Page 22

TWENTY-TWO

SAINT

Lennon grins, her rosy lips spreading wide and revealing a perfect row of teeth. “Mmm… well, I do love inconveniencing you.”

“Quit stalling,” I huff, nodding toward the ice. “Let’s go. You can talk shit once you land that jump.”

There are a lot of things about the last few minutes that I should immediately put a stop to. Like that I was, in fact, worried about her because she was going to fucking kill herself.

I keep telling myself it’s just because I couldn’t take the tears, but it’s bullshit.

The truth is I didn’t want to see her get hurt, especially not from punishing herself. I recognized in her the same thing that I do to myself, pushing my body until it’s ready to break to escape whatever fucking demon of the day I’m running from. Fucked-up recognizes fucked-up.

That’s the truth, and I’m never admitting it again, not even to myself.

Second of all, I should be practicing. Running drills. Working on my endurance. Shooting pucks.

But no, instead, I’m watching Golden Girl twirl around in her pink, frilly fucking skirt because I can’t stop.

Because as much as I goad her, as much shit as I talk to get a rise out of her, she’s fucking incredible.

She glides across the ice with an air of effortlessness that I’m so envious of I’m burning from the inside out.

A body like mine could never, but her small, lithe frame is graceful and lithe.

I don’t know shit about figure skating, but what I do know is how it feels to hit the ice repeatedly. The shit fucking hurts. It leaves you black and blue, every muscle in your body screaming for relief.

I watch as she tries again… and eats shit.

“Goddamnit,” she groans, peeling herself off the ice, her face tight and full of frustration.

“Again.”

Her throat bobs as she stares over at me, a beat passing like she’s questioning herself whether she’s actually going to quit or not.

Then she exhales, nodding.

Good girl.

It takes her three tries, painful ones to watch, but finally…

“Holy shit. I-I fucking did it!” she says between pants, her cheeks red from exertion. “I actually did it. I mean, my landing was shit, but I did it.”

I roll my lips together. “Not going to say I told you so, but I to?—”

She launches forward, slapping her hand over my lips, silencing me. “I don’t need to hear your ‘told you so,’ ass.” Her lips are curved in a small smile. “But… thank you, for your weird pep talk and, you know, not being worried.”

Since I can’t say anything with her hand on my mouth, I shrug.

She didn’t know that I have ulterior motives mixed with some shit I’m not even attempting to unpack.

Finally, she drops her hand but doesn’t step back, and I use the opportunity to drag my gaze from her eyes to the light freckles along the bridge of her nose and cheeks, then dropping to her full pink lips.

Those fucking lips.

I haven’t stopped thinking about them, painted in that bloodred lipstick she wore at the fundraiser, wrapped around my cock, dreaming about me fucking her throat until she swallows my cum down.

I continue the perusal, not giving a single shit that she’s tracking my gaze, watching as I drink her in.

My gaze drifts down the delicate slope of her neck to the front of that purple leotard that’s practically painted on her body, curved around her small but full tits, the kind that would be the most perfect fit for my hands.

Lower and lower.

Down to the flare of her waist, where her athletic skirt hugs her hips tightly, stopping at the creamy, pale skin of her upper thighs.

She’s fit but still soft in all of the places I want to kiss, drag my tongue along and find out if the same freckles are scattered where no one can see.

Lennon Rousseau is every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life.

It’s a shame since she’s only meant to be a pawn in a game that’s far bigger than her. But that just means I’m going to enjoy every second I get until I finally win.

She might be the enemy, at least in namesake, but my dick clearly isn’t on board with that.

I drag my eyes back to her face when she mumbles, “What are you staring at?” Her words are breathy, light, as if they escaped before she could think better of it.

The air has shifted around us, thick tension seeping into my lungs with each breath I drag in, and I have no doubt that she feels it too.

It’s palpable.

“You.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, lips parting slightly, staring up at me with those wide, innocent eyes.

The perfect prey made for a predator to devour with sharp teeth.

And that predator is me.

I’ll be her villain. I’m the big, bad wolf, and the only thing I’m hungry for is the taste of sweet little Lennon.

“ Why are you staring at me?”

“Sure you want me to answer that?” I ask, reaching out to ghost the pads of my fingertips along the top of her thighs, just below where her skirt ends. Her breath hitches at the contact, and my eyes never leave hers, holding her stare, watching as her pupils dilate.

It’s different this time. Me touching her.

I’m not doing it because of an audience, because of our arrangement. And she’s fighting herself, hating herself for how badly she wants to give in to her attraction to me.

She doesn’t have to say it out loud for me to know that it’s true. I can read her like a fucking book, with my eyes closed if I had to.

Her body betrays her in ways that her mouth never would.

I trail my fingers higher, a slow inch, and then another, testing the waters.

Just how far would Golden Girl let me go?

My palm curves around the back of her thigh while my thumb sweeps a slow path along her skin. Her soft, untouched skin.

“Y-yes,” she stutters. “That’s why I asked.”

My lips twitch. She still hasn’t stepped back or moved my hand. I drag my palm up the back of her thigh, until it rests along the curve of her ass beneath her skirt.

It dawns on me that our hour is almost up, and the next person scheduled could walk in at any time and find us like this.

Her nearly flush against my front, cheeks burning red, my hand underneath her skirt.

They’d have no idea what they were witnessing. Sure, it’s something seemingly innocent, but what they can’t see is the line that’s being crossed and the white flag being waved.

Surrender.

It’s one step closer to getting what I want, no fuck that, what I deserve.

My revenge.

Even if that means that she’s the casualty in it all.

My fingers press into her thigh as I tighten my grip, my other hand finding the curve of her waist to haul her flush against me as I lower my lips to her ear.

“I’m staring because you look good enough to fucking eat, and all I can think about is laying you down right here on this ice, flipping up that little fucking skirt, and seeing just how good your sweet little pussy tastes. ”