“Up,” he commands.
I try to stand, but my legs wobble beneath me, shaking from effort.
He catches me without hesitation, lifts me effortlessly, and shoves me against the tile. Water pours over both of us now, soaking my bare skin while he remains fully geared—taped, armored, relentless.
I’m exposed, flushed with heat, and trembling under his hands, every nerve lit up and screaming his name.
He leans in close, breath hot against my ear as he claims me all over again. “You skate like a fucking devil,” he growls. “Now you’ll scream like my pup.”
And then Damian kisses me hard enough to crack the air around us. Teeth, tongue, dominance—his mouth crashes into mine like he wants to taste the scream already building in mythroat. My head slams back against the tile, water raining down, and still he doesn’t let up.
He kisses like he fights, with his whole body and absolutely no mercy.
I whimper as his tongue drags over mine, as his teeth sink into my bottom lip and send sparks down my spine. My knees buckle, my back arches, and I claw at the slick fabric of his jersey, nails scraping up his chest like I’m trying to crawl inside his ribs, like being close isn’t close enough.
And Damian growls low and rough, the sound vibrating out of his chest as he presses in tighter. “Louder,” he hisses against my mouth. “Give it to me, pup.”
I choke on a gasp, nails digging harder into his shoulders as my whole body starts to tremble. I am feral. I am his.
And when he finally pulls back enough to look at me, I’m already gone. My chest is heaving, my eyes are wild. My cock is flushed and leaking between us like I might actually die if he doesn’t touch me now.
He smirks like he knows, like he planned every second of this, and then he grabs my thigh, lifts it, pins it to his hip with one gloved hand, and murmurs, “You’re gonna beg, Elias. You’re gonna howl for me.”
And God help me, I know I will.
He sinks to his knees in full gear. Shoulder pads creaking, skates thudding against tile, that soaked black jersey clinging to him. It shouldn’t be possible—he’s huge, heavy, armored—but he drops to the floor like he was meant to kneel there for me.
My breath hitches. “Cap—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, voice dark and holy. His hands are already on my thighs, rough and wet, spreading me open with unshakable control. “You gave me that goal, pup. Now I’m gonna make you forget how to stand.”
My back slams into the tile again. The water pours over both of us, hot and loud, but all I can feel is his mouth—pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of my thigh, slow and filthy. Like he’s not just going to eat me out—he’s going to devour me.
And when he drags his tongue up, until it lands exactly where I need it, my knees give out completely. “FUCK—!”
He pins me harder. One hand locking around my hip, the other splayed across my chest, holding me there, like he owns my ability to move, to survive.
And then he goes down on me. No mercy. Tongue flicking. Lips sealed. Groaning on me like he’s starving. I sob—echoing off the walls—my hands scrabbling at his soaked hair, his gear, anything to anchor me.
But there’s no escape.
Mouth working my length, eyes locked on mine even from down there. I try to look away, but I can’t. His stare pins me in place harder than his hands ever could.
I am nothing but noise.
And when I finally break, body jerking, voice raw, pleasure slamming into me so hard I see white, he keeps going. Sucking me through it. Holding me there. Making sure I feel it.
By the time he stands again, wiping his mouth with his thumb, water still pouring from above and steam clouding the room, the only thing holding me upright is his hand fisted tight in my hair.
And I smile, drunk on him, high on it, still shaking from everything we’ve done. “I’m gonna marry you,” I pant, letting my head fall weakly against his chest, the words slurred with exhaustion and something dangerously close to reverence.
His chest rumbles with laughter, low and satisfied. “Yeah, pup,” he mutters, dragging me close with one arm wrapped tight around me. “You fucking are.”
Game 3.
Icehawks’ barn.
Finals. Their territory.
