Page 21 of Icing the Cougar (Hockey USA Collection #7)

Trinity

I don’t remember the noise. Not the chanting, not Nova’s cackling somewhere behind us, not even the shitty PA system blasting “I Gotta Feeling.” What I remember is his hand in mine, cold and shaking, and the way Jasper never once let go as he led me off the ice and into the blinding dark of the service corridor.

Every nerve in my body is on fire, like I might still be standing under that spotlight, even though the only lights here are emergency strips and the dying embers of the stadium.

I blink, and every step feels like a reset, like the world is still trying to process what the hell just happened out there.

Jasper pushes open the heavy utility door and steps into a back hallway where the air is ten degrees colder. There’s nobody here. It’s just a cinderblock tunnel stretching forever and the two of us.

He keeps glancing at me like he thinks I might turn and run away. I feel his pulse in my own veins. We’re still moving, but it’s slower now, and the echo of our footfalls is louder than the entire arena was five minutes ago.

I stop walking.

He stops, too.

I step in and wrap my arms around his torso and press my face into his chest. His arms come up around me, slow at first, then with a force that makes my ribs creak.

He buries his face in my hair. “Did I fuck it up?” he asks with a muffled voice.

I laugh, breathless, but it’s only a little shaky. “Jasper, you could not have fucked it up harder, or better, if you tried.”

He exhales and his whole body goes soft against me. Then he pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “You sure?” he says as his eyes search mine.

I shake my head. “No, I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything except that you’re the most stubborn, brilliant, infuriating person I’ve ever met, and I want to—” I lose the words for a second. “—I want to keep trying. Even if it kills me.”

He grins, lopsided, relief spreading across his whole face. “You’re gonna outlive me. I’m pretty sure of that.”

The air is suddenly thin. Every feeling I swallowed for the last six months is fighting its way out. I touch the side of his jaw, rough with stubble. He leans into it, his eyes half-lidded.

He says, “Trin.”

That’s all. Just my name, but it’s the way he says it that makes my knees soft.

“Thank you,” I say, and mean it. “For not being afraid anymore.”

He shrugs. “I’m still scared as fuck,” he admits. “But I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable but loaded.

I lean in and kiss him. Not like a performance, not for the cameras or the crowd, but slow and deep. He groans into it, and I feel the tension in his arms go from nervous to something way darker.

He backs me up into the concrete wall, hands sliding down to my waist. His thumb hooks into the waistband of my leggings, and I feel a bolt of heat spike through my entire body.

I break the kiss long enough to catch my breath, but his mouth is already at my ear, whispering, “We should probably get out of here before I do more than just kiss you.”

The urge to tell him I don’t care who sees is overwhelming, but I manage to laugh it off. “Where are we going?” I ask, just to hear the answer.

“Car. Unless you want to risk a maintenance closet,” he growls, and his hands tighten on my hips.

I let him lead. He takes my hand again, and we power-walk down the endless corridor. His stride is purposeful, but every few steps he glances over his shoulder at me.

The tunnel opens into the sub-basement of the stadium, which is basically a parking garage lit by cold LEDs and the low drone of security cameras. I spot his black BMW, perfectly angled into the nearest spot to the exit ramp.

We’re barely past the sliding door before I press him against the hood. He makes a surprised noise, then laughs low and wicked. “You’re dangerous,” he says.

“You love it,” I shoot back.

He doesn’t disagree.

We’re both breathing hard, not from the sprint but from the charge between us. I grip his face in both hands, tilting it up so I can really see him. His pupils are blown wide, and there’s a flush up his neck that tells me exactly where his head is at.

I run my thumb across his bottom lip, and he bites it gently.

He whispers, “God, I missed you.”

“You saw me yesterday,” I remind him, but he shakes his head.

“Not like this. I mean… all the way. I missed—” He stops.

I decide to say what he won’t. “I missed you too,” I say. “I missed your crazy, and your stubborn, and the way you’d leave marks on my body just to prove you could.”

His eyes go even wider. The shift in him is instantaneous; all of a sudden, he’s the one crowding me, his hands flat on the hood behind me, his body a wall of muscle and want. “Say that again.” I can feel the vibration in his chest.

I try to swallow with my throat going tight. “I missed the way you’d fuck me like you were trying to ruin me.”

He sucks in a breath. He just stares at me. Then he grins.

“Christ,” he says. “You really want to do this here?”

I look around at the empty garage, the cold concrete and flickering lights. I look at him, all animal need and shaky restraint. “I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He lifts me up and sets me on the hood, spreading my knees with his own. I feel the cold metal through my leggings, but it’s nothing compared to the burn of his hands. He presses his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“Trinity,” his voice is ragged, “tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper.

He groans, and then he kisses me again. This time it’s brutal with teeth and tongue, and I’m here for it all. I feel his shoulder muscles shift and tense under my fingers. He makes a sound, half-laugh, half-growl.

He slides his hand down between us and palms me through my leggings, making me gasp and arch into him. I’m soaked, and he smiles against my mouth wickedly.

He breaks the kiss. “You have no idea how bad I want to fuck you right now.”

“Then do it,” I challenge, eyes locked on his. “Right here. Right now.”

He shivers, actually shivers, and then he pulls himself together, steady hands on my hips as he tugs me closer to the edge of the hood.

He’s rough, but careful. He peels down my leggings just enough, exposing my bare ass to the cold air, then slides his hand between my thighs, two fingers plunging inside me without warning.

I moan. The echo is obscene in the empty garage.

He’s breathing hard, watching my face as he fucks me with his fingers, slow at first, then faster. “God, you’re perfect. You’re so wet.”

“Please,” I gasp, and he grins, loving every second.

He unzips his own pants, freeing his cock, and we both just stare at each other. I want him so bad my whole-body aches for it.

He lines up and thrusts in, one rough, hard motion. I cry out, grabbing at his arms for balance. He sets a fast pace, each stroke slamming me back against the car. The risk of getting caught, the chill in the air, the impossible intensity of him—it all blends together into something wild and feral.

He bites my neck, hard, just under my ear, and I feel my pussy walls squeeze his cock harder. He does it again, lower, and I know he’s leaving a trail of marks down my collarbone and across my chest.

“Mine,” he says, voice gone deep and dark. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” I gasp, because it’s true. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

He fucks me harder, hands everywhere—one on my throat, one under my ass, lifting me up so he can hit even deeper. My nails rake his back through his shirt, and he hisses.

I’m close, so close I can barely breathe. He feels it, and shifts, rubbing my clit with his thumb as he pounds into me. It’s too much, too good.

I come, hard, screaming his name. The echo bounces off every wall in the garage, and I don’t care. I want the whole world to know.

He follows a second later, driving into me with a force that makes my bones shake. He groans my name, head thrown back, and I watch the shudder roll through his whole body.

For a long minute, we just stay like that, fused together, hearts hammering.

He kisses me, softer now, mouth swollen and desperate. “I fucking love you,” he confesses.

I pull him down and hold him close, letting the silence stretch. “I love you too, Jasper.”

He rests his forehead on my shoulder, still inside me, hands shaking. Then he laughs, quiet and amazed. “Holy shit,” he says.

“Yeah,” I agree, because there’s nothing else to say.

We fix ourselves, him zipping up, me tugging up my leggings. He helps me off the hood like I’m made of glass, which is sweet, considering how hard he just fucked me.

He cups my face in both hands, searching my eyes. “You good?”

“Better than good,” I confirm.

He kisses me again sweetly. Then he takes my hand and leads me to the passenger side, opening the door like a gentleman. I climb in, still shaking, and he rounds the car to slide behind the wheel.

We sit in the darkness for a minute.

Then he turns to me, grinning like a kid. “You want to get pizza?”

I laugh, a real, belly-deep laugh, and nod. “Yeah,” I say. “But only if you promise to fuck me like that again when we get home.”

He winks, cocky and sure, but his hand trembles as he takes mine.

“Deal,” he says.

We drive off, leaving the empty garage and all our old ghosts behind.

We drive in silence, hands clasped over the gearshift, headlights cutting through the night. Everything I ever needed is right here, in the curve of his mouth when he glances over at me, in the way our fingers tangle and squeeze. We’re still a mess, but at least it’s a beautiful one.