Secret Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

Sunlight blinds me, as it always does when I forget to put down the blackout shades. I raise my arm to block it, and my other arm is dragged along.

Confusion doesn’t help wake me up.

If anything, I sink deeper.

I roll over, into a warm body. My arms are lifted over my head, and I groan to myself.

It’s too early—although clearly not early at all—and I’m in no mood to deal with the guy I brought home from the bar. Although, as I try to figure out without opening my eyes who exactly that is, I become aware of something else.

A separate sensation between my legs.

Wicked heat curls through my abdomen, and I let my knees fall open. I don’t know what sort of guy I brought home, but it’s not often that they’re into giving. Most are takers, at least in the one-night-stand department.

I guess in the boyfriend department, too.

My heart skips as it automatically latches on to Knox. I don’t want to be messed up over him, but why is he who I think about when there’s someone beside me in bed?

There were countless times that I woke up in the middle of the night and found him gone. Drinking downstairs with his friends after fucking me, or whatever, until he finally came back to bed. That hurt—but what hurts worse is that I let it happen.

The body beside me shifts, climbing over me.

I finally open my eyes, and my breath stalls.

Miles is directly over me. One arm is stretched up, his fingers wrapped around my wrist and pressing it down to the pillow.

Am I dreaming?

Have I had this dream before?

No—because in the dream, Miles always comes to me in the middle of the night, in the absence of Knox. Because my heart seems to like forbidden things, and maybe Miles has always been my temptation in the dark.

But just because he’s been at the back of my mind doesn’t mean I want, or need, him. I don’t want him. I should’ve gone home with the football guy who was buying me drinks. He seemed into me.

Miles hurts too much. Hits too close to the pain I’m desperate to bury.

“What are you doing?” My voice is thick with sleep—and maybe lingering alcohol still in my system. Everything feels a little hazy anyway.

Maybe I am dreaming.

“I’ve decided that this will prove to you that I’m serious,” he says.

“Serious about…?”

“You. Me.”

A buzzing sound fills my ears.

My gaze falls down his body. He’s shirtless—holy shit, abs—and not wearing pants. His cock rests just above my pubic bone. There’s a piece of metal, a piercing, in the tip. And another on the underside, horizontally. No condom. He shifts, and it slips down between my spread legs.

Legs that I opened when I thought it was some random guy.

Not Miles.

“I don’t want to have sex with you.” My breathing is harsh, more like panting. Because I know, I know that he wants to bury himself in more than just my pussy. He wants to be in my mind and my heart and my soul.

I can’t do that.

I won’t do that.

“Stop.” I try to inch away, any direction I can go, but he drops his hips and pins them to mine. “Miles, don’t.”

He ignores me, lowering his mouth to my neck. I squeeze my eyes shut when he kisses just below my jaw. Then his lips are on the shell of my ear, and his other hand is moving between my legs. His thighs, hips, prevent me from closing my legs. Even when I draw them up, my knees even with his ribs.

“This is how it has to be,” he whispers. “It’ll be okay. Promise.”

“None of this is—”

He runs the tip of his dick down my center. The piercing has a different sensation from skin. It’s cool, smooth. I could see how girls would be into that. But it makes no difference when he notches at my entrance.

And it makes no difference especially when it belongs to Miles.

I shudder. I yank at my wrists, but his grip, now on my forearm, just tightens. I look up and realize he’s tied my wrists with some sort of ribbon. It holds fast when I try to jerk my hands apart, and he does the rest.

“Please don’t,” I whisper.

He pulls back to meet my eyes at the same time that he inches into me. He moves painstakingly slow, but it hurts nonetheless. Like he’s ripping me in half. I’ve seen his gaze a thousand different ways over the last three years. Flashes of anger when I started dating his brother, then annoyance. Then disgust.

Is he disgusted with me now?

He’s out to prove something. To himself, or me. Or maybe he just wants the pain that comes with this moment—when we’re joined but so fucking far apart. My mind is a million miles away.

It doesn’t matter. He seems determined to drag me back into the present.

His fingers brush my clit. He rubs small little circles, and I squeeze my eyes shut. He brings my arms down and loops them around his neck, his lips inching along my throat. I dig my nails into my palms, and my skin crawls at this total invasion.

Tears burn behind my eyelids. A few leak out, slipping down my temples and into my hair. My hips shift. The attention he’s paying to my clit is causing a physical reaction, one I can’t stop.

One I desperately want to stop.

And then his hand is wrapping around my throat and jaw, tilting my head up.

“Open your eyes,” he orders.

I don’t want to, I don’t want to—

“Open,” he bites out.

I do. I’m having an out-of-body experience, and my gaze locks in on his face. His fingers tighten on my jaw, digging into my cheek and forcing my lips apart.

What I’m not prepared for is his spit.

In.

My.

Mouth.

He covers my mouth again and jerks his hips forward, and I cry out against his palm. My tongue blocks my throat. I’m unwilling to swallow his spit, although I feel it in my mouth like a second invasion.

We stay like that for a moment. My arms around his neck, his palm on my mouth. His dick spearing me.

I shake my head as more tears spill from my eyes.

Fuck him, fuck this. It doesn’t change anything between us. Or how I felt about his brother. Or how fucking broken I am that all I want is to hide my head in the sand.

Knox made a fool out of me—won’t Miles do the same?

Hasn’t he already begun?

I pull my arms up off his neck, using my forearms to try and put some distance between us. My fingers press against his face, brushing his lips.

It feels like he’s kissing them.

“Shh,” he whispers. “It’s me. Got it? You know me.”

I don’t want to know you.

He pulls out suddenly and rolls me over, dragging my hips up. I catch myself on my elbows, my lips parting. In one motion, he slides back into me. His piercings hit just the right spot, and it feels better than before—but I can’t keep him out. I clench my muscles, grinding my teeth together. His one hand returns to my jaw, creeping across my cheek and covering my mouth. He doesn’t let me bury my face in the pillow, as if I could hide and just get this over with.

I’m kept in the present.

His other wraps under me, palming my breast.

“You’ve got me everywhere,” he says, and I think he means it to be reassuring. Or soothing. His voice is soft. “It had to happen. We need this, okay? Just take my cock like a good girl.”

“Miles—”

“My cock is the only one you’re ever going to feel,” he continues, drawing out and slamming back in. Hard enough that my whole bed moves and my headboard slams against the wall. “This is our initiation. If I didn’t do this, you’d never let me in. But it’s my promise to you.”

I don’t understand. “You’re doing it without my consent—”

He nips my earlobe. “I own you, wild one.” He groans. “Oh, see? You just clenched around me. Your body knows it’s true. We’ll just have to wait for your mind to catch up.”

“I—”

His fingers push into my mouth. Past my teeth, pressing down on my tongue. My jaw opens wider at the pressure. Panic flares through me, but he’s got me trapped.

“I’ve dreamt about what you feel like,” he says in my ear. “But goddamn, woman, nothing in my imagination could compare to the real thing.”

He rolls my nipple between his fingers. I shift my hips as he draws back and slowly inches back in. He makes noises in my ear that has me tensing against him again. My body feels strung out. I can’t make sense of what’s happening to me.

The room spins.

He pinches my nipple harder, eliciting my squeak of shock. His fingers slip out of my mouth and return to my throat. “Make those sweet noises for me. You sound so fucking perfect when you’re helpless like this. Just the way I want you.”

I shudder.

“That’s it, wild one, give in to me.” He rolls his hips and drives deeper.

Still so fucking slow. Drawing out every sensation.

Something breaks inside me.

Maybe it’s been cracking every day since Knox ended things, but this is just a sledgehammer to my defenses. My muscles relax, and I fall into his hold. It’s not just my body that’s falling—my mind is, too. Spiraling. I don’t know where I’m going to land.

Knox played me like a fucking fiddle and laughed when I fell for him.

Now I’m falling again, but it’s not into love. Or even lust. It’s just misery.

He’s picking up speed. I’m barely aware of it. The thumping noise of the bed hitting the wall echoes in my ears.

And then everything stops. He stills inside me.

His weight drops on top of me, and his hand slips from my breast, instead wrapping under both and cinching me to him.

“Get off,” I whisper. My voice cracks.

Maybe I’ve been in misery for a while, because when I reach for the feeling, it’s as familiar as breathing.

“No.”

He rolls onto his side, taking me with him. I don’t know how he stays inside me, his hips glued to my ass, but he manages to put us in a freaking spooning position. He shifts, adjusting. Maneuvering to get more comfortable. But every move is a stroke of his cock. He doesn’t even soften all the way—not that he seems to mind.

I wipe my face the best I can. My tears have dried up, and my heart beats uncomfortably loud in my ears. He didn’t just do this for the hell of it—he’s clearly not done. It wasn’t enough for me to say no and mean it.

He wants something else.

But I already gave in. I don’t know what else there is. He brings my pillow down so my head is resting on it. Although comfort is the least of my concern right now. He’s still wreaking havoc on me, just in a different way. My chest is too tight—all of this is uncomfortable.

How much longer until he leaves?

The longer we lie in silence, the more nervous I get.

“You didn’t wear a condom,” I point out.

“I didn’t.”

I grit my teeth. I want to get away from him. To bathe in acid.

“Does that bother you?” His hand, the arm that’s slung over me, traces a path across my stomach.

And that… that doesn’t feel so bad.

“Are you trying to get me pregnant?”

“Not right now. I heard you have an IUD.”

“You heard it from—”

“Don’t,” he warns.

I press my lips together and squirm. It just causes further awareness that he’s still inside me. He moves, too, sliding in and out just a fraction. Enough that when I shudder, it’s not from revulsion.

And that’s terrible, too.

“Bad girls don’t get to come,” he says, kissing my neck.

“Good, I don’t want you touching me anyway.” And something in me snaps. Or reignites.

My desperation to not give in, maybe?

Or the fact that I almost brought up his brother? I can still feel those jagged pieces in my chest, cutting me with every breath. It makes me want to escape it—and escape Miles.

I rear my head back.

A satisfying crunch precedes pain where I made contact. Miles grunts, and I throw myself forward. I manage to squirm out of his hold and fall to the floor. I bite at the knot on the ribbons, loosening it enough that I can get my hands free.

My adrenaline is suddenly blasting.

I’m up and casting a glance over my shoulder at Miles, but he’s right behind me. He chases me out of my room and into the kitchen. My fingers brush the knob of my apartment door, but too late. He slams into me. My front hits the door, my breath leaving me in a harsh exhale.

His laughter curls in my ears.

“So you are still alive in there,” he says.

I scoff. “Of course I am.”

He flips me around to face him. I tip my head back, my emotions suddenly tumbling. Anxiety, curiosity. His nose is bleeding, a little crooked. He reaches up and does something to it, and blood pours out of his nose again. But when he pulls his hand away, it’s not crooked anymore.

Just swollen and already bruising. He’ll have two black eyes by tomorrow.

He’s got his blood on his hand. I fixate on it.

“This is fucked up,” I breathe. “You need to leave.”

“Willow.”

“I just broke your nose. Why won’t you leave?” Those damn tears fill my eyes again.

That hand I can’t tear my gaze off goes down to my hip, his other one mirroring it. Then lower, over my ass, to the backs of my thighs. He lifts me easily, keeping my back to the door, and spreads my legs.

He slides back into me like he never left. Like he doesn’t belong anywhere else.

“Feel that?” he asks.

He thrusts in and out, barely moving, but the friction sends shivers up my spine.

I grip his biceps. “No,” I lie.

“Mmm.” He leans in and kisses my jaw. “You’re addicting.”

“You’re an asshole,” I counter. “This whole thing is violating.”

Although the way he’s licking and sucking at my neck…

I don’t know which way is up anymore.

Do I want this? No.

Do I want to stop it? No again.

That thought breaks me.

“There,” he urges. He’s wrapped my leg around his hip, and his now free hand dips between us. He runs his fingers through my center, lazily circling my clit. Like the way he’s fucking me and teasing me are just… normal morning things.

Like he’s not in a hurry.

If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Whiteshaw boys always fuck and leave.

I grasp on to that.

Miles just wants me for sex. He wants to, I don’t know, claim to his brother that he was able to fuck me. And now that he’s done this, everything will go back to the way it was.

I’ll go back to avoiding the hockey team.

He’ll go back to dominating it.

“Fine,” I whisper. “Fuck me.”

He rears back to meet my gaze. I can’t keep my mouth open with his fingers on my clit. But I don’t really care that he’s getting a front-row seat to my sex face. His eyes shutter at whatever he sees in my expression. And whatever he was thinking, whatever was written plainly across his face, is slammed behind a brick wall.

I didn’t realize he had let a guard down… didn’t realize there was anything about him that needed guarding…

Until it was put back up.