Brutal Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

Violet makes every movement seem effortless. Even when she’s straining, her muscles trembling, an easy expression remains glued on her face. She follows through. Her leotard gets damp with sweat, her hair stuck to her head.

Eventually, our food arrives, and she takes a break.

Stamina , she explained. Professional dancers have to have the stamina to keep dancing. If she stops for a day, the next she’ll feel a bit sore. If she stops for a few days, her next practice will be tiring. And if she stops for longer than that, her muscles will feel the effects.

I understand it well. It’s why I train hard during the summer, keeping myself in peak fitness. Because coming back is harder when you let yourself go on the off season.

Violet’s had seven months of being off . I understand her drive.

We don’t have classes this week. Crown Point University is basically a ghost town. Not that it matters, since she’s been staying with me. Willow went home to spend time with her sister and probably to escape Knox.

I finish off my sandwich and eye Violet again. I don’t care if she catches me staring. She already knows how I feel about her.

Obsessed. In love.

Sometimes I think they might be the same thing.

She’s stronger, though. Her muscles are more defined. She’s eating better. For a while, I was worried that she was going to perish on lettuce alone. But it seems the intense workouts have resurfaced her appetite.

When she’s done eating, she flops backward on the polished wood floor. I take my cue and crawl over her, lowering my body until we’re flush.

“Hi,” she says.

I take her wrists one at a time, stretching them up over her head. She smirks at me and shifts but keeps her arms up there. Her fingers twist together. I lift slightly and run my hand down her arm, her throat, her chest. I palm her breast, and she exhales. Sometime between Mia Germain’s visit and now, she removed the cardigan that shielded her breasts from me. Her nipple is visible through her sports bra and the tight leotard. I brush my thumb over it, waiting for another movement by her.

I’ll take a million moments like these to learn her body.

She spreads her legs wider, hooking them around my hips. She uses her legs to pull me down, and I give her what she wants. I grind my cock on her core, separated by too many layers of fabric. Her shorts, the leotard, my pants and boxers.

“Promise you’ll stay with me forever,” I say in her ear.

“Is that what you want?”

I nip her skin, if only to hear her hitched breath. To feel her chest hit mine. I sit up suddenly, rocking back on my knees. She stays exactly where she is, her arms over her head, her legs spread. Her gaze is decidedly lustful. I shift aside, peel her shorts off, and toss them away. Then I resume my position between her legs. I eye the thin strip of fabric of the leotard hiding her cunt from me.

She squirms.

“What do you need, baby?”

Her eyes lock on mine. “I want to come. And then I want to go back to work.”

I laugh. If it was me, and she was standing in my way of hockey practice? Yeah, I’d probably have a similar feeling. She wants to get down to business. No objections from me.

We can take our time later.

I move her leotard to the side and run my finger through her wetness. She squirms again, already impatient. Part of me wants to draw it out just because I like her annoyance and the way her brow is drawing down because I’m not going fast enough.

She’s cute when she’s annoyed.

“Grey—”

“I’ve got you,” I promise. “Relax.”

She pushes up on her elbows and watches me thrust a finger inside her. Her lips part, and we both watch me finger-fuck her with one, then two. I use my other hand to hold the fabric aside and brush her clit. I touch her just the way she likes. The fastest way to an orgasm for her—direct pressure. Unwavering stimulation.

Her head falls back. The combination is too much for her, and she comes in record time.

Not that I’m keeping track or anything.

Her muscles pulse around my fingers. I withdraw slowly once her body stops trembling. She eyes me—perhaps waiting for me to pull out my dick and fuck her—but I just lick my fingers. I love the taste of her.

So even though I’m rock-hard, I scoot back and give her room to get up.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting you go back to work,” I say with a shrug.

Her eyes narrow.

“What?” I gesture to the room. “I’d expect nothing less from you if I had to go.”

She crawls toward me. “Yeah, right,” she murmurs. She pushes me back, then unbuttons my jeans. I suck in a breath when she pulls the front of my pants and boxers down enough for my cock to emerge, and the air escapes in a ragged exhale when her pretty head descends over it.

Her mouth is hot and wet on me. I groan and suppress the urge to grab her hair and take over. This is her show… for now. My willpower will only go so far. She takes more of me in her mouth, and my abdomen tightens. She has a magic tongue, I think.

The tip of my cock touches the back of her throat, and she gags.

Fuck me twice.

“My self-control is dwindling,” I warn her.

She grips the base of my dick and uses it to help her mouth. Her hand slides down, cupping my balls, and I swear. My hips jerk, and I hit the back of her throat again. Then deeper.

Fucking fuck.

“Vi,” I mutter.

She ignores me and continues, sucking hard and flicking her tongue against the underside of the head. My balls tighten as her assault continues, and I watch in absolute fascination. She bobs up and down.

I wind my fingers through her hair, freeing it from the hair tie. I love her hair and the way it fans around her shoulders. It’s silky, too, against my skin. I press her deeper, and her throat works around me.

“Fuck, Vi.”

I pull out just enough for me to be in her mouth, not down her throat. I want her to taste me the way I taste her. On her tongue, overwhelming her senses. And when I do come, I hold her head steady. Bliss rocks through me, and I fight the urge to close my eyes. I need to see her. All of it.

She swallows. Her throat works, and she kisses the tip of my dick when she straightens back up. She’s definitely the first person to do that . I choke on my laugh. My cock has stopped throbbing, but I have a feeling I could be hard again in minutes. There’s just something about her that demands more, and my body wants to respond to it.

“That was hot,” she whispers, wiping her lower lip with her thumb.

“I’m going to fuck you into oblivion later,” I promise. I stand and help her to her feet, then tuck myself back in my pants. She straightens her leotard and collects her shorts. “But for now, I’m going to give you space to work.”

She smiles. “Thanks for hanging out with me today.”

I kiss her, then collect my things.

It’s surprisingly difficult to walk away from her. I make it all the way down the block before I cave and open my phone. I look up the ballet. Giselle . There are some recent videos from other ballet companies performing it on stage. One of the more popular videos is from just a month ago, and it’s a solo.

I click on it and wait for it to load. My annoyance picks up the longer it takes—hell, I don’t even know if I’m on the right path here. I’m completely winging it.

When it does load, the music is immediately familiar.

And what might be even worse? The dance is familiar. Especially when the music switches, the frenzy of the song picking up. It’s the same moves, as far as I can tell. The same choreography.

Where would she have learned that?

There is where she stumbled. Just at the end.

Something isn’t adding up here. Choreography she doesn’t have a reason to know, muscle memory. How long does it take for that sort of thing to stick? How many hours of practice would she have needed to do to cement it in her memory?

Even if her memory isn’t there.

I let out a ragged sigh and rub my face. I believe her when she says she doesn’t know how she knew it. But now it’s a mystery that will nag at me—so I’ll figure it out for both of us.

And I have a feeling that means digging more into her past than she’d want.

Whatever. I’m going to do it anyway.