I tilt my head, savoring the cracks in his armor. “Drunk, sure. But I’m not wrong.”
He turns, like he might walk out, so I pounce.
“You felt it,” I say, low, sharp, threading the words like barbed wire. My fingers hook onto his belt loops, pulling him back against my chest. “Out there on the ice. When I leaned in, when I whispered—your body lit up like a fuse.”
He freezes. Just for a second. That’s all I need.
I push harder. “You can stand here, all stiff and perfect, pretending you’re untouchable. But I know the truth. You’re hard right now, aren’t you? Just from me talking.”
His shoulders lock, and heat flares in his cheeks. That’s my answer.
I laugh, dark and satisfied. “God, that’s pathetic. All it takes is a few dirty words and you’re burning under all that fucking ice. Tell me—what exactly is it that does it for you? The way I said I’d loosen you up? Or are you imagining me shoving you down to your knees right here?”
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t deny it.
“You think I don’t notice the way you watch me? All that hate in your eyes—it’s just a cover. You want me to break you. You want me to ruin that perfect little image you’re clinging to.”
“Shut up,” he growls, low, dangerous.
“Make me,” I whisper, grinning.
He snaps his head up, eyes flashing. His forearm presses against my throat, choking me just enough to make it feel euphoric. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’re just screwing with me. Let’s make fun of the gay rich kid who bought his way onto the team! You think you’re hot shit, don’t you? This is just some experiment for you, right? Some ‘let’s see how far I can push him’ phase before you go back to whatever girl’s waiting in your bed?”
I freeze for a fraction of a second, and then laugh. “You think I’m confused?” My voice is a growl. “Yeah, I’ve got some girl back in my bed, but all my mind can focus on is you.”
He blinks, caught off guard. “You?—”
“I want you,” I cut in, low and rough. I press my crotch against his hip so he can see I’m enjoying his threats a little too much. “I want to get under your skin until you can’t breathe without thinking about me. And I don’t do experiments.” Myhand drags down his chest to his hip, not subtle anymore. “I know who the fuck I am.”
He’s searching my face now, a blush rushing up his neck, his gray eyes soft and vulnerable under all that steel. Alaric is caught, ruined in my hands.
“I—I don’t?—”
The tension snaps. I surge forward, forcing his arm out of the way, crushing my mouth against his.
The kiss is anger and teeth, all the things we can’t say with words. My hands slam into his hips, shoving him back against the glass with a sound like a gunshot. His lips part under mine, hot and furious, and for a moment he doesn’t resist. His body betrays him again—pressing closer, heat sparking where we collide.
He makes a sound low in his throat, half curse, half groan, and fists my shirt. He’s trembling—not with fear, but with something darker. I push in harder, tilting his head back to take more, bite more. The glass behind him fogs with our breath, streaking under my palms.
I taste him—salt, adrenaline, a faint sweetness like the moment before a fight. He tastes like fury. Like a man trying not to want what he already needs.
He tears his mouth away long enough to rasp, “This—this isn’t?—”
I catch his chin, forcing him to meet my eyes. “This is exactly what it looks like.” I snarl.
He tries for a smirk, weak but still fighting. “What, me being your trophy?”
My grin is feral. “No. You being mine tonight.” I kiss him again, harder, swallowing whatever protest he was about to make.
His hands tighten in my shirt, pulling me closer even as he shoves weakly at my chest. Our mouths clash, a push-pull ofhatred and hunger. It’s not gentle, not even close. It’s a crash of bodies, teeth scraping, tongues tangling, both of us fighting for the upper hand and losing ourselves instead.
I press my thigh between his, feeling the tremor in him, the way his breath catches. His cock is long and hard against my thigh, making a groan rumble in my chest. “Still think I’m experimenting?” I murmur against his lips. “Still think I don’t know what I want?”
He glares at me, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, but his hips shift just enough to answer. The glass rattles behind him. The sound of the storm outside filters in, muted, like the world has shrunk down to just us and this heat.
I drag the kiss out, long and rough, until his hands go slack in my shirt, until he’s panting against my mouth. He tastes like surrender and fury, like the edge of a blade. Every time he pulls back, I take more, until there’s no space left between us.
When I finally ease back, our foreheads are touching, our breath mingling. His eyes are blown wide, pupils huge, chest heaving. I stroke my thumb over his jaw, slow and deliberate, and watch him try to gather himself.
