“Like this?” she asks, her voice a low, teasing challenge.
“Exactly like that,” I groan.
She lowers herself onto my face, her wet cunt settling right over my mouth. I bury my face in her pussy, my tongue delving deep, tasting every inch of her. She rides my face, grinding down against me, using my mouth to get herself off. It’s the most fucking erotic thing I’ve ever seen. I can feel her getting close, her thighs trembling, her movements becoming erratic. Effort redoubles as my tongue works her clit in tight, rapid circles.
“Fuck, Gio,” she gasps, her body tensing. “I’m coming.”
She shatters, her cunt clenching around my tongue, a wave of her release washing over my face. I lap it up, drinking her down. She collapses beside me, her body limp, her breathing ragged. After giving her a second to recover, I’m on her again, flipping her onto her stomach and dragging her hips up. My own pants come off fast, a condom rolled on with shaking hands. Her hips are firm in my grip as I line myself up with her entrance.
“You’re mine,” I growl, and then I slam into her, burying myself to the hilt.
She cries out, her back arching. I set a brutal pace, my hips snapping against her ass, my balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. The room fills with the sound of our bodies coming together, the wet slap of skin on skin, our ragged breathing. Onehand reaches around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight, hard circles.
“Come for me again,” I command. “Come all over my cock.”
She does. Her pussy clamps down around me, a vice grip of pleasure that pulls my own orgasm from me. I roar, my hips stuttering as I empty myself into the condom, my whole body shaking with the force of it. We collapse onto the bed, a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs. I press a kiss to her shoulder, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Good celebration?” I ask, my voice rough.
She turns her head to look at me, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face. “I could get used to celebrating like this,” she says.
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 36
Zoë
The silence in my dorm room is a living thing. It’s full of echoes. The scent of Gio’s cologne clings to my sweater, a phantom presence. My body is a map of him—the faint ache in my hips, the tender skin on my jaw where he bit me, the deep, satisfied ache between my legs. I’m alone, but I’m not by myself.
On the edge of my bed, I sit with the cool sheets a stark contrast to the heat still humming under my skin. My phone comes up in my hand, my thumb swiping over the screen without really seeing it. My brain is trying to process the seismic shift. The internship. The celebration. The way he commanded me to ride his face, with a raw, desperate need to give me control. It was a surrender.
Scrolling back through my messages, my thumb moves again and again—to the beginning. To the first few texts we everexchanged. These messages read differently now, examined with the detached curiosity of a scientist studying a fossil.
Gio: My place. 9.
Me: Who is this?
Gio: You know who this is.
I can practically hear the entitled smirk in that first message. The boy who thought a name and a roster spot were all the leverage he needed. He was a fortress of arrogance, all high walls and no gates. He saw me as a problem to be managed, a complication, a challenge to his control. I was just another piece on his board, and he expected me to move where he told me to.
My thumb scrolls forward, past the insults and the fights, past the public scandals and the private betrayals. The texts change. The tone shifts. The fortress walls start to crack.
Gio: Are you okay?
Gio: I’m sorry.
Gio: Don’t go to the party. Please.
And then, tonight. The man who stood in the shadows while I took my bow, his gaze a steady anchor in a blinding storm. The man who got on his knees in a dirty alley and offered me his vulnerability as penance. The man who looked at me after Elena Moretti offered me the internship and didn’t say a word, just nodded, because he understood it was my victory.
This is someone new. Someone I helped create. Someone who is, terrifyingly, irrevocably, mine.
The realization settles in my chest, with the calm, certain weight of a stone dropping into still water. I’ve chosen it. I’ve chosen him. And choosing him means choosing all of it—the violence, the possession, the public spectacle, and the private surrender.
Decision crystallizes as I stand. Leggings and a hoodie come next, pulled on with sharp, certain movements. I need to see him. Acting on this truth can’t wait. Being in his world—on his turf—means reminding him, and myself, exactly who we are now.
Cold air fills the hallway leading to the locker room, smelling of ozone and rubber. It’s the smell of hard work—the extra practice is still grinding on out on the ice, but Gio is done. Coach sent him in early to rest his shoulder. The adrenaline is still a live wire under my skin.
