Devious Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

I struggle on the bed for approximately eight seconds.

Eight seconds is a lot of time, and also no time at all. It makes me realize that I can’t do shit with my hands behind my back, besides roll off it and land on my knees. I press my face into the comforter and close my eyes.

My body is electric. It seems to crackle under my skin, threatening to detonate me from the inside out. And it all comes down to the pulse between my legs. The insistent need for Steele that he’s denied me.

“You okay?”

I roll my head to the side and eye Steele. He’s got my clothes and his in his hands, along with my purse. He sets everything on the bed and hauls me into his arms. He sits and cradles me on his lap, then undoes the tie around my wrists.

I lick my lips. “Why’d you do that?”

He eyes me. I bring my arms in front of me and cradle them to my bare chest, when all I want is to satiate the desire wrecking me.

“Why didn’t I let you come?” he clarifies.

I nod, my gaze averting.

He smooths away my damp hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear.

“Because I want you to think about me whether I’m in front of you or not.” His lips press to my temple. “I want you to ache like I do, with your eyes on me the whole fucking game. And every time I glance your way, I want you to feel it here.”

He cups between my legs, over my underwear.

Even that is too much. My legs fall open wider, a silent plea for him to just… ignore what he wants and give me what I want.

“Tonight,” he promises in my ear.

I groan. But then he’s standing, depositing me on my feet. I shake my head and get dressed slowly. I face the mirror, and horror overtakes me.

My hair looks like that?

My makeup is salvageable. The mascara and eyeliner held up surprisingly well, but my hair is a tangled and clumped mess.

“Any chance you have a hairbrush and detangling spray?”

Steele frowns.

I’ll take that as a no.

I open my purse and dig for my phone. My brows furrow when I don’t immediately see it. I take out my wallet, random receipts from the week, Chapstick, a pack of travel tissues…

“Did you see my phone in the trunk? Or… in your car at all?”

“I didn’t, but we can check again.” He opens my purse wider, like that’s going to make it appear. I mean, it’s wishful thinking, for sure.

I let out a sigh. “I just wanted to see if Thalia would bring my makeup bag to the stadium. Do we have time to swing by my apartment?”

He glances at the clock, and his frown deepens.

“Oh, no—don’t worry about it, then.” I shove everything back in my purse. “I’m gonna head home, and then I’ll meet you there. Okay?”

“You know I don’t want you traveling alone,” he says in a low voice.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t have a stalker. If I did, Uncle wouldn’t have left.”

Besides, clearly Steele’s been the one taking my stuff. The drawer he just showed me is evidence enough. And I don’t mind—I get it, even. He’s trying to make me stay with him by any means necessary, and that includes slowly relocating all of my favorite things to his room.

I smooth my hands down the front of Steele’s crisp collared shirt. He hasn’t put on the jacket yet, but he still looks so fucking hot in the shirt and slacks. Like… delicious.

“I’ve got to touch up my lipstick, anyway,” I add. “For later.”

His worry fades. Slightly. We go downstairs, slipping undetected past the guys in the living room, and scour his car for my phone.

Nothing.

“It may have fallen out at the restaurant,” I offer. “Do you mind calling them? I’ll hook up with Thalia, and you can get in touch with me through her. Or any of the other girls.”

Steele nods, his brows still drawn together. Not entirely letting go of his concern.

I rise on my toes and loop my arms around his neck.

“Kiss me,” I order.

His lip curls at the corner, and then he leans down to meet me. Our mouths part, tongues sliding against each other. That delicious heat I always feel when he kisses me now packs a bigger punch, and I groan into his mouth. Hungry for more.

He pulls away, chuckling when I try to follow him.

“Go home,” he laughs. “And tell Thalia to text me when you’re with her so I know you’re okay.”

I wave him off. Because walking two blocks is going to kill me.

Crown Point, or at least this neighborhood, is surprisingly calm for the impending game day. The weather is taking another turn, the temperature dropping, but not enough for me to freeze to death. The sun is still out, although low in the hazy, periwinkle sky. It’ll be completely dark by the time the game starts.

My skin prickles when I’m halfway home.

I glance over my shoulder, but no one is there. I shake it off and continue, my gait a little more rushed. Because okay, even if I don’t have a stalker, I don’t really love the idea of ignoring instincts. Right?

Right.

I make it to my apartment in record time, locking myself in.

“Thalia?” I call. “Are you still home?”

Silence.

I groan and drop my purse on the island, double-checking her room just to make sure. Her door is propped open, her bed perfectly made. And no trace of her.

Great.

I go into the bathroom and perform some life-saving miracles on my hair, somehow managing to make it curl and shine without rewashing it. Sure, it may smell like lake water mixed with detangling spray. If anything, it’ll help keep over-rowdy assholes at bay.

Not that I’ve ever had to worry about that.

I remove my makeup and start over, then reach automatically for my phone to check the time. Grimacing to myself, I retrace my steps into the kitchen. The digital clock on the stove informs me that I have an hour till game time.

How I wasted so much time is beyond me.

Focus.

Back to my bedroom for my shoes—

A breeze ruffles my hair. I stop and stare at my open window. Confusion hits me first, then the fear.

Something moves behind me.

Someone.

Before I can turn around, a black fabric bag descends over my head. And with it, the smell of something chemical. I fight the inhale and try to push it off, but the edges go tight against my throat. My fingers scramble uselessly.

My head swims. My knees buckle.

Whatever is on the bag goes straight to my head—and lulls me into the darkness.