Page 15

Chapter 15

Ginny

T wo days.

It’s been two days since I’ve had the most mind shattering sex I’ve had since being with the guys during Christmas. The way he swirled his tongue around my hardened nipple. How it felt as he ran it through my folds, seconds before sucking on my clit. But mostly how amazing it felt to be filled by his hard cock, each thrust inside of me pushing me closer to the brink.

It was an incredible reminder of how amazing we are together. Well, of how wonderful Carter was, still is. I have to wait to be with Blake and Chase. We’re so close to making them face the issues between them and put everything on the table. Carter told me what happened and I can see why both of them are upset. I do think that Blake has a lot of groveling ahead of him, but that Chase will ultimately forgive him.

Then we can work on repairing our whole group and get back to what we were at the lodge.

Over the last forty-eight hours, my free moments have been consumed with texting and video calling Carter and slipping away for stolen private moments with him. My dad, Antony, and Chase are none the wiser. Even when I’ve been under the same roof as Chase, Carter has become very adept at slipping me in and out without notice, and thankfully, we won’t have to do it for much longer. Tonight, though, I have a family dinner with Dad and, much to my dismay, Antony.

How he went from one of my closest friends to a man I loathe more than anything is a mystery to me. It wasn’t a sudden change, it was slow and deliberate. As if he calculated every move he made, every word to achieve the outcome we’re currently at.

I’ve tried to skip the dinner, coming up with every reason I could to get out of it. They all failed. Per my father, it's now mandatory so we can discuss our training schedule before the upcoming competition in two short weeks. A competition that will get us one step closer to making the Olympic team.

I pick up my gym bag from the floor, and disconnect my phone from the charger, smiling when I see what’s waiting.

Carter: GM Pixie. Hope you slept well and dreamed of me. Because I woke up hard from my dream of you.

Carter: DICK PIC

My mouth waters, and my pussy quivers, longing to have it inside of me, filling me. My breath hitches and I debate on dropping my bag and grabbing my vibrator instead for some pleasure. It takes me a few minutes, but I ultimately decide on skating. A little bit of a nagging feeling tugs at me that it was a wrong decision, but I’m sticking with it.

I step out into the hallway, taking hold of the door handle. It lets out the faintest creak as I ease it shut behind me, the sound barely more than a whisper in the silent hallway. I hold my breath, fingers still curled around the knob, and listen—but there's nothing but the steady hum of the house settling in the early morning hush. When the door is shut and no one has come barging into the hallway, I let go of the knob and the breath I’ve been holding.

Barefoot, I step onto the cool hardwood, my steps feather-light as I move forward. The air in the hallway is still, thick with the quiet that only exists before dawn. Each step is deliberate, my toes barely pressing into the floor as I pass by the closed doors, my heart hammering as if at any moment someone might stir. That my dad will step out and question where I’m going and what I’m doing.

When I reach the top of the staircase, a shiver ripples down my spine. A feeling—subtle, unexplainable—creeps over me, prickling at my skin, the sensation of being watched.

I freeze, every muscle trembling as I try not to move.

My breath catches in my throat as I slowly turn, eyes scanning the hallway behind me. The shadows stretch long and deep, the dim glow from a nightlight in the bathroom casting just enough light to tease the edges of the darkness. I search the emptiness, my pulse pounding, but nothing stirs. No creak of the floorboards. No shift in the shadows. Nothing.

Swallowing, I force myself to exhale, shaking off the feeling. It was just the quiet and my nerves playing tricks on me. I turn back to the stairs and descend them quickly, my bare feet making no sound against the wood.

At the front door, I pause once more before slipping on my fur-lined boots and jacket. I press my palm against the cool metal of the handle before slipping outside. The air is crisp against my skin, and I shudder slightly, the lingering sense of unease not quite shaken. I pull the door shut behind me, locking it with steady hands, the mechanism clicking into place with a satisfying finality.

Only then do I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I make my way down the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the weight of my shoes as I approach my car. The morning air is thick with silence, save for the distant rustling of leaves in the wind. I reach into my coat pocket for my keys, casting one last glance over my shoulder before sliding into the driver’s seat and locking the doors.

As the engine purrs to life, I force myself to dismiss the unease coiling in my chest. It wasn't anything. Just my imagination.

I step through the heavy doors of the rink, the familiar chill of the arena wrapping around me like a whisper of ice. The sharp scent of frozen air and faint rubber lingers, the quiet hum of the building filling the vast, empty space. I had expected to be alone, the early hour guaranteeing me solitude to enjoy the ice, but as I turn the corner and step toward the ice, I see him.

Blake.

He’s on the ice, but not like I usually see him—hulking in front of the net, bracing against the force of oncoming shots, his body a wall of defense. No, here, now, he is something else entirely. He moves like liquid silver across the frozen surface, each push of his skates smooth and effortless. The rigid intensity he carries in front of the goal has melted away, replaced by something freer, something beautiful, something calm.

I find myself unable to look away. I’m drawn to him like a bee to honey.

Blake picks up speed, shifting his weight as he carves deep arcs into the ice, his edges cutting clean and precise. His strides are powerful yet light, as if he’s barely touching the surface. Then, with a quick change in momentum, he pushes into a deep crossover, his legs crossing one over the other in a seamless rhythm. His upper body relaxes and is in tune with the motion. He turns sharply, the inside edge of his skate biting into the ice as he loops into a tight, controlled curve.

Then he spins.

Not just any spin, but a perfect pivot; his body tightens, one foot lifting slightly as he rotates, arms outstretched before pulling inward, increasing his speed. The world around him blurs, and for a moment, he looks weightless—completely at ease in his own movement. When he slows, uncoiling from the spin with an easy grace, he shifts into a backward glide, his eyes focusing on something somewhere distant, unaware he has an audience.

My breath catches at the beautiful moment before me. One I’d never have seen had I chosen to stay with my vibrator.

Here, in the quiet of the rink, Blake is different. He isn’t just a goalie. He’s not just a shield in front of the net. He is a skater—an artist on ice. And I have never seen him shine like this before.

Fuck me! This is where he should be. What he should be doing.

I move along the wall at the back of the rink, still unnoticed by Blake. My eyes don’t move from him. It’s as if I’m in a trance, being lured to him like a sailor to the siren’s call. Only if he catches me, I wouldn’t be a victim. I’d be his willingly.

The air shifts, a slow, creeping sensation curling down my spine before I hear his voice—low, rich, and laced with a venomous amusement.

“So this is why you’re so tired when it comes to our practices. Is this why you make so many mistakes? Is he the one making you slip out before the sun even rises? To be here with him?”

Antony’s voice slides through the silence like a knife, smooth yet sharp, carrying that unmistakable air of superiority that makes my skin prickle. There was no rush in his words, no urgency—just the quiet, unshakable confidence of a man who knows that he has already won. He lets the silence stretch for a moment, savoring it, his presence pressing against me like an unseen weight.

“You didn’t really think you’d get away so easily, did you? That no one would ever notice what you’re doing?”

The hatred’s there, coiled beneath the surface like a serpent waiting to strike. It isn’t loud or explosive—no, Antony’s malice is far more refined, far more dangerous. He speaks with the calm detachment of someone who sees himself above everyone else, someone who sees you as a chess piece in his game, already trapped.

His footsteps echo softly as he moves closer, deliberate and controlled. I can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he chuckles, low and mocking.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. You should know by now—I always see everything. I wonder if your dad would like to know this little bit of information. To know what his precious daughter is up to with a member of his team.”

The words drip with cruel satisfaction, each syllable meant to remind me that I was caught. That no matter what I did, he would always be there. Watching. Waiting. And enjoying every second of it.

I take a deep breath, turning to face him, putting my back to the beauty still taking place on the ice. A small part of me wonders if Blake heard us? Or if he has chosen to ignore what’s happening, seeing it as nothing more than a lover’s quarrel. How wrong he would be about that.

“What is it that you think you caught, Antony? Me, at the rink, practicing to perfect my moves. How is it my problem that someone else was here? How am I supposed to know? I’m sure if my dad were to check the key card swipes, he would see they occurred at very different times.” I hold firm, hoping that is the case. That Blake has been here far longer than my arrival moments ago.

“Hmm, a carefully laid plan. I’m sure my words will weigh heavier than yours. Especially after the issues you caused over the holidays, running off and talking about not coming back to the Olympics.” Antony thinks his words have me shaken. They do. But I’ll never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

Because while I hope it wouldn’t happen, there is a small piece of me that fears my father would believe him.

“I wonder what my father would think about you following me around like a stalker. The threats you make against me if I don’t do exactly what you want. Speaking of, how did you know I was here?”

My mind goes back to the eerie feeling of being watched at the house. Now I know why I had it.

“Oh, you think I didn’t see you sneaking out? I just didn’t expect to find you here whoring yourself to a neanderthal hockey player. Especially when you despise them. Is this a jab at Daddy? Do you have daddy issues, Geneva?”

“Stop calling me that, asshole. You know I hate it. Are you sure it’s not you with daddy issues? You think I don’t see the way you salivate when you’re around my father?”

He doesn’t bite quickly, but instead laughs, smirking at me like my words meant nothing. His eyes shift upward, as if he’s looking at something over my shoulder, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip. Then I hear him.

Blake.

“Is there a problem here?” His deep protective voice flushes away all the anxiety and fear that Antony had manifested in me.

“Not at all,” he says with a cocky arrogance before lowering his gaze back to me. “GiGi, remember what we talked about. I think I’ll go meet with your dad. Have a little talk about the future.” With those parting words he turns and heads toward the exit, disappearing through the doors and only then do I breathe and turn to face Blake. Hanging around his neck are headphones. It’s then I know why he didn’t hear us. So he must have seen us and came to check on me.

A true hero.

“You sure about that, Little One? I could feel the tension coming off of you all the way on the ice.” Blake's voice fills my body with relief. Until now, I didn’t realize how tense Antony was making me.

Little One. I never knew until this moment how much I missed hearing him call me by his pet name.

I take a moment and pull myself together. “Yeah, my partner just knows how to push my buttons. He seems to think he’s a controlling factor in my life choices.”

He quirks his brow. “Partner? Boyfriend? Is that why you left? Because if you had a boyfriend—”

I don’t even let him finish speaking before I burst out in hysterical laughter, doubling over and clutching my stomach. “Definitely not my boyfriend. Not in the past, not now, or the future. He’s just my skating partner. Nothing more.” Then I mumble softer, “For now.”

The corners of his lips turn up in a smile, one full of warmth and mischievousness. I long to have them on me, kissing along my neck. Nope. I shake my head, pushing the thoughts from my mind. I don’t need to go down that rabbit hole.

“So, how are you and Chase?” I know the answer to that, but he doesn’t know. “I caught a little of your practice the other day and, well, it seemed tense between the two of you. Standoffish.”

He lets out a sigh before running his hand through his hair, pulling gently on the ends. “It’s complicated.” His shoulders sag and I can see the pain that's so evident in his eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe things will change. The two of you belong together.” I smile, showing him I truly mean what I say.

“Why are you here so early?” he asks, as if he’s trying to change the subject.

“I wanted to skate.” It’s true. Just not the complete truth. “How about you? I couldn’t help but to see you on the ice. You’re amazing. Are you sure hockey is your calling? I think it’s ice skating.”

He laughs. “Want to join me?” he asks. Conveniently not addressing the last comment.

“Yeah.” I move to the benches, Blake in step beside me, and sit down, removing my shoes and putting on my skates. It only takes me a moment to lace them. Blake reaches out for my hand when I’m done and I grasp it. A sudden sense of familiarity and home taking over me.

God, I’ve missed his touch.