Devious Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

Steele doesn’t stop me from leaving his bedroom. I’m in his jersey, after all, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s the only thing he cares about. He follows me downstairs, but he keeps his distance after that. Like he’s marked me as his, and now he’s done his job.

Thalia is in the kitchen, talking to Finch and Miles. She’s giggling, her hand on Finch’s arm. Poor guy seems like he’s never talked to anyone like her, because he’s giving her a wide-eyed puppy-dog expression that says, please have sex with me.

Eh. She once confessed that the best boyfriend she ever had was a virgin. They’re easier to train in the ways of women’s pleasure, I guess. So maybe she’s into the innocent vibes that Finch is throwing out. Although I saw him at Erik’s party over the summer, so maybe he’s not that innocent.

Miles has his gaze on someone else, although he’s indulging Finch and Thalia in conversation. I try to follow his line of sight to figure out who he’s watching, but there’s a sea of people in the room. Including his brother and Willow, Greyson and Violet, and more.

I step up to the keg and lift a cup.

“May I?”

I glance up at Miles. He’s holding his hand out for the cup, and I give it to him. He tilts it, pouring the beer without spilling a drop, and hands it back.

“Thanks. Did Steele get in trouble for the fight?” I ask him.

Miles smiles. “Nah. I think Coach told him to get over it, and sometimes you need to get over things with your fists.”

Interesting.

This is why hockey is such a fascinating, terrible sport. They use their fists to solve their problems. They hit each other, slam into the glass. It’s fast-paced, adrenaline-filled—

“You think you can handle him?”

I snort, focusing on Miles again. “Me? Handle Steele? Does anyone handle him?”

He raises his brow. “Not since this summer.”

I stop short. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

“What do you m—”

“Miles!” Jess, from the dance team, rushes out and grabs his hand.

She, along with ninety-nine percent of the girls in here, is decked out in blue and white. Or silver. I can’t figure out if people substitute the actual school color, which is silver, with white because it’s too hard to find? Or pure laziness?

“Dance with me!” she demands.

He focuses on her and doesn’t spare me another glance. Which is fine, because I’m still fucking puzzled by what he insinuated about Steele.

Someone stops beside me, and I look up at Greyson Devereux. He must’ve stopped dancing with Violet when Miles was pouring my beer, and she’s nowhere to be found. He gives me angry-boy vibes. Like some deep instinct is shouting, Danger! Danger! He’s like Steele in that regard, I think, but more on edge.

Maybe it’s because Violet isn’t with him. Those two fit together better than any couple I’ve ever met.

“Congrats,” I say to him, because I don’t know what else to say. He scored the winning goal, after all.

“Thanks. So, what’s up with your mom and his dad?”

“What?” My heart all but jumps into my throat. Cutting right to the heart of the matter, is he?

He glances at me. “I think you heard me.”

“Um…” I shift away from him. “My mom likes spontaneous things.”

Only a little bit of a lie. She likes a lot of things, being foolishly spontaneous is just one of them.

“And she found Steele’s father…?”

He probably wants to know where. Or how. If only I had that information—or was willing to share it. As it is, I’d rather not. So I settle on, “It appears that way.”

I spot Steele through the dancing crowd in the living room. He’s across the room, leaning against the wall. And even though bodies come between us, somehow his gaze is steadfast on me.

“Excuse me,” I say to Greyson, feigning politeness. I don’t want to be polite. I’d like to just ignore him entirely. But he’s friends with Steele, so it’s the least I can do to be nice. My mom didn’t raise an asshole, after all. Unlike Steele’s dad.

I join Willow on the dance floor. She’s got moves, but she snags my hand when I try to backpedal. She grins at me, tipping her head back and looking at me through half-lidded eyes. The fine baby hairs that frame her face are stuck to her skin with sweat. Her hands go to my hips, and she guides my movement.

“Like this,” she yells in my ear.

I close my eyes and forget my fears. Forget that I’m probably being judged by a lot of people right now. But no one comes up and tries to grind into my ass. No one touches me except Willow… until her hand is replaced with another, larger one.

The hand slips from my waist to my stomach, and they pull me backward. Until I hit a chest that I know without even opening my eyes.

How’s that?

I tip my head back, resting it on Steele’s shoulder. I crack my eyes and confirm what I already know. It is Steele. His arm bands around me, and his knees bend until his thighs are against mine. He’s touching me from my shoulders to my knees, and he takes over the dance. Slowing my motion until we’re in sync.

He brushes my hair over my shoulder and leans down, pressing his lips to my bare skin just over the collar of his jersey.

I reach back and loop my arms around his neck, pushing a little more forcefully with my ass into his groin. When his teeth skim the crook of my neck and shoulder, I smile.

Do I like him?

Not particularly.

Am I attracted to him?

Too fucking much.

It’s an awkward position to be in, caught between wanting to knee him in the balls and suck on them.

But then his mouth is moving up my neck, pausing at my ear. “Two-minute head start,” he says, his voice just barely audible over the music. “You know the rules.”

The lack of rules.

I meet his eyes. He’s not joking. There’s one safe word, and that’s the only thing that will save me from him. But also… we need this fight.

The night after the summer party, I stood in the bathroom of his childhood home, feeling like an outsider. My cheekbone was bruised, my skin scraped all over. My forehead had the slightest lump where I had headbutted him.

But I didn’t hate it. In fact, the bruises made me feel proud, in a way. Relieved.

Someone saw me, and they didn’t hate it. They reveled in the way I wanted to be treated.

My heart picks up speed, and I hurry away from Steele. Anywhere in the house is foolish, and it’s not yet so cold that I’d freeze to death outside. I duck down and try to break his line of sight in the crowd, weaving toward the front door.

But also…

I like foolish.

So I head out the front door and jump off the porch, staying low as I head around the side of it. I keep out of sight of the windows, hunched, and make my way to the backyard. There are people out here, gathered around a fire, but I ignore them. I peek in the window and immediately find Steele.

He’s looking down at his watch.

After another few seconds, his head lifts. He glances around, then goes toward the front door. I slip back in and weave amongst the people, finding my way to another room that I hadn’t yet seen. There’s beer pong set up on the dining table, two couples playing, and a couch in the corner with a game station.

I rotate in a circle, debating.

Then I catch sight of Steele coming inside, and my heart rate triples. I whirl around and bolt for the closed door, half hoping it will lead to a garage or something. Instead, it opens to stairs that descend into the dark.

I glance back.

Steele’s spotted me, his dark gaze locked on me as he pushes his way through the people.

Fuck it.

I rush down the stairs, stopping short at the setup. It seems like just another party room—a pool table, a game console, a couch and chairs. The only light is coming from the electronics.

“Nowhere to run, is there?” Steele comes down slowly. “Now what?”

Well, backing down isn’t an option.

When he lunges for me, I jump sideways. He misses and leaves the stairs open, so I do the sensible thing and bolt for them. But sudden pain sears through my scalp, and I’m yanked backward. He has my hair in his fist, and he drags me down the rest of the way. Until I hit the carpeted floor on my back.

He circles me and licks his lips. My eyes are adjusting to the light faster, the red tones from the gaming systems giving him an eerie, devilish look.

When he doesn’t pounce again, I shove myself back to my feet.

This time, I fly at him, a small screech leaving my lips. I scratch at him, claw at his arms and chest until he captures my wrists. He slams me face-first against the wall. The air is forced from my lungs. He lifts my wrists, keeping them trapped at my back, and my shoulders burn.

“Fuck you,” I spit, struggling to free myself.

He yanks my leggings down and reaches between my legs. I close my eyes when his fingers slide against my clit, then my slit. He thrusts two fingers into me and twists.

An unholy moan escapes me.

“Why are you so wet?” His voice curls like smoke in my ear, and he continues to finger-fuck me. He adds a third, and I widen my stance. “Why do you like this?”

I don’t know.

I may be dripping between my legs, but my mouth is dry. I shift my weight, but he leans harder on my back. My cheek is against the cool paint, no doubt leaving a smear of makeup. He pulls out of my pussy so suddenly, I want to yell at him. Or scream.

But I refuse to give him that much.

Still, I’m not prepared for him to slide his wet index finger into my asshole.

I arch and try to escape it, but he doesn’t stop. Not until I kick out at him, and my heel collides with his shin. His grip loosens enough for me to yank free, and I whirl around. Shove him back with two hands on his chest, my expression shocked.

“Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to.” His eyes gleam. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Yes.”

“Try,” he goads.

I snarl, but he comes at me again. We go down in a heap, and I use all my strength to roll us. I straddle him for all of a single second before we’re moving again, and I hit the floor hard. The pain gets my blood pumping.

He pries my legs apart with his knee, and his fingers are pushing back into me.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

“For you to get off me,” I growl.

He shakes his head once, and then his fingers are replaced with the tip of his cock.

I shove at his shoulders as he thrusts into me.

I scream.

His middle and ring fingers fill my open mouth. I gag when he hits the back of my throat, pressing down on my tongue. I could bite him if I wanted, I think, but then he shifts his hips, and his cock strokes something deep inside me.

I groan around his fingers. He’s holding my mouth open, his palm against my lower lip and chin, the rest of his fingers fanned across my face. The two in my mouth move across my tongue with the same tempo that he fucks me.

At some point, I stop pushing him away and start pulling him closer.

The lights flicker on above us.

Steele freezes, glancing over his shoulder. We’re off to the side of the room, having somehow drifted closer to the bathroom. It would be easy for us to get up and lock ourselves in there. Footsteps on the stairs send a spike of fear through me, and I can’t see who it is. His body blocks it.

Oh hell no.

I squirm, trying to get away.

He uses his free hand to hike my thigh up, my knee bending. It can only go so far, my leggings still stuck around my ankles. But he thrusts into me again and rocks his hips harder.

I glare at him and close my teeth over his fingers.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Or I’ll make sure you don’t come for a week.”

That… sounds like a threat he’d follow through on.

“Are we playing eight ball—oh, shit.”

I close my eyes until Steele squeezes my jaw. I stare at him as he continues to fuck me. He’s shifted upright, and my ass is half on his thighs. Off the carpet anyway.

I wrap my hand around his wrist and dig my nails in.

He smirks.

“You need some alone time, O’Brien?”

My attention slides to the guys who have moved into view.

More than just guys.

Amanda, Jess. Finch. Knox. Tony Rodrigues, the new starter. I don’t think my face has ever burned so bad—until Steele removes his hand from my leg and touches my clit. Then my whole body feels like it’s on fire, seconds away from combusting.

“Steele’s a one-and-done kind of guy,” Amanda says, her voice decidedly cold. “Let him finish, and then he’ll be finished with her, too.”

I focus back on Steele’s face. His jaw tics.

“Don’t mind us,” he says over his shoulder, his voice sounding… normal. “I just can’t resist when a girl wears my jersey.”

Fucker.

There are a few snickers from the guys.

“Isn’t that right, little viper?” His dark gaze finds mine, a smirk curling his lips. He’s getting off on this, and what he probably assumes is my mortification.

Fuck all of them.

I wrap my legs around him and lift my hips in challenge. His eyes light, and he thrusts harder. He works me up until I’m meeting every piston of his hips with my own, surrendering to the feeling. An orgasm is right there, spurred on by his fingers on my clit.

And then it crashes into me, and Steele removes his fingers from my mouth. Releasing any hope of blocking the sound that comes out of my mouth. His name. Oh, god. A moan, a plead. I’m too loud.

He finishes a second later, stilling inside me.

We both stop moving, and I look down. I can’t see his cock buried inside me—thanks, curves—but I can feel it pulsing with a heartbeat outside of mine.

He came in me again.

He sits back and tucks himself in, then pulls his jersey down around my hips, covering the apex of my thighs and my ass. When we stand, he drags my panties and leggings up, securing them into place.

The look he gives me…

“Wait, you’re actually wearing his jersey?” Amanda scoffs. “I thought he was kidding…”

I face her. I don’t know why her jealousy is getting on my nerves—except maybe I’m having fucking flashbacks to her throwing herself at him at the party. He picked me, though. Instinct says he’d pick me again, because at least I’m interesting.

“His jersey, his cum…” I shrug. “Bet you got neither when he fucked you, right?”

She stares at me for a long moment, her jaw working. Then she turns away and goes over to the pool table, yanking one of the sticks off the wall. Maybe she should go fuck herself with it—she’d have better luck.

Rude, Aspen.

Jess shakes her head, holding back a laugh. Finch can’t look at us. Or won’t. Tony’s gaze bounces back and forth between Steele and me with a certain sort of awe that brings a smile to my lips. Because while I definitely wouldn’t choose to get fucked in view of other people, their reactions are pretty telling.

Steele chuckles. He’s right behind me. “Guess you told her, huh?”

He slaps my ass, and I jump. I glare at him, but he just pushes me toward the stairs. Which I climb dutifully, because, let’s be honest, I’m not about to stick around in the same room as the people who just watched me get fucked.

Even I have my limits.