Page 24 of Pucking His Enemy

Chapter twenty-two

Liam

I ’m fucked.

Not in the good way. Not in the way that ends with her bent over something solid and me finally getting the taste I’ve been dying for.

Nah. I’m fucked in the way that leaves you pacing locker rooms, replaying a night over and over until it’s not even memory—it’s obsession.

The room stinks like sweat, blood, and old tape. Wyatt’s sporting a black eye from yesterday’s scrimmage—courtesy of Callahan and his weak-ass elbows.

“Looks like hell,” Brody mutters, lacing his skates with the same dead-eyed focus he brings to every drill. “You get him back?”

Wyatt grins, winces. “Dropped him with one. Broke his nose.”

“Good,” Aiden says without looking up. “He needed it.”

Their voices don’t even register. I’m stuck watching Katarina in my head again—throwing that final strike like she owns the world. Hips cocked. Smirk on her lips. That look she gave me when she knew I was watching.

Like she’d drop the act if I gave her a reason.

“Yo, Steele.” Jax’s voice cuts through the fog like a fucking siren. “You gonna sit there mentally undressing your gear, or we skating today? Coach is itching for someone to chew out.”

I blink. Realize I’ve been staring at my shin guards like they’re gonna tell me how to unfuck my head.

“Yeah. I’m moving,” I mutter.

But I’m not. Not where it matters.

I’m still back there—watching her bend for her purse, that top clinging to her like it wanted to slide off. Her scent wrapping around me—citrus and trouble. And that look. The one that said push me just a little harder .

“Jesus, man.” Aiden drops onto the bench beside me. “You look like someone told you your mom’s fucking the ref.”

It hits wrong. Way wrong.

My mom was never fucking anything but her next high. A ghost with a pulse. And jokes like that? They dig under skin I never asked to grow.

I don’t show it. But Aiden sees something anyway, because he shuts up fast.

“Just thinking about the corner drill,” I lie, tugging on my base layer.

“You serious? Callahan was the one throwing elbows.”

Yeah. But he’s not the one I want to beat the shit out of right now.

Last night, I should’ve gone home. Crashed.

Instead, I ended up at a bowling alley letting Griffin Novak’s sister sink claws into places I didn’t even know were still raw.

She beat the shit out of me with a smile on her face, and all I could think about was dragging her into the back and finding out how many pins I could knock down with her legs wrapped around me.

And now? I’ve gotta pretend she’s just a PR move.

“Thinking about what? Your fake girlfriend?” Marcus calls out. Smirking like the coward he is. “Bowling, right? That’s adorable. You two gonna hit up a Build-A-Bear next?”

My fists curl. My jaw locks.

They talk about her like she’s just another locker room joke, and I see red.

“Mind your own fucking business, Foster,” I snap, standing so fast my gear spills across the floor.

The whole room pauses. Like they know what’s coming next.

Marcus lifts his hands. “Easy, killer. Just saying—nutritionist seems like a fun choice. She put out, or are you still working the long game?”

I don’t think.

Three strides and he’s pinned to his locker, my forearm against his throat hard enough to make him go pale.

“Say that again,” I growl. “I fucking dare you.”

His eyes widen. His mouth opens. But nothing comes out except panic and spit.

“Liam!” Aiden’s voice cuts sharp. “Let him go.”

I want to break his jaw. Just once. Just enough that he thinks twice next time he opens his mouth.

But I don’t. I pull back. Barely.

Marcus gasps, rubbing his throat. “Christ, man. Over a girl?”

I lean in, voice low. “She’s not a girl. And if you mention her again, I’ll feed you your own teeth.”

I walk away. Let the silence choke them for a minute.

Aiden follows. Drops onto the bench beside me again.

“You good?” he asks.

I tug on my jersey. “Peachy.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re catching feelings.”

I don’t answer. He’s not wrong. But it’s not that simple.

Practice is a war zone. Coach is in one of his moods—skating us until legs go numb, calling out every mistake like it’s personal.

“STEELE! You planning on hitting someone today or just skating pretty?!”

On the next shift, I light a guy up against the boards. Feel the hit all the way through my ribs. It helps. Not much. But enough.

Callahan tries to chirp me again. I grab his jersey and yank him in close.

“You want to go?” I snarl. “Because I’ve got more left in the tank.”

He backs down.

Wise.

I slam my fist against the wall, knuckles splitting on impact. Forty-seven turnovers. But only one choice that matters.

My body’s wrecked—brain still jacked up.

I should hit the showers. Bury it, like always.

Instead, I go to her.

Her office is quiet.

No chaos. No chirping teammates. Just her, bent over a clipboard, hair loose around her face.

I knock once and step inside without waiting.

She looks up, and for a second? She softens. Just enough to let me see the version of her that isn’t for public show.

“Liam,” she says, soft but steady. “Didn’t expect you.”

“Driving you home, remember?” I toss the food log on her desk. “Also figured you’d want this.”

Our fingers brush. Electricity. Again.

“You could’ve emailed.”

“Didn’t want to.”

She watches me. Knows something’s off. Doesn’t press.

“Your hair’s different.”

Her hand moves to fix it, but I stop her. “Leave it. It’s perfect.”

She stills. Not just from the compliment. From the way I say it.

“Liam... we can’t—”

“Why not?” I step closer. “Feels pretty fucking real to me.”

Her eyes flutter shut. And when they open, she’s putting the walls back up.

“You should go.”

I should.

I don’t.

Instead, I brush her cheek with my knuckles. Light. Filthy in how gentle it is.

“See you around, sweetheart.”

And then I walk out. Before I do something we can’t come back from.

By the time I get home, I’m wound so tight I could snap steel.

I barely make it through the door before I’m ripping my shirt over my head, kicking off my boots, stripping down until I’m bare and pissed and hard in every way a man can be.

The water’s on full blast before I can even think. Scalding. I don’t care. I step in, let it burn.

But it’s not enough.

I see her. Katarina. Bent over that fucking clipboard like I didn’t almost have her against the wall yesterday. Like she didn’t look at me today with that same soft heat in her eyes. That same breathless don’t when what she meant was don’t stop .

My hand wraps around my cock —tight, impatient, furious.

And just like that, I’m back in the equipment room.

Her breath catching. Her body soft, needy, arching into mine like she wanted to be devoured.

I picture her in front of me now, steam curling around her bare shoulders, water sliding down her tits—those perfect tits I haven’t gotten my mouth on yet. Her knees sinking to the wet tile, hair clinging to her skin, lips parted.

She looks up at me with that knowing smirk, mouth already open, already waiting.

“Yeah,” I grit out. “That’s it, sweetheart…”

I grab a fistful of her hair, pull her closer. Her hands brace on my thighs as I push into that warm, wet mouth. Slow, at first—until she moans around me and I lose every shred of control I’ve got left.

I fuck her throat deep and steady, my hips snapping forward, her eyes watering and still locked on mine. No gag, no protest—just need. Just filthy, greedy need.

My hand tightens, stroke rougher, faster.

And when she finally pulls off, gasping, eyes glazed over, she licks her lips and begs for more.

She turns around. Braces her hands on the glass. Looks over her shoulder while I drag my cock through the mess of her arousal and shove in from behind—one long, hard thrust that makes her cry out my name like it’s the only word she still knows.

I pound her until the glass steams and her legs shake. Until she’s dripping down her thighs and clawing the walls for leverage.

“Take it,” I growl to the empty shower, hips jerking into my fist. “Fucking take all of it.”

The orgasm rips through me—hot, brutal, endless.

I come with a low, broken sound, spilling against the tile while my legs nearly give out. My other hand slams against the wall to keep from dropping to my knees.

But even as the water washes it away, it’s not gone. She’s not gone.

It’s not enough.

Because I don’t just want to fuck her.

I want to break her down until she admits she wants it too.

Wants me.

And…

I think she already does.