Oops! I'm Living With The Hockey Captain

Rough Kiss From Captain

ROSE

My breath hitched. My eyes dilated, dark with the exact same hunger that was burning through him. I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping to his lips again, completely throwing away my pride.

"What if... it does?"

The challenge shattered whatever restraint he had left. In a split second, the grumpy, untouchable captain mask was completely gone. He lowered his head, his lips hovering a breath away from mine, and I braced myself for the chaotic impact of him.

Then—

BZZZZT! BZZZZT!

The sharp, aggressive vibration of a phone echoed from across the room, cutting through the thick tension like a skate blade through fresh ice. It was coming from inside his hockey bag near the door.

We both jolted. I blinked rapidly, the sudden burst of reality violently snapping me out of the haze.

Drake let out a low, frustrated curse under his breath. In one swift, sudden motion, he scrambled off me and stood up, turning his back to me as his chest heaved with heavy, ragged breaths. He marched over to his bag, his broad shoulders tense, and ripped open the zipper to pull out a sleek, black phone.

He stared at the screen, and I watched as every ounce of color drained from his face. The rigid, terrifying posture from this morning returned instantly.

"Drake?" I asked softly, sitting up on the couch and frantically pulling down the hem of my t-shirt. My face was still burning, but the sudden drop in temperature in the room made my skin prickle with unease. "What is it? Who's texting you?"

He didn't answer. He didn't even look at me.

Instead, he walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, peeling back the edge of the curtain just enough to peer out into the blinding afternoon sun, his eyes scanning the buildings across the street. The sheer iciness in his expression made my stomach tie itself into knots.

When he finally turned back to face me, the heat from just moments ago was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, absolute authority.

"Pack up your art supplies," he commanded, his voice deadpan and devoid of any emotion. The walls were back up, higher and thicker than before. "Starting tonight, you’re sleeping in my room. And the door is staying locked from the inside."

•••••

We had been living in a state of suffocating, unspoken tension for three days since he practically forced me into his room. Every day was a battle of push and pull, an invisible war fought in the tight spaces of this loft. But tonight, the walls we built finally crumbled.

His warm breath fanned across my skin, carrying that familiar, intoxicating scent of melting ice and mint. Drake's grip on the kitchen counter right behind me was so tight his knuckles were stark white, as if he were holding up the weight of the entire world just to keep it from crashing down on us.

I was trapped. Utterly and completely trapped between his massive, solid arms.

"Drake, come on," I stammered, my voice lacking its usual bite as I tried to press the plate of pasta between us like a shield. "About what I said the other day... the whole 'what if it does' thing? I was just teasing you. It was a joke. I didn't actually mean it."

Drake didn't flinch. He didn't back down. Instead, he leaned in even closer, his shadow completely swallowing me up against the marble counter.

"A joke?" he echoed, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl that vibrated straight through my bones. "Well, sweetheart, I don't play games. And I sure as hell am not laughing."

"D-Drake..." I breathed, my fingers trembling so hard the plate in my hands suddenly felt heavy. All the sarcastic comebacks I usually used as armor had completely deserted me.

"I'm not joking, Rose," he whispered. The icy-blue in his eyes, usually so cold and unreadable, had been replaced by a dark, swirling storm. His gaze dropped, locking onto my lips with an intensity that made my knees turn to pure water.

In the next fraction of a second, Drake lost his grip on his control.

He ripped one hand off the counter, his fingers wrapping around my jaw with a desperate, demanding gentleness. His rough, calloused athlete’s hands sent a jolt of pure electricity straight through my veins. Before I could even process what was happening, he slammed his mouth down onto mine.

The kiss wasn't gentle. It was the kiss of a man who had been starving for entirely too long, possessive, rough, and thick with deep, built-up frustration. Drake hauled my body against his until the plate of pasta slipped from my hands, hitting the counter with a loud clatter, the contents spilling over the marble. He crowded me against the wood, leaving absolutely no space between us, forcing me to take every single heavy, bruising lick of his tongue.

Panic flared in my chest. The suddenness of it, his sheer, dominating physical strength, and the feeling of being trapped in a tight space triggered a dark flash from my past. Pure, unadulterated fear hit me. I started hammering my fists against his chest, trying to push the wall of muscle away, but Drake was too deeply buried in his own instincts to notice my resistance.

My first tear slipped out, tracking down my cheek, and the exact moment the saltiness of it hit the seam of our lips—

Drake froze.

He yanked his head back, his breath coming in ragged, harsh gasps. His wild eyes slowly blew wide, focusing on my tear-stained face with a look of absolute, horrifying shock. The hand still resting on my jaw trembled violently.

I instantly spun my face away, burying my sob against the sleeve of the oversized Varsity Blues hoodie I’d stolen from him, my whole body shaking from the residual panic.

"Rose..." Drake’s voice sounded completely shattered. The arrogant, untouchable captain mask evaporated into thin air, replaced by a raw panic I had never heard from Drake Morvane in my life. "Hey... look at me. Please."

He stumbled back two full steps, giving me a massive amount of space, as if he were suddenly terrified his very existence would hurt me further. Drake ran his hands through his dark hair in sheer frustration, pacing the kitchen floor like a ghost, his face as pale as death.

"f**k. f*****g hell," he cursed under his breath, his voice cracking. He looked down at his shaking hands, then back at me as I stood there sobbing. "I... I didn't mean to... f**k, Rose, I'm so sorry."

I wiped my eyes roughly, trying to stabilize my erratic breathing. Seeing Drake Morvane, the cold-blooded captain who never bowed to anyone, staring at me with eyes full of pure, naked guilt and terror actually made my anger recede, replaced by sheer confusion.

He never apologized to anyone on this campus. He never let himself look weak. But tonight, in front of a messy girl he’d only known for a few days, his walls had collapsed entirely.

"Go to your room, Rose," Drake said quietly, his voice sounding hollow, exhausted, and laced with deep regret. He turned his back to me, refusing to look at me again. "Lock the door. I... I won't come near you again. I promise."

Without a second thought, I turned and bolted down the short hallway into the bedroom. The heavy thud of the door closing and the click of the deadbolt locking into place marked the end of a night that changed everything.

"My lips... Drake just kissed my lips..."