He's in the net, stretching, his long, lean body contorted into a full split. I swallow hard, my fingers curling into fists in my pockets.
It's not unusual for goalies to be flexible, but the sight of him like that, spread out and open . . . it sends a jolt of heat through me, a flash of desire I can't quite suppress.
Three nights ago, after our interaction in the alleyway, I barely made it into the shower before I was fisting my cock. And then again the next morning, waking hard and aching.
He was right when he called me out, when he threw my bullshit back in my face, because the truth is, I do want him in the most feral way. And the more he pushes, the harder it is to resist him. Like the fucking fact I should be infuriated he’s been spying on me in my own home.
Except, I can’t help but wonder what he’s seen.
Has he seen me naked? And if so, did he like it?
“You good?” Rinne's voice snaps me out of my thoughts, his brow raised in question.
I clear my throat, dragging my gaze away from Viktor. “Yeah, just not sure what to expect. Hoping Henneman’s ready for this.”
“This game will test what he’s made of, if he’s ready to be a Titan. The team will be watching him too.”
The Titans’ players are tough, but I’ve learned they also weed out those who can’t hold up. Rumors claim accidents happen, but mostly, from what I gather, they just bully whoever they want off the team until that player eventually quits.
I glance over at Knight, who’s eyeing Henneman. Knight’s put the rookie into the boards a few times, even during practice. And full force no less.
While Henneman remains quiet, he hasn’t backed down. In my book that shows character.
Rinne chuckles suddenly, nodding toward the ice. “Looks like you've got an admirer.”
I follow his gaze to see Killian Blackwell, the Serpents' captain, glaring at me from across the rink. His eyes are hard, his jaw set, a clear challenge in his stance.
“What's his deal?” I mutter, meeting his stare with a cool one of my own.
“Probably just being overprotective of Reed.”
Reed is stretching alongside Walsh. He seems more at ease around me, less skittish. He even came to me for advice on his puck handling. He’s still recovering, and some things he’s relearning how to do at the same level he used to do them.
Nieminen calls the team over, going over strategy and reminding them the Serpents are going to be coming after them. After, he turns to Reed. “You ease up on your partner out there, or I'll bench your ass so fast your head will spin."
“Might need to bench him for going too hard. Fighting’s foreplay for them,” Viktor says, causing half the team to snicker.
“Says the asshat with the new necklace.” Reed points to the bruises on Viktor's throat.
Bruises I put there.
My stomach twists, a sour taste in my mouth. I hadn't meant to hurt him, to leave marks. I'd thought he was Noah and lost control for a moment.
But Viktor just basks in the moment, tilting his chin up with a proud glint in his eyes, as if he's showcasing the bruises. “What can I say? I like it rough.”
The night in my office, I'd marked him then too, in a way. Painted his face with my cum.
But this . . . this is different. I don't like causing pain, don’t like to leave marks, even if my tastes do run toward the rougher side.
Rinne shakes his head, laughing. “Surprised he’s cracking jokes. Novotny’s been prickly as a cactus lately. Probably needs to work out some frustration.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. Well, fuck me sideways. Did the brat finally listen? Did he follow through on not touching himself?
The puck drops, the crowd roars, and it steals my full attention. The Titans and Serpents collide immediately, bodies slamming into each other, sticks clashing like swords.
I lean forward, tracking the puck as it zips across the ice. “Knight, watch your left side! Henneman, push up—support the play!”
The Serpents are relentless, their offense a battering ram against our defense. They push and push, searching for a crack, a weakness to exploit. Then Blackwell’s on a breakaway, skating hard toward the goal. My heart leaps into my throat as he winds up for the shot, the puck leaving his stick like a bullet.
