Page 9

Finn

The next day practice is tense. Like most things seem to play out with Daisy, it’s all stubborn pride, neither of us willing to give an inch. We’re supposed to be practicing our new routine, but she’s tense, overthinking every movement, and it’s pissing me off.

“Jesus, Daisy, can you stop micromanaging for one second?” I snap, skating up behind her as she rubs a hand over her face.

She whirls around. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I say, stepping closer. “You’re so damn obsessed with being perfect that you’re sucking the life out of this routine. You feel nothing.”

Her eyes blaze. “I feel plenty. I just don’t let my emotions dictate my skating like you do. Some of us have control.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Control? Is that what you call this? Because all I see is someone too afraid to let go for even a second.”

She shoves at my chest, and it’s the last straw. The tension that’s been brewing between us for weeks, maybe months, finally snaps.

I grab her wrist before she can pull away, yanking her flush against me. Her breath hitches, and suddenly we’re too close.

I can feel the heat rolling off her, see the way her pupils dilate when she looks up at me.

“Let go,” she says, but it’s breathless, uncertain.

I should let her go. Instead, I crush my mouth against hers.

She gasps, her fingers curling into my shirt like she wants to shove me away or maybe pull me closer. I don’t give her the chance to decide. I deepen the kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration, desire, and pure fucking need into it.

She responds just as fiercely, her nails dragging down my back, her body pressing into mine as if she’s been waiting for this just as badly.

“Fuck you,” she mutters against my lips, but she’s already pulling me toward the lockers, her hands fisting in my jacket. Thank God we booked private practice time today instead of sharing time with other skaters.

“Not if I fuck you first,” I growl, slamming the door shut behind us.

There’s no patience, no hesitation—just desperate, clawing need. My hands slide up her thighs, gripping tight as I lift her against the cold metal. She wraps her legs around me, her breath hot and uneven against my neck as I push her against the lockers.

“Tell me this is what you want,” I demand, my voice rough.

She glares at me, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

I chuckle darkly. “Fine. I’ll make you show me.”

I tear at the thin fabric between us, groaning when I find her wet and ready. Her gasp turns into a moan as I press my fingers into her, teasing, stretching. She bites down on my shoulder, muffling the sounds spilling from her lips, but I don’t let up.

“You take control of everything,” I murmur against her skin. “Let me have this. Let me have you.”

She shudders, nails sinking into my back. “Finn—”

That’s all I need.

I quickly pull my cock out of my pants and thrust into her in one hard stroke, swallowing her gasp with my mouth. She’s tight, scorching hot, her body clenching around me like she’s trying to pull me deeper into her.

“Fuck, Daisy—”

She rolls her hips, meeting me thrust for thrust, her body a perfect counter to mine even here, even off the ice. There’s nothing graceful about this, nothing choreographed. It’s raw, frantic, a battle of dominance neither of us is willing to lose.

“Harder,” she demands, her voice a breathless plea, and I oblige, driving into her with a force that rattles the lockers behind us.

Her head falls back, exposing the column of her throat, and I take advantage, biting down just enough to make her whimper. “You like this, don’t you?” I rasp. “Being fucked against the lockers?”

She clenches around me, her moan strangled. “Shut up.”

I grin against her skin, nipping at her collarbone. “Make me.”

And she does—by dragging my mouth back to hers, devouring me like she needs me to breathe.

When she comes, it’s sudden and violent, her entire body going rigid before shattering around me. The sound she makes nearly undoes me, but I hold on, thrusting through her orgasm until she’s shaking in my arms. Then, with one last brutal stroke, I follow, spilling into her with a groan that feels like it rips through my fucking soul.

For a moment, neither of us moves. Our ragged breathing fills the space between us, our bodies still tangled, slick with sweat and need.

I’m hyperaware of Daisy—her scent, her warmth, the way her bare legs are still wrapped around my hip. My chest tightens.

I don’t want to move. I don’t want to let this moment slip away before I figure out what the hell it means.

Then Daisy blinks up at me, and I see the exact second she puts her walls back up.

She tenses. Stands up, smoothing her torn clothes as best she can, her lips still red and swollen from my kiss. “Finn—” she starts.

“Don’t,” I say, already knowing what’s coming.

Her jaw tightens. “This was a mistake.”

I knew she’d say it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t cut like a damn blade.

I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to smirk, to play it off like I don’t care. “Sure, Daisy. Whatever you say.”

She hesitates, just for a second. Maybe she doesn’t believe her own words. Then she gathers her things and walks out, leaving me alone in a space that still smells like her.