Brutal Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

I’m buzzing by the time we get back to Grey’s house. My skin is electric. I feel like I keep lighting up where he touches me—which is everywhere. His hands are on me constantly, roaming my body. The possessiveness in him has me panting for more.

I don’t let myself think about how fucked up this is.

For once, I go with what I want.

We maneuver together through the crowd. His hand is on the back of my neck, guiding me along with him. And telling every other guy in this place that I’m his .

I shiver, and he catches it. He gives me a wicked grin, and I smile back. I don’t know what to do with the anticipation riding through me. It’s eating me up inside.

We end up in the kitchen, where Erik mans a long row of liquor bottles. He gestures to us. “Want something special? On the house for the man of the hour.”

Grey smirks. “I live here. And I chipped in for the booze, asswipe.”

Erik laughs and pours him a drink. Grey takes a sip and passes it to me.

“What is it?” I peer into the cup. It’s an orange-ish opaque color, and it smells sweet. I take a sip—and don’t taste the familiar burn of alcohol. It’s not bad, actually. “You know what? Don’t tell me.”

Grey laughs. “Give me tequila. Straight up.”

“Yes, sir.” Erik mock salutes, then grabs a bottle and gives Grey a hefty pour.

Grey knocks his red cup against mine and takes a swig. I mimic him, swallowing another mouthful of the sweet drink. He leans forward and tips up the bottom of my cup, keeping it raised until I’ve drunk the whole thing. Then he tosses my cup into the sink, finishes his tequila, and grins at me.

“Dancing,” he says.

Heat unfurls through my chest. I don’t argue when he leads me into the living room, my hand gripping his tightly. The music is louder in here, the lights dimmer. There are strands of red LED lights strung along the ceiling, casting everyone in an eerie glow. I shake out my hair. Grey spins me into him, catching me carefully at my waist. The room tilts, and I blink rapidly. It gives me a strobe light effect, slicing the dancing couples around me into still frames.

I giggle and slide my hands up his chest.

We move to the beat—it’s hard not to with it pounding through us—and inch closer. He doesn’t go for my lips, though. I hold the back of his neck as he lowers his lips to my throat. Every stinging bite sends more lust crashing through my bloodstream. I dig my nails into his skin when he goes lower, pushing my shirt out of the way.

He kisses my collarbone, the tops of my breasts. His hands keep me upright.

I don’t fucking care that we’re not alone.

He grinds his hips against mine. His erection digs into my abdomen. I slip my hand down and cup him through his jeans. He groans and lifts his head. His fingers thread around the back of my neck, into my hair. He holds my head carefully, although his gaze is fucking heavy.

It conveys everything he wants to say—but doesn’t.

Every fucking promise.

I look pointedly at my watch.

It’s eleven.

Only one hour left until his prize expires.

“Patience,” he mouths.

I run my nail along his skin at the top of his jeans. Just an exposed little sliver. But he shakes his head at me, silently reprimanding me. I want to drag him into the bathroom and tell him to fuck me. I want a million orgasms, and I want to see the expression on his face when he comes. Once wasn’t enough.

I need more.

But demanding Grey to do anything has never worked in my favor.

So I bite my lower lip and let him sweep me along for the ride. Whatever he has planned.

We dance until my legs are numb. I drink another cupful of the juice, not caring that it’s getting harder to open my eyes. The floating sensation doesn’t go away.

Midnight comes and goes, but I don’t think Grey has to worry. I’m still going to do whatever the fuck he wants.

What he has done is tease me. Repeatedly. Every dance, every shift of his thigh, which has inched between my legs and settled against my core, has me on edge. I’m a sweaty mess by the time he finally stops moving. Our dancing was erotic, bordering on dry humping, but no one cares.

And the party has filtered down to a more… intimate setting.

Maybe that’s what he was waiting for.

Goosebumps prick along the backs of my arms, and I swing my head around. It’s hard to focus on any one person. They’re all in their own little spheres. Willow’s around, dancing with someone I don’t recognize. Not Knox, that’s for sure.

Greyson leans down and catches my mouth, dragging my focus back to him. I relish the way his tongue sweeps into my mouth and the taste of tequila on his lips. He backs me up until my ass bumps into something, but he only lifts me and sets me on top of it.

“Do you think they know you’re mine?” he asks me.

I raise my eyebrows. “Maybe you should prove it. Just in case.”

He glances over his shoulder, then back to me. “Okay, baby.”

Without warning, he pulls my leggings down past my knees. I gasp and grip the edge of the table, looking around the dark room. We’re in our own little bubble… just like everyone else. And if we get a few glances, who cares?

Grey’s finger slips under the edge of my panties and pushes into me. I arch my back, closing my eyes as he curls his finger inside me.

“Eyes on me,” he orders.

I’m vaguely aware of a chair at the table being pulled away, dragged back against the wall. Someone sitting, watching. And yet, with the way Greyson leans over me, I don’t think the viewer can actually see anything.

It’s more about the feel anyway.

And right now, all I feel is good .

“You’re drunk,” he says in my ear. “Like that will protect you.”

I snicker. “It was never about protecting myself.”

He cocks his head. He moves his hips, and I groan at the sensation between my legs. His finger still moves, slowly pumping in and out of me.

It makes me wonder if his cum is still there, evidence of our earlier tryst.

“What’s it about, then?”

“Trusting you.” Simple as that. “I hope you’re going to fuck me now.”

“She’s delirious?”

I roll my head to the side, focusing on Steele. My gaze narrows. “You like to watch, O’Brien?”

He leans forward in his seat, steepling his fingers. “Sometimes. Other times I like to participate.”

My eyebrow tics up. Grey grips my chin, directing my face back to him. His fingers tighten just a bit when he leans in, placing an open-mouthed kiss on me. When he pulls back, I sway with him.

He presses down on my chin, opening my mouth wider. My tongue comes out, sweeping along my lower lip. He spits into my mouth, and I make a noise in the back of my throat. Belated shock, but mainly… turned on. By all of it.

“You’re putting on a show,” someone says over Greyson’s shoulder.

Another hockey player.

“She’s mine, and you fuckers need to know it.” He looks back at me. “Aren’t you, baby?”

I swallow, tasting his saliva mix with mine, and nod.

Jacob moves around his friend, leaning against the wall. Another pair of eyes on us. I run my hands up Grey’s front, pushing his shirt up and exposing his chest. I lean forward and kiss his pec. My mouth moves lower, my tongue flicking his nipple, and he grabs me by the throat. He guides my head back up, straightening my spine.

I meet his mouth again, and this time when he squeezes hard enough to cut off my air, his lips are right there . And then his cock is slipping down, nudging my entrance. I’m ready to beg him to fuck me, but the words won’t come.

The oxygen won’t come either.

White spots flicker in my vision, and he releases my throat at the same time he thrusts into me.

I suck in air and grab his shoulders, trying not to slide across the table. He doesn’t seem to give a shit that his friends are watching. He traces his finger down my throat when my head falls back, then kisses it. As if to soothe the marks that are undoubtedly forming on my skin.

Unnecessary but sweet.

“Fuck,” I groan when he brushes my clit. He moves at an indecently slow pace, driving me mad. His finger, too. I’m panting. Putty in his hands. “Please go faster,” I beg.

He smirks.

My gaze lifts, going over his shoulder. Willow’s gone, which is a relief. Most of the dance team girls are. On the couch in the other room, a girl grinds on top of Miles. Erik has another pressed against the wall.

I look at Steele and Jacob, their attention fixated on us. Steele mindlessly palms his hard-on through his jeans.

“I need to get laid,” Jacob says suddenly, rising. His cock is stiff against his pants, too, but he ignores it and leaves the room.

“How about it, Steele?” I whisper, my voice husky. “You need to get laid, too?”

“You’re trouble, Violet,” he answers. “Talking to me when your man is inside you.”

My muscles clench around Grey. I pinch my knees into his hips and let my head fall back again. Grey runs his hands through my hair, scratching my scalp. I wait for him to grip it, to force me one way or another. He doesn’t, though. He just lets me lean back against his hand, all the way down until my back rests on the table.

Then he moves his hands, pushing my shirt up to expose my bra. He pinches my nipples through the fabric, and I arch up into him. I’m floating again. If I close my eyes, I’ll just drift away.

“If anyone touches her, I’ll break your face open,” Grey says to someone. “Got it?”

When I open my eyes, we’re alone. The couples are still in the other room, but the chair Steele sat in is empty.

“You want to come, Vi?”

I blink at Grey and nod.

He pulls out and steps back, taking me with him. My feet touch the floor, and he immediately spins me around. He nudges my legs wider and thrusts inside me from behind. His grip tightens on my throat for a moment, stealing my breath, until the fight comes back into me. I like being manhandled—but I think I like to fight more.

And maybe that’s the only way he’ll let me come.

I claw at his hand, shoving myself backward. He lets me take a gulp of air just as more white spots flicker in my peripheral vision. The room is swimming, alcohol dulling my senses—and my timing. If he really wanted to hurt me, he could. Easily.

He pins me facedown on the table, and I gasp when my face hits the wood. I grip the edge of the table and push back, meeting every fucking thrust. He’s picked up his pace, and our skin slaps together.

“You know what keeps me up at night?” he asks in my ear.

I don’t answer.

“The thought of your cunt pulsing with the need to come. And you, lying in bed, tortured by it but unable to take yourself there.” He groans, and his pace quickens. “Because I think you like to be told what to do. And if I say you can’t fucking touch yourself, you won’t.”

Shame burns through me that he’s absolutely right.

He chuckles. His breath fans along my neck, raising goosebumps in its wake. “Be a good girl and answer the goddamn question out loud.”

“You’re right.” I whimper.

His hand slips around my leg. He rubs my clit in rough circles, and I can’t tell if I fucking hate him or love the sensation. It’s different.

He’s letting his demons out. Showing me that I can bare mine, too. He works me right up to the edge, and then he goes still inside me. His fingers stop moving, too. He just lightly presses on my clit, capturing the trembling that racks through me.

His forehead touches my shoulder, and he comes harshly. His breath hits my skin, raising goosebumps. I’m stuck where I am, my fingers frozen around the table. My cunt clenches around him, but what he gave me isn’t enough to give me relief.

“When I do finally let you come, it’ll be the best orgasm you’ve ever had.” He pulls out and immediately pulls my leggings back up over my ass. “But until then… enjoy every sensation like it’s your last.”

Well, fuck me sideways.