“He’s still scary…” I whisper to Cole.
Cole cackles, slinging an arm around my shoulders like he’s about to die laughing. “No shit, curls. He’sDamian fucking Kade.”
The locker room detonates again, louder than before.
The chirping doesn’t stop. Not when I yank my pads off, not when I slam my helmet into the stall, not even when I grab my towel and stumble toward the showers like I’m sprinting to salvation.
Cole’s voice follows me down the row, cracked and gleeful:“Here comes the bride, all dressed in white—”
“SHUT UP!” I yell over my shoulder, face on fire, curls sticking to my forehead. The only answer is Mats howling and Shane actually trying to harmonize.
By the time I slam the shower handle on, steam bursts up around me, hot water pounding across my shoulders. I brace both hands on the tile, eyes closed, trying to drown out the echo of wedding songs bouncing off the locker room walls.
Christ. I’m never living this down.
I tilt my head back under the spray, hot water slicking curls down my neck, soap burning my eyes—but then everything stops.
Because he’s here.
Damian.
The water shifts hotter with the size of him, his shadow cutting through the steam before I even open my eyes. Then—his body presses in behind me. Solid. Immovable. One hand clamps firm around my waist, dragging me back against him, while the other slams heavy against the tile beside my head, caging me in.
“Mouthy little pup,” he rumbles.
My breath catches. My knees damn near buckle. I clutch the tile harder, steam burning in my lungs.
“Sir—” My voice cracks, undone already.
His grip on my waist tightens. The spray hisses hotter over both of us, soap running down my chest, and I’m trapped between stone and fire—tile in front, Damian behind.
And I should shut up. I should bite my tongue, take the warning,behave.
But I don’t.
Because I’m Elias Mercer, reckless little shit, and my mouth has always been my worst weapon.
So it slips out—stupid, reckless as hell: “Maybe you just like it when I mouth off, Captain.”
The second I say it, the steam itself freezes.
His hand slams tighter on my waist, holding me flush, until my cock twitches traitorously under the spray.
“Brat,” he snarls, and before I can even suck in a breath, his fist tangles deep at my roots and yanks my head back.
Then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is wet and rough, water pouring down our faces, steam burning around us. His lips crash against mine, his tongue shoves past my teeth like he’s punishing me for every chirp I’ve ever thrown. I choke on a gasp, clawing at the slick tile for balance as his mouth devours me.
It’s brutal. Ruthless.Perfect.
I try to poke again, but the sound dies in my throat when his tongue drags against mine, when his teeth catch my lower lip hard enough to make me yelp. He swallows the noise whole, pressing me tighter against the wall, his body sealing me in like the water itself is obeying him.
My knees give. He holds me up. One hand fisted tight in my curls, the other still crushing my waist, his mouth neverletting me go. I’m panting into him, trembling under nothing but a kiss.
He pulls back just far enough to growl against my mouth, “Still feel like mouthing off, pup?”
And God help me, my lips twitch into a shaky grin.
