Brutal Obsession (57)

Even so, I’d risk it.

Steele sits in the seat in front of me. I’ve put my headphones in, trying to block everything out. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I force my muscles to relax, and I run through plays in my mind.

We hit a pothole, and I’m jolted out of my thoughts.

“Fuck!” I growl. I rip my headphones out and stand. I lean over the back of the seat next to Steele, putting my face in his. “What the fuck is your problem?”

He smirks. “I like aggravating you. Interesting things happen.”

“If we lose—”

“Relax, hotshot. Maybe you’ll let Erik score for once.”

I snort. “There’s a reason you asshats haven’t been able to get into the tournament in years. Because Erik is good, but he’s not great.” He’s not me.

Just speaking facts.

Steele’s gaze hardens.

I sit back, then rise on my knees. Ten rows back, Violet chats with her best friend and a few other girls… and Miles. Jacob has taken Steele’s spot, too. I ball my fists and stand. I’m halfway to her before she notices, and then the rest of them do, too.

“What’s your problem, man?” Erik glares at me on my way by. “Just chill the fuck out.”

Like I’m interrupting Miles’ and Jacob’s time with the girls? What the fuck?

Fuck, everyone is getting on my nerves, and it’s all because she’s on this damn bus. Before she can ruin everything and open her mouth, I latch on to her wrist and haul her up. She doesn’t offer a word of protest as I drag her up the aisle.

Similar to what I did to Steele, but a bit more gentle.

Just a hair.

I sit and pull her down on my lap. She lets out a little squeak and tries to stand, but I grip her tight. Her back rests against the window, her legs toward the aisle. I don’t know how comfortable it is, and I don’t give a shit.

This isn’t about her.

“Just fucking sit still,” I grunt. I pull out my headphones and replace them in my ears. I hit play on my music, a special curated playlist to repeat the same few songs. They always help me get in the zone, and I know them so well I can recite all the lyrics.

She goes quiet. Her hands fall to her lap, and she tips her head back against the window.

Then shifts.

I should close my eyes, but I’m watching her try not to squirm.

I think she’s more curious than anything. I shift, and her weight moves toward me. She’s looking toward Roake, who has his head buried in a book. He won’t look up until we get there—that’s guaranteed. When she realizes that for herself, she relaxes the slightest bit.

So it isn’t me—it’s what others will think.

Interesting.

I slouch in the chair, making it easier for her to fall into me. And eventually, she does. She seems resigned when she puts her head down on my shoulder. Every breath she exhales hits my throat.

But I’d rather deal with this, and the goosebumps, and the way my blood rushes to my cock, than jealousy.

She reaches up and takes one of my earbuds out. I almost protest, but I keep my mouth shut. She slips it into her ear and closes her eyes, her hand landing on my forearm. And then she goes still, and the rest of the world fades away, too.

Finally, finally, I can focus on what I need to do. The plays. The ice. I envision the stick in my hand, my blades gliding across the ice. The soft scrape as I dig in and fling myself forward. The weight of the puck as I push it forward.

All at once, loathing constricts my chest.

I shouldn’t have to go fetch Violet to get back in the zone. I’m pissed that this even had to be an option. That my teammates would mess with me—and worse, that Violet would put me in this position.

Without thinking, I slip my hand into her jeans.

She tenses, but she doesn’t move. I glance to my left and find Knox has gone elsewhere. There’s no one in our row. And no one else can see—not that I’d mind if someone saw my hand down her pants, but I think she’d try to get me to stop.

And that sort of fight doesn’t go over well in public.

I touch her clit. She’s wet, and she lets out a harsh breath when I rub slowly, back and forth. She doesn’t lift her head from my shoulder. My lips brush her ear.

“Remember the last game you went to, Violet? Remember what happened to us?”

Me and her. Caught in a loop.

She nods, her lips parting.

I reach farther, sliding two fingers inside her. Her pussy clenches at me, and I stroke inside her. Then out, back to her clit. And repeat. She shifts her hips, trying to get more from me.

“If we win this time, what will you give me?”

She opens her mouth wider, then closes it. She doesn’t know what the fuck I want from her—I don’t even know. I wonder if her cut has scabbed over and begun to heal. I wonder if she’d let me slice her open again.

My cock is rock-hard, caught between us.

This sort of energy will get me through the game.

“What do you want?” she finally asks.

The song changes. Something a little faster. I rub her clit to the beat, aware that the music pounds in both of our ears. I want so many fucking things from her. I want everything.

“I don’t think I’m going to tell you,” I say. I move my fingers harder, and she shudders.