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I growled against her mouth, something dark and wrecked unraveling between us, something that had been simmering for far too long. The second I loosened my grip, her hands were on me—clawing at my shoulders, my back, pulling me closer like she needed this as much as I did.

I grabbed her hips, yanking her against me, and she gasped when I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist like she belonged there. Like she had always fucking belonged there.

Shoes hit the floor with a dull thud, forgotten. Her body molded against mine, every inch of her pressing into me, making it impossible to think about anything else. Just this. Just her.

She moaned into my mouth when I rolled my hips against hers; the sound sending a vicious thrill through my veins. It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was raw, consuming.

Iris Evans didn’t submit—she fought. And fuck if that didn’t make this even better.

Her fingers dug into my hair, nails scraping against my scalp as she tilted her head, letting me deepen the kiss, letting me take whatever the hell I wanted. And I did.

I devoured her.

We collided like a goddamn disaster—reckless, inevitable, and too far gone to stop now. The tension between us had snapped, giving way to something dark, something uncontrollable. And I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to rein it in again.

My hands slipped under her shirt, rough and greedy, palming her breasts with a force that drew a sharp gasp from her lips. I yanked down her sports bra; the fabric giving way with a satisfying snap, and her breath hitched, filling the small space between us with heat and want.

My mouth found her neck, biting and marking the tender skin. Each bite was a claim, a brand I wanted her to carry long after we left this room. She shuddered beneath me, her body arching into my touch, and it was like fuel to the fire already raging in my chest.

Her hand snaked under my shirt, nails dragging down my abs in a way that sent sparks through my veins. Every scrape of her nails was a reminder of how much she wanted this—wanted me. Her fingers found my waist line, trembling but determined, and she fumbled with it until it came loose.

My pants hit the floor in one rough shove. Her shorts followed suit, panties shoved aside with no pretense or sweetness. There was no time for that now. This wasn’t about gentleness or care; it was about raw, unfiltered need.

I pressed her harder against the lockers, feeling the cold metal bite into my own skin through my shirt. But all I could focus on was her—her heat, her breathless gasps, the way she moved against me like she couldn’t get close enough.

This was what we both wanted.

What we both needed.

I thrust into her hard, a guttural groan ripping from my throat. This wasn’t careful. This was claiming. This was ownership.

“Oh, fuck, Iris,” I hissed. “Your pussy feels so fucking good on my cock.”

Iris clung to me, her fingers digging into my back with a desperate force that only spurred me on.

Her hips rocked to meet every brutal snap of my hips, each movement messy, rushed, perfect. Her gasps filled the space between us, mixing with my own ragged breaths.

My grip on her thigh tightened as I hoisted her higher, pounding into her like I had something to prove. To her. To myself. That she was mine. That this was ours.

“Take me dick,” he said. “Fucking perfect little player, taking your coach’s dick, hmm?”

Every thrust was a declaration, every moan a vow we couldn’t take back. We were past the point of no return, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“Who’s fucking you, little girl?” I growled. “Who’s about to fucking ruin you?”

“Knox,” she gasped, her voice raw and broken. The sound of it made my chest tighten with something fierce and possessive.

I growled in response, my mouth finding her neck again, biting down hard enough to leave marks she’d carry for days. Marks that would remind her—remind us both—who she belonged to.

She responded with a cry that echoed off the locker room walls; her nails raking down my back, pulling me closer even as our bodies collided over and over in a brutal dance.

It was chaotic and intense, a whirlwind of sensation that left no room for thought or doubt. Just us. Just this.

I felt her body tighten around me, felt the shuddering build of something monumental in the way she moved against me. And I knew I wasn’t far behind.

This wasn’t just sex—it was everything we hadn’t said, everything we’d been holding back finally breaking free in the most primal way possible.

Her eyes locked onto mine in those final moments, wide and vulnerable and full of something I couldn’t name but felt deep in my bones.

Her head fell back against the locker, moaning my name—low, breathless, desperate.

And it fucking broke me.

I captured her mouth again, kissing her hard, swallowing every noise, every gasp. I needed her to know this was different. This wasn’t a mistake. This was us. And there was no going back.

“Come for me, princess,” I said. “Show me how desperately your pussy belongs to me.”

She clenched around me—tight, wet, perfect—and I felt her coming, her body shaking against mine. That was it. That was the breaking point.

I groaned into her neck as I spilled into her, everything inside me snapping loose. It was raw and messy and real, a thousand emotions crashing down all at once. My grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into her skin as I rode out the wave of our shared release.

Her hands found my hair, tugging gently as she tried to catch her breath. I pressed my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the sound of our labored breathing and the lingering taste of desperation on our lips.

We stayed like that for a moment—caught in the aftermath—before reality started to creep back in. But even then, with everything that came rushing back, I knew one thing for certain.

We were past the point of no return.

The silence between us was suffocating, thick with everything we weren’t saying.

Our ragged breaths filled the space, each one sharp and uneven, like we were still bracing for impact.

My forehead pressed against hers, sweat slick between us, our bodies still thrumming from the wreckage we’d just created.

This should’ve felt wrong. A mistake. A lapse in judgment.

But it didn’t. It felt inevitable—like we’d been hurtling toward this moment from the second we locked eyes on the ice.

Every argument, every collision, every fucking time I told myself to stay away—it had all led to this. And now, there was no undoing it.

But then reality clawed its way back in, cold and relentless. I felt it settle in my gut like a blade, twisting. There were consequences waiting to rip this apart—her future, my career, the fallout we’d both have to face.

I exhaled hard and let her go, lowering her down slowly, already hating the loss of her heat. She straightened her shirt with unsteady hands, fingers trembling as she smoothed out the evidence of what we’d done.

But it was still there. It was everywhere.

The tension crackled in the air like a live wire, buzzing with the weight of something neither of us knew how to handle.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding my gaze, and I felt the shift before she even took a step back. This wasn’t just a mistake to be buried. This was a fucking line crossed, a point of no return. And as much as I wanted to pretend I still had control over this?

I knew, deep down, I was already too far gone.

As she turned to leave, hand on the door, something in me snapped. Instinct overpowered reason, and before I could stop myself, I reached out, wrapping my fingers around her wrist. Not rough—just enough to make her stop. Enough to make her feel me.

“This doesn’t stop here.” My voice was low, edged with something dark and final.

She froze. And when she turned back to face me, I saw it—that war flickering behind her eyes. Fear. Heat. Need. All tangled together, just like us.

“You know that, don’t you?” I pressed, my grip tightening the slightest bit.

Her pulse pounded against my fingers, matching the thrum of something primal inside me. She didn’t answer right away, just stood there, breathing fast, her hesitation cutting through the thick air between us. But then, slowly—deliberately—she nodded.

Because she knew.

We were too far gone for second thoughts. Whatever we’d just done, whatever line we had obliterated, there was no pretending it hadn’t happened. And I could see it in her face—she didn’t want to pretend.

The silence between us burned, charged with a tension so sharp it was almost painful. I could feel every inhale, every tremor in her body, like we were still fused together.

The weight of my words hung heavy between us, a challenge and a promise wrapped in one.

Her gaze flickered, uncertainty warring with something deeper, something just as reckless as what had brought us here. And then, as if deciding right in this moment, she exhaled sharply.

“I know,” she said, softer this time, like she was making the promise to herself just as much as to me.

I smirked, but it was anything but light. It was possession, hunger, a storm barely kept at bay. “Good.” My voice dropped, rough with the truth of it. “You’ve always been mine, Evans. This just makes it office.”