I want to poke him more. “Really?” I lift my brows as he seethes. “I’m pretty sure I saw you hesitate when you had a clear line to the net.” I may not be an expert, but just as I’d turned around from high-fiving the girl behind me in the arena because we both saw Boris the Bear at the same time and shrieked his name in unison, I watched Sylvan’s too-slow shot get easily slammed back toward his goalie.
He takes a deep breath. I want him to lash out, because then I know I’ve won.
But he doesn’t.
He shrugs one shoulder flippantly, then has another drink.
Faust still says nothing.
“I saw your jersey.” Sylvan’s words are barely audible.
“You what?”
Sylvan drags his gaze over my body, from my stilettos to my tight leather pants, the way my waist is cinched in. He lingers on my tits, and my nipples are hard since I don’t have my jacket or my jersey, but I don’t dare cover myself. His attention crawls higher, to my collarbone, my throat, my lips.
At last, smirking, dimples showing in his pale skin, he meets my gaze again.
“You want to fuck him, don’t you? My captain?”
Suddenly, it’s like I can feel heat radiating from Faust behind me.
Or maybe that’s just the flush inside my own veins.
“Is that why you wore his jersey like he owns your cunt?”
My shoulders stiffen.
I didn’t expect him to say that word.
“Connor.” Faust’s voice rumbles at my back.
Sylvan’s smile widens.
He throws back the rest of his drink as my heart beats fast inside my chest, then, in fluid, graceful motions, he gets out of the booth and starts to stalk toward me.
I don’t think.
I just back up, even as I hate that I did the second the action is done.
But it’s too late.
My spine is pressed to Faust.
His hand comes to my hip, the weight of him heavy and firm.
Sylvan crowds my space but doesn’t touch me.
I’m between both of them, and even though there’s dozens of people right outside that door, including Cynthia who will undoubtedly come check on me if I’m in here too long, I feel trapped. Nervous.
But I don’t hate it.
Not yet.
Sylvan looks down, his eyes on my tight nipples, poking at the fabric of my shirt.
His nostrils flare as he steps closer, but he doesn’t look up.
“He can own you. I just want a bite,” he murmurs. He parts his lips and runs his tongue over his left canine. Then he glances up at me as my chest heaves. I feel like I’m liquid. Melting.
