Brutal Obsession (65)

“This is going well,” I mumble.

He hums and traces his finger over my collarbone. “What’s wrong?”

I cringe. “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

He lifts me again, this time urging me to wrap my legs around his waist. He grips just under my ass, on the backs of my thighs. I hang on to his shoulders and lock my ankles behind him. I feel oddly secure like this. Less like he’s going to drop me anyway. It helps that he’s steady. I lean back slightly to stare into his eyes. He’s not being nasty—which is a first.

I open my mouth to ask him about it.

First the bus, in which he sat me on his lap… and made me orgasm. Now we’re here.

“I don’t want you to be nice,” I whisper.

He shrugs and skates. Instead of going for the wall, or the opening, he goes in a wide circle. His hand slides up my back, pressing me closer.

It should be weird for him to skate with me clinging on to him like this, but he doesn’t say a word. In fact, he seems to enjoy it. His blades leave trails in the ice, and he goes in a wide circle. The only sound seems to be the way his skates carve the ice and our breathing.

“I love fresh ice,” he says in my ear. “I love that there aren’t any other marks to catch my blade. There’s something about the perfection of it that gets me.”

“How often do you get to skate on fresh ice?”

He shifts me slightly, readjusting his grip. “Depends on the day. Sometimes I sneak into the rink at Crown Point just to carve it up before anyone else can.”

“So you like to take away the opportunity from others,” I retort.

Greyson’s laugh is husky. “Yeah, sure. If they wanted it, they’d get up early like I do.”

Hmm.

I glance over my shoulder to see where we’re going when he suddenly changes direction. He’s heading for his team’s bench. He sets me down on the wall and glides backward.

I watch him go.

He throws his arms out wide and takes off. It’s almost like he’s running on the ice, full speed toward the opposite end. It’s impressive. Captivating.

I have the insane desire to let him see me dance—and then it’s immediately squashed.

Anger surges through me at the diagnosis Dr. Michaels gave me. Stupid. It’s so fucking stupid how one thing can happen, and then another, and another on top of that.

The lights shut off, and I let out a short shriek as we’re plunged into darkness.

The rasping sound of skates is the only thing that tells me Greyson is incoming.

He stops just before touching me, showering ice shavings against the wall. A second later, his fingers slip up my knee.

“We might get locked in here.” His fingers are still traveling upward.

Meanwhile, my heart is going a hundred miles per minute. And then I realize: he reacts best to my fear. He likes it. He wants it.

My fear is blood in the air, and he’s the wolf following the scent.

He tugs at my jeans, his deft fingers unbuttoning and unzipping them before I can protest. He gets them down around my ankles. The cold air pricks at my skin. My eyes aren’t adjusting fast enough. One sense down, I’m operating blind.

But my ears pick up a second zipper, and a rustle. And then his cock is pressing against my slit. His skates put him at the perfect height for this. To thrust into me.

He grips my hips and presses into me, so freaking slowly I think I might die.

“I’ve been waiting to sink into you all day.” He inches forward more.

My head falls back. He feels too good, and after the day I’ve had? I need this more than I’m willing to admit. My muscles are tense until he touches them. My brain whirls until his lips find mine in the darkness.

I pull him closer.

His lips trail away from mine, down my cheek, to my jaw. Then the sensitive skin just under my ear. I let out a moan when his teeth scrape my throat. I find the hem of his shirt and force it up, sliding my hands up his abs.

Yep, I was right earlier—they’re defined enough to have their own zip code. I pinch his nipple, and he lets out a hoarse laugh.

“Naughty.” He drives harder into me, enough that my body scoots back on the chipped, painted wood. He pulls me right back into him, and his hands start wandering. He gets under my shirt, then my bra, and palms my breasts. “So fucking perfect. Your tits are fantastic.”

He lowers his head and shoves my shirt up the rest of the way, forcing me to lean back. He bites my flesh.

“God, more,” I groan. I tense around him.

I need this pain to ground me.

“Grey. Harder. Fuck.” Every word is on a pant. I just want more viciousness from him. I put my hands over his wrapped ones and press down. His body ripples, answering the involuntary spike of pain, and he growls.

He picks me up in one move and lays me down on the ice.

Cold seeps into me, almost burning, and I arch away from the sensation. But he’s right there, already between my legs and driving back into me. Pushing me into the ice. The sensation is like needles stabbing into me everywhere it touches. My ass, my shoulders, my head. My hair is fanned out, and the sweat that collects on the nape of my neck immediately induces chills.

But after a minute, all I can focus on is Greyson.

The feel of him, hot against my cold body. The friction of his cock going in and out, his lips on my skin. Always moving. Breast, throat, collarbone. He trails kisses, soft in contrast to the hardness of the ice. His forearms are braced on either side of me, his hands curled in my shirt.