I look down and sure enough, a few ropes of his cum are on my skin. The corner of my mouth ticks up slightly, then my brows furrow.
Since when do I like being marked?
Reality starts to seep back in, cold and sobering. I sit back against the wall, putting some much-needed distance between us. My body feels strange, wrung-out and oversensitive.
Killian also sits up and scoots back, rubbing his palms over his face. “This doesn't change anything. I still can't stand you.”
“Right back at you.”
A soft sigh falls from his lips as he shakes his head, cheeks flushing. “I’ve never even looked at another guy. Not even once. This . . . you . . . it’s all new to me.”
“I’ve watched some gay porn. Didn’t do much for me. Not like watching my roommates.” Okay, maybe I added the last part to cut the tension because a tandem freakout with my rival isn’t happening.
“What the hell?” Killian stares at me, shock and disgust warring one another on his face.
I roll my eyes. “Not like that. Well . . . maybe like that. It’s not my fault they go at it at two in the morning.”
“Don’t want to know any more about Petrov, thank you very much.” He reaches for his waistband and pulls his sweatpants up, covering himself. “You need to go.”
And I should.
Only, for the first time in three years, maybe ever, I feel completely satiated in a way that goes deeper than the physical. Like an itch I didn't even know I had has finally been scratched.
It's disorienting, and I don't have the first clue what to do about it.
“Jackson, get out.” Killian’s voice is quiet but firm.
Something in my chest squeezes at the dismissal. At the rejection. I stand and yank my pants up, then storm out of his room, knowing one thing with a cold certainty—this isn't over.
Not by a long shot.
Chapter 6
Killian
The Dunkin' Donuts Center vibrates with anticipation as the Titans glide across the ice in their pristine white away jerseys, their skates carving elegant paths through the fresh surface.
Raiyne, some of the guys from our team, and I grabbed an early breakfast before heading over to scope out the competition.
It's a common tactic, watching other teams play, looking for weaknesses to exploit or strengths to counter. And yet, my focus isn’t on Crestwood University’s hockey team. It’s entirely on one player, his name a drumbeat in my head, a fever I can't shake.
Jackson Reed.
My eyes track his every move. He's poetry in motion, all coiled power and deadly precision, and I can't look away. My heartbeats out of control, as if someone injected me with a liter of adrenaline.
When his head snaps my way, his light green eyes locking onto me like a targeting system, my breath catches in my throat. For a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of us. But then his lips twist into a scowl and he pivots sharply, skating to the far end of the rink like he can't get away from me fast enough.
“Damn, that’s new.” Trembley claps my shoulder. “Since when does Reed avoid us?”
Since we rutted against each other like animals in heat, our hands desperate and greedy, our mouths hot and filthy. Since I came harder than I ever have in my life, my vision whiting out with the force of it.
Since I kicked him out of my room with his cum still cooling on my skin.
It was a dick move, but my head was spinning, and I had no idea when Trembley was coming back. Last thing I needed was to try to explain having a sexual encounter with our biggest rival while I’m still trying to figure it out myself, including the fact that I apparently like men.
And that I specifically really like Jackson.
Maybe Ionlylike him.
