Page 38

Knox

I woke up with the taste of her still on my lips, her scent clinging to my skin. The moment my eyes opened, the memory of her gasps, her nails raking down my back, crashed over me. My body reacted instantly, hard and aching with the need to relive it.

I gripped myself, the image of Iris pinned against the lockers vivid in my mind.

Her breathless cries echoed in my ears as I pumped my hand, rough and desperate.

I could still feel the heat of her body, the way she clenched around me when she came.

It was like she was right there with me, her legs wrapped tight around my waist.

“Fuck,” I growled, voice thick with need. The thought that she was mine now—that no one else could touch her—sent a jolt of possessive pleasure straight through me. My pace quickened, each stroke bringing me closer to the edge.

Her face swam before me, eyes wide and glassy with desire. I remembered the way she looked at me when I told her she was mine, the way she surrendered without a word. That look had seared itself into my brain.

I groaned her name as I came, muscles tensing with the force of it. The release was quick and brutal, just like our first time. And as I lay there, breathing hard, one thought consumed me: She was mine. Completely.

And nothing had ever felt better.

Pleasure faded, leaving nothing but a hollow, gnawing ache in its wake. My chest heaved, muscles taut, as I stared at the ceiling, the high already dissolving into something darker. Something heavier.

Reality clawed its way back in, sinking its teeth deep.

This wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t just release.

This was Iris.

And I had fucking ruined us.

The weight of it crashed down on me, twisting deep in my gut like a knife.

If someone tried to take her from me—if she ever looked at Chris Langley the way she looked at me—I’d come undone.

I’d burn down everything. The mere thought of her smiling at him, laughing with him, had my pulse spiking with something violent, something dangerous.

No one knew her like I did. No one saw the way she fought, how she bled for the game. No one deserved her the way I did.

And yet, here I was—laying in the wreckage of my own making.

I ran a hand through my damp hair, trying to steady the storm raging inside me. Images of her flashed through my mind like gunfire—her sharp grin during practice, the fire in her eyes when she battled for every puck, the way she had looked at me when she said, I want you.

Fuck.

That moment had split something open between us. Torn down the last fragile barrier I had tried to hold. And now there was no undoing it.

Then there was Sloane.

The woman who had flirted, charmed, and played her games. For a second, I had let it happen, had let Iris see it. And she had spiraled—jealousy cutting through her like a blade. And I had loved it.

Loved knowing I could push her that far.

But now? Now that same jealousy churned in my gut, sour and bitter, because I knew exactly how it felt.

If Iris ever turned to someone else—someone who saw her as just another player, someone who didn’t understand the war she fought every time she stepped onto the ice—I wouldn’t survive it.

The thought of losing her, of watching her slip away, suffocated me.

My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms as I fought against the surge of emotions threatening to consume me.

I had claimed her.

Now I had to make sure she stayed mine.

The morning dragged, each second stretching thin, pressing against my skull like a dull blade.

I poured coffee into my cracked Team USA mug, the bitter aroma filling the kitchen, doing nothing to shake the restless energy coiling in my chest. I brushed my teeth, the sharp taste of mint cutting through the fog of sleep, jarring me back into a reality that felt too fucking quiet.

I went through the motions—dressed, stepped into my sliders, grabbed my keys—but nothing about today felt normal. Nothing had felt normal since her.

Iris was in my veins now.

I could still hear the ragged sound of her breathing, feel the way she shuddered under my hands. How her body had been taut with defiance but yielded to me all the same. That moment had marked us, and there was no undoing it.

By the time I stepped into the rink, the cold air did nothing to cool the fire still burning in my blood. The sharp bite of the ice under my skates should have cleared my mind—should have given me the focus I needed. Instead, all it did was sharpen what was already there.

I skated slow, deliberate, letting the ice gleam under the overhead lights like a mirror to my thoughts.

Then I saw her.

Fuck.

She walked in like she owned the place, like nothing had changed—but I knew better.

Our eyes locked, and the air between us went thick. My body reacted instantly to her presence, muscles coiling tight with the same hunger that had driven me into her the night before.

But then? She looked away.

Fast.

Like she had been caught.

But not before I saw it—that small twitch of her lips, that almost-smile she tried to bury before it could surface completely. Like she was fighting it. Fighting us.

Too fucking bad.

Because I knew.

She was thinking about it too.

And that single realization sent something dark and electric surging through me, curling around my ribs like a vice.

We were in this now.

And there was no way in hell I was letting her run from it.

Iris Evans was mine.

And fuck if that didn’t light something dangerous inside me.

It wasn’t just about hockey anymore; it hadn’t been for a long time. She wasn’t just another player under my guidance—she was my player. My girl. The thought gripped me by the throat, thrilling and infuriating all at once.

But then I saw him.

Chris Langley.

Too fucking close.

His body hovered near hers as they walked in the direction of the locker rooms, his voice low, his laughter slipping between them like a quiet claim. I watched as his hand brushed her shoulder, casual—too casual—and something inside me snapped.

Fuck, again.

Was I really this pathetic?

Langley did this after every goddamn practice, and I reacted in exactly the same fucking way.

But I didn’t care.

He had no fucking right.

I pushed off the boards, moving toward them like I had a goddamn purpose—because I did and stepped off the ice.

“Evans, you got a minute?”

My voice came out level, but beneath it? Fire.

Langley stiffened beside her, his easy demeanor faltering just enough for me to catch. But I didn’t look at him. He didn’t fucking matter.

Iris turned toward me, her eyes flickering with something unreadable—surprise, maybe wariness. But she knew what this was.

It had always been personal with her.

I didn’t wait for her to answer.

I turned and walked.

Because I knew she’d follow.

She always did.

I pulled her into the equipment room, shutting the door behind us with a finality that swallowed the outside world whole. The dim light cast shadows over the metal shelves lining the walls, the air thick with sweat, tape, and something darker—something that had nothing to do with hockey.

I moved toward her, slow and deliberate, backing her into the shelves until there was nowhere left to go. Close. Not touching. But fuck, she could feel me there.

“You’re still talking to him?” My voice came out rough, edged with something possessive. A threat. A warning.

Iris lifted her chin, defiance flickering in those sharp green eyes. Fighting me, always fighting me.

“I can talk to whoever I want.” Her voice was steady, but I caught the slight tremor in her breath—the crack in her armor.

My jaw flexed, lips curling into a smirk because she was lying, and we both fucking knew it.

I leaned in, my mouth grazing the shell of her ear. Not touching, but touching.

“Yeah? Then why were you squeezing your thighs together every time I looked at you out there?”

Her breath hitched. Sharp. Betraying her in an instant.

I felt the moment she realized she was caught—her body tensed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides like she was trying to fight the truth. But it was too late. I already had her.

I pulled back just enough to see her face, drinking in the way her expression flickered between anger and something hotter, needier. But before she could find her footing again, I locked us in place with the next blow.

“I don’t want you near him.”

No more teasing. No more games.

My voice was low, serious, the kind of tone that didn’t invite argument.

“I mean it, Evans.”

Her eyes widened, something flashing behind them—surprise, maybe even shock. But beneath it? She fucking liked it. The way I said her name. The weight behind it. The command laced in every syllable.

We stood there, neither of us moving, trapped in the heat of it all.

And she knew.

She wasn’t walking away from this. Not now. Not ever.

I sat in my office, drowning under the sickly glow of the flickering fluorescent lights. The Team USA scout reports were spread across my desk, pages filled with stats, names, futures hanging in the balance. But my vision blurred over everything except one name.

Chambers.

It was always fucking there. Like a stain I couldn’t scrub out. Like a noose tightening around my throat, just waiting to snap.

The weight in my gut sank deeper, heavier. If Chambers got even a whiff of what was happening between me and Iris? Game over. For her. For me. For everything.

He had eyes everywhere. He lived for moments like this—an opportunist, a vulture circling, just waiting for someone to make a mistake big enough for him to tear apart. If he found out, he’d sink his claws in and rip us to shreds without thinking twice.

And my father? He’d never fucking forgive me.

I could already see the look in his eyes, that cold, quiet disappointment that cut deeper than words ever could. He’d spent his whole life building a name that meant something in this sport. And I was throwing it away—for what?

For her.

For the girl who looked at me like I was something more than my failures, my temper, my uncontrollable anger. For the way she breathed my name like it was a confession, a surrender. For the fire that burned between us, one we both knew would consume us whole if we let it.

I gritted my teeth, fingers digging into the reports like I could crush the ink off the page. It wasn’t just reckless—it was fucking selfish.

She deserved better. A real shot at Team USA, a future without the weight of my mistakes dragging her down. Instead, I’d tangled her up in something dangerous, something that could destroy us both.

And if this blew up? If she lost everything because of me?

She’d hate me.

The thought hit like a punch to the ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs. Hate. Not fire, not defiance—hate.

Not after what happened between us. Not after she came undone in my hands, after she let me claim every piece of her. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing that light in her eyes flicker out, of watching her look at me like I was the biggest mistake she’d ever made.

I forced a deep breath, staring blankly at the reports, but they blurred together as the anger in my chest coiled tighter. At myself. At Chambers. At this entire fucking situation.

The walls pressed in, the ticking clock pounding against my skull like a countdown to disaster. Every second that passed made it clearer—this was a war I wasn’t sure I could win.

But one thing was certain: I wouldn’t let her lose.

I paced my office, each step fueled by the tension coiling tighter in my muscles. The air was thick, heavy with the stale scent of coffee and the weight of what I’d done.

I had her. I fucking had her. Pressed against those lockers, gasping my name like she needed me to survive.

But she hadn’t just let me in—she surrendered. And now? Now I couldn’t shake the sickening feeling that I was the one who’d break her.

A growl ripped through my chest as I slammed my fist against the desk. The reports scattered, but I barely registered it. My pulse pounded in my skull, my skin still burning with the memory of her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

She was a competitor. A challenge. A reason to push harder, to expect more. Not this. Not something that consumed me from the inside out.

But it was too fucking late for reason.

Every time I closed my eyes, she was there—wild, breathless, mine. The way her body had trembled against me, how her nails had raked down my skin like she wanted to mark me as much as I wanted to mark her.

And the problem?

I knew exactly what this would cost us.

She wanted that jersey. Team USA. The dream she’d bled for. But now, she was tangled up in me. And if Chambers found out? If anyone found out?

It would all come crashing down.

I exhaled sharply, raking a hand through my hair. I should stop this. I should walk away before it’s too late. Before I ruin the one thing she’s fought for harder than anything in her life.

But then I thought about the way she looked at me last night—the fire, the hunger, the way she fucking melted.

And I knew.

Even if this burned us both to the ground…

I’d never be strong enough to let her go.

I leaned against the window, the cold glass biting into my forehead as I watched Iris carve across the ice like she fucking owned it. Every stride was power, every turn sharp enough to cut. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t falter. She was relentless, the embodiment of everything raw and untamed.

And she was mine.

That truth settled deep in my chest, a weight I had no intention of shaking off.

The world outside blurred; it was just her—strong, fierce, unstoppable.

I didn’t need to be on the ice to feel the energy radiating off her.

It reached me even here, like an invisible tether pulling me closer, daring me to claim her again.

I swore I’d get her that jersey. Not just because she deserved it, but because no one else came close. No one pushed harder, fought longer. She was built for this, and I’d tear through anyone who tried to stand in her way.

This wasn’t just some reckless obsession. It had sunk deeper—into my bones, into my blood. It was raw, a hunger that wouldn’t die, a need to keep her within reach because the thought of losing her made something black and violent unfurl inside me.

Langley. Chambers. Any of them. If they thought they had a shot?

I could already taste the rage on my tongue, bitter and electric. I didn’t just want to keep them away from her—I wanted to make sure they never even considered touching what belonged to me.

My grip tightened against the window frame as I watched her push herself harder, skating beneath the harsh lights, chasing something bigger than herself.

And if it came down to it?

I’d fight like hell to make sure she got it.