Page 26

CHAPTER 25

BELL

My fingers tingled from where they’d clutched Ethan’s skin, the imprint of his body lingering like a ghost against mine.

Everyone went back to what they were doing, like they didn’t want to poke the hornet’s nest that was still buzzing in the air. And while they may not have said a word about what they’d just witnessed, I could feel their eyes on me. Watching. Waiting to see what I did next.

If I’d acknowledge what had just gone down.

I wanted to, but I didn’t know how.

I glanced down at the skate in my hand I didn’t remember picking up, remembering that I’d been headed to the equipment room before Chet had run his mouth.

The thought of having a conversation with Toby about blade edges right now seemed impossible. My hands were still shaking, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Fuck the skate. I could deal with it tomorrow.

I tossed it into my stall and yanked my hockey pants off, grabbing my towel and shower kit. I needed to get clean, get dressed, and get the hell out of here before anyone started asking questions I couldn’t answer.

This was bad. So fucking bad.

What had I done, wrapping myself around Ethan like that in front of everyone? I’d acted on instinct, on something deeper than thought. And now I couldn’t stop replaying how I’d just exposed the one thing he had been so desperate to keep hidden.

The shower was mercifully quick and quiet, most guys giving me a wide berth. Hot water pounded against my skin, but I barely felt it. All I could focus on was how I’d just put Ethan in exactly the position he feared most—exposed and vulnerable, his carefully constructed walls crumbling in front of our entire team.

Chet’s words hit me all over again. He’d said them like he knew precisely how they’d land, the reaction they’d cause.

But I couldn’t forget what I’d seen—the dilation of his pupils when Ethan had him pinned, that flick of his tongue across his lips. The way his body had betrayed what his mouth denied.

Hatred born from fear. From wanting something he couldn’t let himself have.

And wasn’t that exactly where Ethan was, too? Not the hatred—never that—but the fear. The desperate need to keep his desires hidden, contained.

Where Chet lashed out, Ethan turned inward, building walls so high that sometimes I wondered if I could ever truly scale them.

Two men terrified of the same thing, handling it in completely opposite ways. One weaponizing his fear, the other making himself small enough to disappear inside it.

Fuck .

My breathing stuttered at the thought. At how easy it would be for Ethan to retreat even further after this.

With hands that moved as if on autopilot, I went through the motions of drying off, styling my hair into a tight bun at the back of my head, and getting dressed in my game day suit. The navy Armani that usually made me feel confident now felt like armor I desperately needed just to make it through the autograph line at the players’ exit.

I knotted my tie with unsteady fingers, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest. Ethan would never forgive me for this. For being so careless with his secret. For letting the team see just how much he meant to me. For showing them what I never should have revealed—that this wasn’t just friendship between us.

That it might never have been.

And the worst part?

I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. Not fully. Not when holding him had felt so right. Even as I’d betrayed the one boundary he’d been clear about from the beginning.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit. The fake smile I plastered on for the waiting fans felt like it might crack my face in half, but I signed what they pushed at me, posed for selfies, and somehow made it to my car without breaking down.

The drive home was a blur of streetlights, every mile bringing me closer to whatever fallout waited for me. My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as scenarios played through my mind—Ethan telling me it was over, Ethan kicking me out, Ethan retreating further into himself where I wouldn’t ever be able to reach him.

Each possibility was more devastating than the last.

By the time I got home, I was exhausted. Mentally fried. And still so fucking shaken.

I dropped my bag by the front door and toed off my shoes, my mind running circles around itself.

Standing at the kitchen sink, I was halfway through a glass of water when I heard the garage door rumble open.

I froze, listening for the sounds of Ethan’s footsteps, the familiar thud of his keys in the bowl on the table just inside the door.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he didn’t say anything. Just moved past me, eyes dark, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched tight. His tie hung loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone. There was a faint redness around his eyes that made my chest ache.

“E,” I said softly, watching him drop onto the couch like the weight of the day had finally caught up with him. His hands dragged down his face.

I crossed the room slowly and sank down beside him.

When he still didn’t look at me, I reached for him. Carefully, I curled one arm around his back and pressed the other hand to his chest, right over his heart, feeling the rapid, uneven thud racing beneath my fingertips.

“Talk to me, baby,” I whispered. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

His whole body sagged, tension leaking out of him as he turned toward me with a moan and buried his face against my neck. His arms came around me like he didn’t know where else to go.

We sat there in silence for a long time, breathing in sync.

His lips found my skin … soft at first, then hard, hungry. Like he was trying to crawl inside me to escape whatever was tearing him apart.

His hands slid under my shirt, calloused palms dragging across my ribs, fingers digging into my skin.

I knew this version of Ethan. The one who couldn’t find the words, who spoke instead with his body, who needed to feel connected to me in the most primal way possible before he could even contemplate the conversation we needed to have.

“E,” I whispered, my voice rough as he worked my zipper down and gripped my cock. “Baby, wait.”

He swallowed my protest with his mouth, kissing me like he was starving. Tongue deep. Teeth clashing. He tossed his leg over my lap and crawled over me pushing me against the cushions, his weight familiar as he ground against me with a low, wrecked groan.

Later, we’d have to talk. About what had happened in Coach’s office. About the REND campaign. About everything that had been slowly shifting between us since that disaster on the patio.

But right now, Ethan needed this.

Needed me.

And I needed him, too. Needed to feel him holding me down, the heat of him inside me, to remind myself that we still fit together like this.

I threaded my fingers into his hair and tugged until he looked at me, eyes wild and shiny with unspilled tears.

“Bedroom,” I told him, mindful of the living room curtains open to the street.

Ethan nodded and guided me up off the couch. We moved through the house like a storm, our bodies tangling in a rush of friction and rising need.

We bumped into a console table and something clattered to the floor, but neither of us stopped to see what.

He kissed me up against the hallway wall, fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, ripping the last two open when they wouldn’t give fast enough. I tugged at his belt, growling into his mouth as the leather gave way, our hips grinding, teeth clashing.

His lips dragged along my jaw and neck, his hands frantic on my skin, as if he was trying to memorize the shape of me before he lost the right to touch it.

By the time we stumbled into his room, our clothes were halfway off. He shoved his pants down while I stripped my shirt the rest of the way off and kicked free of my own, the glow from the Christmas tree down the hall giving off enough light to see one another.

I crossed the room in two steps, reached into the bedside drawer, and grabbed the lube.

When I turned back around, Ethan was on the bed, bracing himself on all fours.

My breath caught in my throat.

He looked incredible like that—broad shoulders, strong thighs, the curve of his spine dipping into the small of his back, his ass raised and waiting.

My body reacted instantly, fiercely, but something in me halted.

This wasn’t what I wanted.

He looked at me, eyes half-lidded, chest rising with shallow breaths. “I need you.”

“I need you, too, E.”

His gaze dropped to the lube gripped in my hand. He arched his back slightly, presenting himself like an offering. “So what are you waiting for?” he rasped. “Fuck me already.”

The words hit me like a punch and an invitation all at once. I stood there for a second, taking him in. Wanting him so much that I ached with it.

But I couldn’t do it like this. “That’s not how I want you tonight,” I breathed out.

He tensed. “It’s okay. I can handle it.”

“That’s not what I mean.” I set the lube on the nightstand and crawled up onto the bed, leaning over him until my chest was pressed to his back. I kissed the curve of his spine, teeth dragging along the vertebrae. He shivered beneath me. “You always give yourself to me.”

“‘Cuz I’m yours.” His voice cracked.

“I’m yours, too,” I assured him, my touch tender, soft, as I ran my hands over his flanks, his hips, the small of his back. “I need you to fuck me . Show me you still want this. Still want me.”

My words seemed to crack something open in him. With a snarl, he pushed me down and crawled over me, eyes dark and burning. “I’ll never stop wanting you,” he vowed, his voice ragged.

And then he kissed me like it was the last time … or like he’d fight off the whole fucking world to keep me with him forever.

I didn’t know which.

He bit my lip until I tasted blood, then soothed the sting with his tongue.

His mouth was everywhere—kissing my jaw, licking my throat, his teeth dragging across my collarbone.

Possessive. Desperate.

Like he didn’t just want me. Like he needed to own me.

I gasped as he bit down on my right nipple hard enough to make me jolt.

My fingers scrabbled at his back, leaving nail marks across muscle that flexed under my grip.

“Mine,” he rasped, grinding against me like he was trying to fuse us together.

I didn’t argue.

Because yes. God, yes.

I desperately wanted to be his.

Not just in secret, but out in the open.

I wanted everyone to know that I belonged to him, and he belonged to me.

He moved down my body like a man possessed, licking and sucking every inch of my skin until he grabbed my hips and flipped me over like I weighed nothing.

His mouth started another frantic journey, biting the backs of my thighs before sinking his teeth into the curve of my ass.

I let out a guttural moan that didn’t sound anything like me.

“Spread,” he growled.

I obeyed instantly, dragging my knees apart and arching my back, my cock leaking onto the comforter.

He spread me wider and dove in, his mouth hot, filthy, relentless as he devoured my hole. He rimmed me like he wanted to crawl inside my body and live there—tongue plunging deep, dragging back to circle and tease, again and again. Sloppy, loud, and utterly shameless.

Every flick sent fire up my spine. Every press had me sobbing into the pillow.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging a finger through his spit. “So fucking pretty, your hole fluttering just for me. Just begging to be filled.”

I heard the soft click of a bottle being opened, then the wet squelch as he squeezed out the lube. A cold drip slid down my crease, and he rubbed it over me with a teasing touch—gentler than I expected, given how feral he’d been a second ago.

Then two fingers shoved inside, all the way to the base.

I cried out, a high, keening sound, my whole body locking up at the stretch. The burn was intense at first, but it quickly morphed into something almost like pleasure. “More,” I gasped. “Please.”

He answered with another finger.

Three now, fucking in and out of me, merciless and deep. He curled them, tapping against my prostate, his mouth dropping to suck a bruise onto the base of my spine.

I was shaking. Moaning. Completely undone.

He growled against my skin, and I felt every bit of it in my bones.

“Ethan,” I gasped, and he bit me again, hard enough to make me see stars.

“Say it,” he ordered, driving his fingers deeper. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I panted. “Fuck, Ethan, of course I’m yours.”

He pulled out so suddenly I barely had time to whimper before the blunt, hot head of his cock replaced his fingers.

“Baby,” I whispered—not in protest, but in surrender.

He gripped my hip and drove in with one long, driving thrust.

I screamed into the pillow, my hands clawing at the bed covers as my body stretched around him, barely able to take the thickness of him all at once.

“Fuck,” he choked out behind me, the word broken. “Jesus, Bell.”

He drew back an inch, then rammed back in, hips snapping again and again.

Each forward push of his hips was harder than the last, relentless and raw, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the walls.

Then I felt it—hot tears landing on my lower back. One. Then another.

Something fractured in the way he moved, like grief had wrapped itself around his spine and was dragging him down with every thrust.

I turned my head, trying to see him over my shoulder, but all I could make out was his shadow, hunched over me, breath ragged and uneven.

“Take it,” he growled, fucking into me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth. “Take all of me.”

“I’ve got you,” I gasped, shoving back against him. “You want to fall apart? Do it. Right here. On me. In me.”

A low, guttural noise tore from his throat—half sob, half snarl—and he fucked me harder, deeper, like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t crawl far enough inside me to escape whatever was eating him alive.

The stretch was brutal, almost too much.

And I loved it.

Loved the burn, the bite, the way his fingers dug bruises into my hips like he was marking me. Claiming me.

I loved him.

Even like this.

Maybe especially like this.

And suddenly I understood why he always wanted it rough. Why Ethan needed me to take him apart. Because sometimes, the only way to silence your demons was to be louder than them. To feel something stronger. To let go.

“Use me,” I moaned, pressing my forehead to the mattress.

I was gone. Completely wrecked. A mindless mess of sensation, panting into the pillows, fingernails digging into the comforter until I heard the sound of cotton tearing in my grip.

I’d never seen Ethan like this before, lost to his need in a way that made him almost feral. It should have scared me, but it didn’t. Because this was him freeing himself to take what he needed.

And that was me.

The slap of our bodies echoed in the room, filthy and wet and wild. I could hear his breath stuttering, the occasional choked sob, the way he whispered my name like it was the only thing he still believed in.

I was so fucking close, every thrust hitting me just right, the force of Ethan’s body dragging my cock against the mattress, a puddle leaking beneath me.

I tried to speak—to tell him I was close, that I needed him to touch me—but all that came out was a broken whimper.

He bent low over me, pressing his chest to my back, and the heat of his skin, the weight of his body, made everything inside me go tight.

“I can’t,” he gasped into my ear. “I can’t. Fuck, Bell. I’m gonna?—”

“Do it,” I begged, voice ragged. “Come in me. Fill me up. Fucking claim me.”

He moaned—a desperate, wrecked sound—and pounded into me twice more before he froze, his cock buried deep as he poured into me with a groan torn straight from his chest.

I felt every hot pulse.

Every shattered breath.

And it undid me.

I came with my own broken sob, untouched, spilling across the blanket as his arms wrapped around my torso and held me like I was all he had left.

We stayed like that for a moment—tangled, trembling, spent—his mouth pressed to the sweat-damp skin of my shoulder, murmuring my name like a prayer.

Like a confession.

Like something he didn’t yet know how to say.

Then he collapsed on top of me, his full weight pressing me into the mattress in a way that should have felt suffocating but wasn’t. His hips gave small, shallow thrusts, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving me just yet, each tiny movement sending aftershocks through my oversensitive body.

I felt his fingers thread through my hair, gently working loose the elastic that had somehow managed to keep my bun intact through everything. He spread the strands across the pillow, combing through them with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the desperation of moments before.

His lips found the back of my neck as he dropped soft, almost reverent kisses along my hairline, down to the curve where my neck met my shoulder. Words I couldn’t quite make out vibrated against my skin—too quiet and too broken to understand, but I felt their meaning in the gentle press of his mouth, in the way his arms tightened around me like he was afraid I might disappear if he let go.

Outside, a car door slammed. “Feliz Navidad, David!” a neighbor called out, their cheerful voice filtering through my haze of love and lust and reminding me that there was a whole world beyond this room, beyond the space where Ethan and I had momentarily fallen apart and found each other again.

At my back, he tensed at the sound, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he pressed another kiss to my shoulder, and I knew that whatever storm had driven him to this point had broken, leaving behind something fragile and new in its wake—something we’d have to navigate when morning came.

But for now, I let myself sink into the promise of his touch, knowing that whatever happened next, this part of us at least remained unbroken.