Page 11

ELEVEN

SAINT

I probably shouldn’t be looking forward to stepping back on the ice with the princess herself as much as I am, but I’d be lying if I said that my dick wasn’t already half-mast at the prospect of seeing just how far I can push her in the next sixty minutes.

I walk into the rink and stop in front of the boards, dropping my hockey bag onto the bleachers. She’s already on the ice, attempting a series of twirls that have the short, bright yellow skirt she’s wearing lifting, revealing the delectable curves of her ass.

I take a front-row seat as I pull out my skates and lace them up, watching her move across the ice like she’s performing only for me.

If she didn’t drive me fucking crazy, I’d entertain the idea of sinking my teeth into her plump little cheeks before I fisted them both in my hands and spread her open, watching how wet she gets from hating me.

Something tells me that Golden Girl would never be able to handle my special kind of tastes , but then again, picturing her on her knees with my cock stretching her throat feels a lot like Christmas morning.

Who would’ve thought that prim and proper princess with a stick up her ass and not one for pleasure would have the ability to make my dick hard, but here we are.

A warm, wet hole is a warm, wet hole no matter who it belongs to, apparently.

I watch as she eats shit a handful of times while attempting some type of move that clearly is so far out of reach she’s going to actually break her ankle, for real this time.

She must feel me staring at her because she stops abruptly, the blade of her skate kicking up ice as she comes to a halt.

“Oh, look who’s here.”

Smirking, I grab a handful of pucks from my bag, then get my stick from beside me and step out onto the ice. “Miss me?”

“In your dreams,” she retorts, words heavily laced with disdain.

“Mmm. The funny thing is…” I skate over to where she’s toeing the centerline of the ice and lean forward, dipping my head so close that I could count the freckles that are dusted across her nose and cheeks. “You’re right. You’re in a lot of my dreams, Golden Girl. Wanna hear about ’em?”

Her breath catches, and her mouth falls open, eyes widened as she stares up at me. “You’re much nicer in them, especially when you’re bent over with your lips wrapped around my di?—”

“Oh my God, you’re disgusting . Shut up.”

The sheer look of shock coating her face has satisfaction rippling through me.

I simply smirk and tap my stick along the ice, “Thought I wasn’t supposed to talk to you. What happened to that? Can’t help yourself?”

She rolls her eyes as she crosses her arms over her chest, and I unabashedly let my gaze drop to the swell of her creamy tits that pushes against the leotard she’s wearing before lifting my eyes back to her. “God, I hate you. Have I mentioned that?”

“Once or twice. There’s that saying though. A thin line between hate and wanting to fu?—”

“That is not even how it goes. You’re just being crude to get a rise out of me.”

I shrug. “I think it’s working though, yeah?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Her words are muttered as if she’s talking to herself. She shakes her head. “I have something to ask you. Do you think you can table the whole asshole thing for a second?”

“Doubtful, but proceed,” I retort, leaning against the top of my stick.

She tugs the bottom of her lip between her teeth. “I have a… proposition. For… you.”

My brow arches. What could Golden Girl possibly need from me ?

After a brief moment of silence, she finally spills, a rush of words tumbling out of her lips so quickly I barely catch them. “I need you to date me.”

A deep rumble of a laugh vibrates out of me and echoes around the rink, causing her lips to pull tight into a scowl, the expression on her face remaining serious.

“Oh, wait, you’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious, you dick.” She huffs, reaching up to finger the ends of her long, auburn curls.

“Not like actually date me, but… Look, you are exactly the type of guy my father would hate . You’re crass, rude, arrogant, and covered in tattoos.

Not to mention, you drive that deathtrap thing out there. ”

“Are you supposed to be convincing me with that speech? Because you’re doing a real shit job at it,” I deadpan.

“I’m saying I need you to fake date me. To just go to some events as my date, let me parade you around my father so he’ll believe that I’ve fallen for a delinquent, cliché bad boy, and so that he’ll wake up and realize I’m not the prodigy trophy wife that he’s been grooming me to be.”

This is the most insane shit anyone has ever said to me, which is already saying a hell of a lot, and I’m slightly impressed that she had the balls to do it in the first place.

I don’t date. I don’t even fuck the same girl twice. I don’t sleep over, and I sure as shit don’t play the doting boyfriend.

Before I can even respond, she’s continuing. “Summer said I have first dibs on the ice next semester. If you do it, then I’ll give it to you, no question. All yours. And you won’t ever have to deal with me again.”

That sweetens the pot some, but… what Princess doesn’t realize is I don’t even need her ice time to agree to this because the in I needed to get with her father and exact the revenge I deserve?

It’s her.

She just played right into my waiting hands, and she has absolutely no fucking clue.

Ever since talking to Bennett, I’ve been mulling it over. Trying to think about how I could use this, her, to my advantage, and it seems like fate has decided for me.

Here’s Rousseau’s daughter on a silver fucking platter.

The perfect little innocent virgin, ripe for me to corrupt.

And once I do, I’ll make sure he knows all about it.

Knows that because of his fucked up decisions I fucked with his daughter.

But in order to do that, I’d have to get closer to her.

To seduce her. Hard to do when she spends all of her time hating me.

She’s just given me the perfect excuse to get closer to her. To dirty her up, and when I do…I’ll make sure he knows that it was Devereaux who seduced and used his daughter.

He fucked with my family, so I’m going to ruin his.