Page 21 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

nine

I force air into my lungs with deep breaths.

Another.

Another.

I’ll pass out if I don’t. I wish I could say it’s because he’s squeezing my throat again but I’m not afforded such grace this time.

The warmth of his hand around my neck is sending tingles down my back and goosebumps across my flesh, especially with that grin on his face.

His smile is unlike the one on the game posters.

It’s different from the one he presents to screaming fans, or the one he flashes to the barista who knows his drink order.

No, this smile is undeniably real. He’s deriving true happiness from my despair.

The balance I thought I had, the stability I once captured on these skates, all but fail me now. I feel unsteady, precarious, with him touching me like this. Like he could take me down with a single breath.

His exhale against my cheek does exactly that, causing my knees to knock and my body to sway.

“Try not to pass out yet,” he croons. “The fun is only starting. There’ll be plenty of time for breath play later.”

He winks, and my legs buckle.

Is this what I’ve been reduced to? A woman who faints because a cute boy breathed on her?

My fingers cling to his wrist, feeling his chilled skin against my fingertips, assessing his perfectly calm heartbeat. He increases the pressure the tiniest fraction and I do the same, my nails clawing into his flesh, anchoring myself to him. But he still doesn’t let me go.

Even in skates, his six-three frame and imposing presence dwarfs me. With his hand wrapped neatly around my throat, my pussy throbs, and I can barely keep it together.

This is a scene plucked directly from my subconscious and all my late-night fantasies.

And yet, I’m in such a state of shock I can’t reconcile that this isn’t fantasy at all, it’s reality.

That can’t be though, because in reality it normally doesn’t feel this good to be choked.

In reality, I shouldn’t want him to squeeze harder.

In reality, he could kill me if he really put his strength behind it.

And in this dimension of delusion, I’ll happily let him.

“Where have you been?” he whispers.

It’s a soft-spoken question, more to himself than me, but I can’t bring myself to answer.

His eyes are un-fucking real, a golden amber that practically glows beneath stage lights. And they’re roaming me, breaking me down piece by piece.

I swallow. Feeling bold, I slide my hand down his forearm, my nails dragging. He practically vibrates beneath my touch, his gaze holding mine.

“ Oh , she has claws. Promise me you’ll use them on me later,” he coos. I lift my thumb to my mouth on instinct as I consider my options. “What’s the matter, Sydney, cat got your tongue?”

If I stay quiet, will the moment disappear?

Will the fantasy bubble pop?

Will he hold up his end of the threat and punish me?

Fuck . . . I’ve known him for all of an hour, and in that time he’s more than demonstrated his affinity, not to mention ability , to inflict delicious pain.

He obviously can cause bodily harm but he absolutely can cause bodily pleasure if he so chose.

There’s a softness to him . . . deep . .

. deep . . . deep inside that, strangely enough, tells me as much as he likes pain, pleasure isn’t off the table.

It’s the dessert at the end of a three-course meal—and I’m ravenous.

My neck still aches from where he bit me back in the locker room. My eyes flutter close, thinking back to how I rubbed my fingers over the indentations of his teeth, and smiled at his parting gift. Now here he is again offering me more memories to take with me when I leave.

“Well, if you’re not gonna talk . . .” he trails.

His hand leaves my throat and, for a second, I’m saddened by the removal of his threat.

He takes my thumb from my lips, bringing it to his own and sucking it into his mouth.

I go limp, words still failing me, because what do you say at a time like this?

Thank you? It’s the only thing that feels remotely appropriate.

Thank you for letting me have this one thing.

Thank you for not letting my last night here suck.

Thank you for showing me what desire feels like.

Thank you for making me feel . . . something these past few months.

I don’t thank him though.

Instead, I struggle to hold back a whimper, swallowing it so that it sounds as though I fucking purred. What am I, a cat? I don’t purr, I growl.

His mouth is warm and wet, and I can feel the textured buds of his tongue expertly swirling around my digit.

He hums his satisfaction while his finger rests on the pulse point at my wrist. The direct line to my naive heart, giving away all my secrets.

He eats it the fuck up. Sharp desire slices me to my core and more arousal immediately dampens my panties. It’ll soak through if he doesn’t stop.

Flattening my free palm to his chest, I push him away, my thumb popping audibly from his lips when he doesn’t let up on his sucking.

Even though he’s on the ice in regular boots, my push does nothing to move him. Instead, I’m the one forced to slide back, not far, but enough to create some distance.

He chuckles as he licks his lips, giving me a peek at the tongue that just wreaked havoc on all my bodily senses for the second time tonight. He’s more dangerous up close than he ever seemed from a distance.

“Oh, Sydney, please don’t think being in skates will save you from me,” he says, casually walking across the ice with no fear of sliding or falling.

“Maybe if you were in skates too, I would be more worried, but right now it protects me just fine while I make my escape, thank you.” My fingers press against my temples. “I need a minute to think.”

My heart hammers in my chest. He is so barking up the wrong tree. I don’t have time to play out fantasies tonight. I leave tomorrow.

“Listen, Lucien, I have to tell you—” He launches forward, sliding on his shoes.

And with no way of stopping, he falls with me to the ice, purposely knocking me to the ground and pinning me in place.

Sharp cold laces up my entire backside and I scream.

I’ve done nothing but fall for an entire half hour during my practice, but this hurts .

“Now, what was that about escaping me?” he asks, his breath warm as he huffs in my face.

“ Ow ! Lucien! That hurt! Why did you—” I hiss from the cold when he rests his weight on me.

“Did you really think I would let you get away so easily?”

I didn’t, actually. My feet just moved on their own accord. There’s no way this doesn’t end badly for me.

He tuts, gripping my chin and shaking my face.

“Why do you want to run away from me? Aren’t you happy to see me?

” His voice is melodic when he speaks. Every word a deceivingly sweet serenade.

A pathetic love-sick whimper dislodges itself from my throat and he relishes the slip up.

“Of course you are. So why are you being this way, huh? We were having fun, weren’t we, Princess?

I run; you hide. You used to be much better at this game. What happened?” he coos.

Reality came crashing down, that’s what. In the virtual world we’d built, this was fun. But right now, this is reckless and stupid, and I feel like an idiot for letting it go this far.

I lick my lips, desperately trying to encourage speech.

“I-I shouldn’t have messed with you like that,” I admit.

“ No, you shouldn’t have.” He leans forward, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “But I’m so glad you did.” He pulls back slightly, our faces a hair’s breadth apart. “It’s been years since I’ve been this entertained.”

My body softens against him, deflating at his words.

Entertainment. That’s what he saw this as. Nothing more. My heart constricts, but I ignore it. That traitorous organ has gotten me in enough trouble.

“It’s cold,” I stutter, my teeth chattering as I relay the obvious. “You need to get up. Someone could see us.”

“You want me to warm you up?” His hard cock grinds into me and the heat he wanted to induce spreads over every surface like wildfire. I’m ablaze with the feeling of him against me like this.

“No, I said—”

His tongue sweeps across his bite mark on my neck, a teasing warmth I wasn’t expecting.

My shriek echoes in the arena.

Shit . The noise is wrenched out of me before I can stop it.

He feels so big. He’s so hard and the aim of his cock against my center was accurate, rubbing directly over my sensitive clit.

I’ve masturbated a lot over these last few months to various fantasies of this, of him, but I never thought in a million years my sweet nightmares would ever come true.

“You sound so pretty when you scream.” He caresses his cheek up the side of my face, his breath tickling my lips.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I try to calm my pulse, but the absence of one sense only heightens the others.

His freshly washed skin permeates between us, something acidic or minty in his scent. I could get drunk off it.

I’m haunted by images of his tattooed back wet with soap suds dripping down the hellish landscape inked into his skin, rolling over the dips and crevices of his muscles.

His nuzzling lets me feel his shaven face smooth across mine, our cheeks rubbing against one another like furless animals.

I can practically feel my pussy purring.

My eyes burst open at the realization that this is not helping.

“Oh God, please let me up. Please,” I beg.

My hips buck to throw him off, but it’s pointless, he’s heavier than he looks.

I thought my efforts were so I could get away, or maybe it was to get him to grind into me again, who knows, but that’s exactly what he does.

He grinds his cock between my spread thighs until I’m moaning again.

The heat of my front, a stark contrast to the cold on my back, drives me insane with pain and pleasure.