“You think this isfavoritism,” he says. Not a question.
I swallow so hard it hurts. “Yes, sir.”
Silence stretches. Hot water pounds down my back. My ribs ache but I don’t look away. I can’t.
“I don’t want special treatment,” I whisper, words cracking. “I want to earn it. All of it. Every rep, every shift, every second. Please. Don’t take me off the ice.”
My voice breaks again onplease. Too high. Too wrecked. My chest is trembling and I can hear how pathetic I sound, but I can’t stop.
“Sir, I’m begging you. Don’t bench me.”
My back hits the shower tiles with a wet slap, steam curling up around us like smoke. Captain’s hand locks around my throat, thumb pressing steady under my chin, tilting my head back until my pulse thunders against his grip.
He doesn’t say anything.
Not at first.
Just looks down at me. Those eyes drag over my face—eyes, lips, throat—and back up again, slow enough to unravel every nerve in my body. His thumb strokes my jaw once, deliberate, claiming.
I stare up at him like an idiot. Wide-eyed. Mouth parted. Like he hung the moon, the sun, the stars, every single light in the goddamn world. Because to me…he did.
The steam, the pounding water—none of it matters. It’s just him. The weight of his hand, the weight of his silence, the way he’s holding me in place like I’ll break if he lets go.
And then—finally—he speaks.
“Everyone’s off the ice tomorrow.” His voice carries, low but firm, cutting through the hiss of the showers. Loud enough that I know the boys outside hear it too.
My eyes go wide. My jaw drops. I gape up at him like he just set the whole rink on fire.
And then—
“Oh mygodYES!” Cole groans from the other side of the wall. “Bless you, curls, you little angel—sucking real good, huh?”
Laughter detonates across the locker room. Shane wheezes like he’s praying through his cackles, Mats smacks his stick against the wall, Tyler chokes loud enough I’m surprised he doesn’t pass out.
My whole body ignites scarlet. Redder than my jersey, redder than blood on the ice. “Oh my god,” I choke, wanting the tiles to swallow me whole.
And Captain?
He smirks.
Just a slow curl across his scarred mouth. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t evenneedto. His thumb strokes once more across my jaw, calm as ever, while my entire soul combusts around him.
“You did that on purpose…” I whine up at him, throat straining under his grip.
His thumb presses harder under my chin, tilting me back until the water beats down over my face, hot and merciless. His mismatched eyes never move.
“You accused me of favoritism.” His voice is steady, calm, sharp enough to cut the tiles behind my head. “It’s not favoritism if they’re all off the ice.”
My stomach flips. My pulse slams. And then—he presses me deeper into the wall, chest to chest, weight crushing, handunyielding around my throat until I can’t even think about pulling air without his permission.
“And you’re going to pay,” he whispers, low against my lips, heat bleeding straight into me, “for that little attitude.”
My whimper cracks out helpless, muffled under the roar of the shower. My thighs tremble, my cock jerks against wet fabric because even bruised and pinned and wrung out, all I can think isyes, sir.
His mouth hovers a breath from mine, close enough to burn, close enough that if I lean forward even an inch, I’ll fall straight into fire.
The water drums steady against my back, my ribs protest under his hand, and my pulse thrashes wild against his thumb. I’m trembling, waiting for it, waiting for the punishment to land—waiting for him to break me right here against the tiles.
