torment me like this.
Finally, he says, “I’m not sure why you think I’d be repelled by a little blood. I’ve heard it makes girls more… sensitive.”
I exhale. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t know.”
He chuckles. His chest, pressed to my back, vibrates. He squeezes me tighter, then releases me. Pulls out from my pussy, too, and strides back to the shower. He shuts the water off and collects our clothes, frowning at my wet leggings and bra.
Without a word, he grabs his towel and wraps it around me. I barely manage to grab the edges in my confusion, but he just stalks back to his locker.
The next thing I know, he’s throwing a hoodie at me.
I hastily wipe away the water, patting my skin dry and wringing out my hair, then I slip on the hoodie. It covers me to mid-thigh, which is more than I could’ve asked for. His boxers follow, and I glare at him.
He just smirks and drags his gray sweatpants up his legs, apparently planning on going commando.
“You should go straight home,” I murmur.
“I was planning on taking you home,” he says.
I lift my shoulder. “Girls will want to ravage you if they see your dick swinging in your gray sweatpants. It’s that season.”
“What season?”
I roll my eyes. “Gray sweatpants season. Did you buy them with that in mind?”
He faces me and cups his dick through the fabric. “So this turns you on?”
“No.” I wrinkle my nose. “Never mind.”
He smirks. “Uh-huh.”
Great. Just what he needs—more ego.
