DANGEROUS ICE: MY HOCKEY NEMESIS IS MY SINFUL OBSESSION

LOCKER ROOM

"You bend over so perfectly, Axel. It’s almost like you’re offering it up. I had a great view of that ass from the bench all game, but up close? It’s a goddamn tragedy I haven't seen it out of these pants yet."

"Shut up and play," I wheezed while digging my skates into the scarred ice, the sound of the blades carving the frozen surface echoing my own desperation. Trying frantically to focus on the black disk of the puck slipping between our sticks, I found the friction of his massive body pressing against mine doing something entirely traitorous. My heavy protective gear suddenly felt agonizingly tight because I was completely, painfully hard, and every slight movement caused the thick fabric of my cup to rub against me. The friction sent blinding sparks of unwanted, pooling heat straight to my gut, making my knees threaten to buckle right there on the rink.

"You're shaking, Golden Boy," Michael taunted, his heavily padded glove accidentally sliding up my ribs before his thumb grazed the side of my chest. "Is it the cold? Or are you thinking about how loud you were in that laundry room? I bet you'd be even louder if I had you facedown on the ice right now."

Losing the puck meant losing my footing and entirely losing my mind in the span of a single heartbeat. By the time Coach blew the final, shrill whistle to end the brutal drill, my entire body was vibrating with a dangerous, chaotic mix of rage and pure, unadulterated lust that I absolutely refused to admit to.

The second we were dismissed from the ice, waiting wasn't an option. Fleeing blindly without looking back at Michael or stopping to talk to Miller, I hit the rubberized locker room floor at a dead sprint with my breath coming in jagged, burning lungfuls. Ripping my sweaty helmet off my head, I shoved through the heavy swinging doors of the shower area because I was completely desperate for the dark anonymity of a closed cubicle. Ducking into the farthest end stall, I let the heavy plastic door swing shut behind me and leaned my trembling weight against the cold, damp tile. Panting heavily, I tried frantically to get my runaway heart rate under some semblance of control before the rest of the team swarmed the room.

The metallic click of the latch echoed like a gunshot.

Looking up with wide, panic-stricken eyes, I saw Michael standing there. He had somehow slipped in right behind me before the lock could catch, and his massive frame filled the tiny space until his broad shoulders were almost touching both of the slick, tiled walls.

"Get out," I hissed, my voice trembling with a terrifying mixture of fear and anticipation. "Michael, I'm serious. Get the f**k out."

"Make me," he whispered, that familiar, arrogant light dancing dangerously in his dark eyes. Stepping closer to the corner, he trapped me against the dripping showerhead. "You ran away pretty fast, Axel. Scared of what's happening in your pants?"

"I'm not scared of anything. I just want to shower in peace."

Outside our flimsy plastic fortress, the heavy, echoing thud of hockey bags hitting the floor signaled that the rest of the team was piling into the locker room. Dozens of familiar voices rose in a loud, boisterous chorus of post-practice laughter and complaints, bleeding through the thin walls of our stall. The deafening sound of metal lockers slamming shut and the sudden hiss of water starting in the communal showers just a few feet away filled the room, creating a suffocating layer of background noise. Knowing that my teammates were mere inches away, stripping down and completely oblivious to the war happening in the end stall, made the air between Michael and me feel impossibly thick. Every laugh or shout from the other side of the door spiked my adrenaline, twisting my stomach into a tight, agonizing knot of pure terror and undeniable arousal.

Michael’s expression shifted from playful arrogance to something far more predatory. Leaning in until his lips hovered mere inches from my ear, he brought his large, calloused hand up to firmly cover my mouth.

"Shh," he breathed, the heat of his breath ghosting over my wet skin. "Keep your pretty little mouth shut, Axel. Unless you want Miller and the guys to walk in here and find out exactly why we're sharing a stall."

Going completely rigid against the wall, I felt my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped, frantic bird trying to escape its cage. The heavy, intoxicating scent of him surrounded me entirely, blending the sharp, musky sweat of a brutal practice with his signature icy cologne. Feeling dizzy and utterly overwhelmed, my head swam as the sheer, suffocating proximity turned my blood to liquid fire. The danger of discovery, combined with the crushing weight of his body pressing me into the tiles, created a sensory overload that shattered whatever remaining defenses I had left.

His hand finally left my mouth and slid slowly downward, charting a torturous path over my chest. Refusing to go for my fly, his clever fingers instead found the damp hem of my undershirt and slid up against my bare skin. Pinching my n*****s through the sweat-soaked fabric, he plucked at them with a ruthless, agonizing rhythm that sent sharp jolts of pleasure straight to my groin.

"Look at these little t**s," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, filthy vibration that rattled through my bones. "So sensitive. You're a mess for me, aren't you?"

Letting out a soft, high-pitched whining sound that I couldn't contain, I let my heavy eyelids flutter shut. The sound was broken and needy, a shameful admission of how much I was yearning for the very thing I should have been fighting. Every time his fingers twisted, a fresh wave of heat crashed over me, making me whimper into the humid air of the stall. The contrast between the loud, oblivious chatter of my teammates just outside and the dirty, degrading things Michael was doing to me in the shadows was pushing me closer to the edge than I had ever been.

"You're so worked up," Michael continued, his roaming hand sliding lower to firmly grip the sensitive back of my neck. "I can feel you shaking. You want it so bad. You want to be my little b***h, don't you? Thinking about that tight little p***y of an asshole getting wrecked by me?"

That specific, degrading word hit me like a brutal physical blow. It felt so completely wrong and deeply humiliating, yet my traitorous body responded instantly with a violent, uncontrollable surge of boiling heat. Shuddering against the cold tiles, my legs felt like they were going to entirely give out beneath me. Michael’s possessive grip on the back of my neck tightened into something dangerous before his long fingers curled around to the front of my throat. Squeezing just enough to make my ragged breath hitch and the world go hazy around the edges, he anchored me exactly where he wanted me.

"Look at me," he commanded, the absolute authority in his tone leaving no room for rebellion.

Looking up through a blur of unshed tears and overwhelming lust, I met eyes that were fiercely predatory and dark with a ravaging hunger that perfectly matched the hollow, yearning ache in my own chest. Squeezing my throat again, the sudden pressure sent a massive, dizzying rush of blood straight to my head, leaving me lightheaded and desperate. I found myself leaning into his touch, my body instinctively seeking the very hand that was cutting off my air.

Feeling incredibly heavy and entirely consumed by the overwhelming sensation of his dominance, I was completely paralyzed by the sheer force of his presence. Even though I wasn't touching myself and he wasn't touching my c**k, the lethal combination of his velvet voice, the absolute filth he was pouring directly into my ear, and the steady, grounding pressure of his large hand crushing my windpipe proved to be far too much for my fraying sanity.

A series of low, broken moans tore painfully from my tight throat as my exhausted, overstimulated body suddenly gave up the fight. Coming incredibly hard with a blinding intensity, I felt the scalding heat of it hitting my stomach while I sagged heavily against him. With my vision flashing completely white and my lungs struggling for air, I remained panting and completely spent, my heavy head lolling back against the damp shower tile. At the same time, the loud, oblivious sounds of my team continued to echo around us.