Devious Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

I can’t stop thinking about her.

What she’s doing.

What she’s thinking.

What she’s wearing.

Her fucking glorious tits, her wide eyes—

I punch the bag in front of me harder, driving into it with everything I have. As if that’ll make it better. As if that’ll solve my problems and make my brain stop working in overdrive. But now I’ve started dreaming about her under me. The feel of her neck in my grip, the little breathy sounds she made when she struggled.

My dick is hard in an instant, and I stop moving. I look down at it, clenching my jaw.

She was made for me. Her reactions, following my orders, her fear. She’s made to tempt me—it’s like my father fucking knew that when he married her mother. When he brought her into the house that my mother lived in, the house my mother raised me in, and let her take over.

That’s why I didn’t go home this summer. Because I sure as hell didn’t need to see evidence of that woman’s takeover.

And now he’s sent her siren daughter to spy on me. To feed information back to him, because apparently my communication with him isn’t enough. Our relationship is too strained, too muddled from our past for anything like trust to exist between us.

Bet he’s regretting giving me access to my inheritance at the humble age of eighteen.

My brother, Blake, is nineteen. Two years younger than me. He’s at school on the West Coast, playing football for a division one school. We haven’t been close in a long time, but I imagine he took his money and ran, too.

I straighten, an idea bursting into existence in my brain. The spy can be threatened, tormented—but I need more dirt on her. More than just a photo of her breasts on my phone.

When I told her to show them to me, I didn’t think I’d do much more than take a picture to distribute. But then I saw them, and the fury in her eyes as she did what I said, and I changed my mind.

Coming on her wasn’t part of the plan either, but if I need to assure the world she’s a whore, this would do it. The stairwell is dim, but it’s obvious where we were. And what we were doing.

I unwrap my hands and leave the stadium gym. It’s almost two o’clock in the morning, and the moon is high. Sleep is a long way off, per usual. I don’t know what it is about the darkness that’s so alluring—and what it is about sleep that’s so repulsive.

Exiting the stadium—the gym here is better than the one on campus—I head back toward the hockey house. But my feet carry me past it, to the quiet row of brownstones a few blocks over. I stop in front of Aspen’s, my lips curling at the light on in one of the bedrooms.

Is she a night owl like me?

Or is it her roommate?

I followed her back here the other day, knowing she’d scurry home to change and get my scent off her. She’s got a first-floor apartment—nice for moving in, not so good for security purposes.

The light goes out, and her form passes by the window.

I give her an hour to fall asleep and then I push away from the shadows across the street. Her window is cracked, letting in the breeze. The screen pops out easily when I slide my pocket knife along the edge of the frame, loosening the catch. I put it on the ground and drop my bag beside it. I peer into her dark room, eyeing the shape of her, in the bed against the wall.

Luckily, the space in front of her window is clear, and I vault in with ease.

My footsteps are light on her rug, but I pause nonetheless.

Her soft breathing fills the room.

I stride closer and stare down at her. I can barely make out her features in the darkness, even with the streetlights illuminating her room with a pale, warm light. I reach out and run my finger down her bare arm, and she shivers.

My stomach swoops.

My cock goes hard, pressing against my shorts.

Instead of doing exactly what I want with her, I step back and glance around her room. I turn on the flashlight on my phone and shine it around. A desk and chair, which seems to be a catch-all for clothes. Her backpack that I threatened earlier, once again packed with whatever she carries around.

On the desk are her keys.

An idea occurs to me, and I carefully pick them up. There’s only a few keys—probably one to the front door of the brownstone, then the apartment, and who knows what else—but I go to the window and drop them out to collect later.

She lets out a breathy sigh, and my willpower fractures. I slide the blanket down her body, stopping at her hips. When she doesn’t move, I lift her shirt. Her breasts are plump, round. Her nipples immediately stiffen, and I run my finger over one of them.

I wasn’t going to…

My control completely shatters, though, and I yank the blankets the rest of the way off. She’s not wearing shorts or pajama bottoms like I would’ve guessed—just fucking panties.

I roll her onto her back, somewhat surprised that she doesn’t wake up, and part her pretty legs. I drop my shorts to the floor. My heart is pounding out of my chest, tight with anticipation, as I crawl over her. I slide her panties to the side, and the tip of my cock touches the apex of her legs.

She’s wet. Soaked. For no fucking reason.

She’s asleep.

That pisses me off.

She should only be wet when she’s thinking about me—not whoever is starring in her dream. I look down at her cunt. Did she rub herself to orgasm before she fell asleep? I pick up her hand, lifting it to my nose. Her fingers curl around mine, and I sniff. Then lick the pad of her index finger, just for the hell of it.

Aspen squirms, her hips shifting, and my dick rubs against her clit.

I move it lower, notching at her entrance. Pushing in just enough to keep it in place as I capture her wrists in one hand and cover her mouth with the other. So slowly, so carefully, that she doesn’t wake up.

Until I drop my full weight on her, my hips pinning hers into place. My fingers dig into her cheek, and she inhales sharply when she registers what’s happening.

Her legs try to close, but I’m right there.

“Do you remember your safe word?” I look into her wide eyes.

She’s still for a moment, maybe still trying to piece together what’s happening. But then her head jerks up and down.

“Say it.” I lift my hand from her mouth, wrapping it around her throat instead. “Tell me.”

She licks her lips. “Fire.”

I never understood why she picked that—but I’ll ask another time.

Right now, I need to be inside her.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. No.

Good.

I thrust forward, and her pretty eyes roll back at the sudden intrusion. Her body bows up off the bed to meet mine, but it’s her cunt that I’m focused on. The way her hot, silky muscles clamp down on my length.

The last girl I was inside was her. Over the summer. Six fucking months ago.

I draw out and ram back into her, judging her reaction. She seems caught between anger and lust, and she’s not doing enough to make me stop.

“Fight me,” I growl in her ear. I drag my teeth down the side of her neck. She smells sweet. As delectable as a dessert. “Come on, little viper. Fucking fight me.”

My teeth sink into her neck at the same time that I rock my hips forward again.

She groans. The sound is music to my fucking ears, but I don’t give a shit about her own pleasure. Especially if she already got off tonight without me.

So this has to be more unpleasant for her. A punishment instead of a reward.

I pull out of her so fast, she cries out.

But I’m not done.

I haul her up with me and shove her toward the window. She catches herself on the sill and meets my eyes over her shoulder, her eyes hooded. The window is open. The screen is off. It’s the middle of the night, but who knows what noises are going to come out of her mouth?

I smack her ass.

She jumps forward, and I haul her back again. My grip on her hips steadies her, and I strike her again. My palm fucking stings, but I keep going until her knees buckle. She sinks to the floor, and I follow her.

Always fucking following her.

My hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, forces her the rest of the way. We’re in the strip of light coming through the window from the streetlight, and her pale, smooth skin is glowing. Her cheek touches the carpet, her hands press to the floor on either side of her head. She makes a low noise when I slide into her again, my cock now so hard it’s painful. There are marks on her ass. Handprints.

She never answered my question about birth control.

I thought about that after I left the party. How I asked and she didn’t reply.

Guess we’ll find out.

My balls tighten, and I lean farther over her. My weight keeps her pinned, and I chase my release. It’s pleasure to the point of pain, and I groan when my climax hits. I still inside her, filling her with my cum.

“No condom,” I whisper in her ear, when the residual tremors have subsided. When I can form words again.

I pull out and find my shorts, dragging them up over my wet length. I have half a mind to make her lick it clean, but she hasn’t moved from her position on the floor. I stare down at her for a second, my head tilting.

“Roll over,” I say.

She moves slowly. Methodically. Muscles bunching, weight shifting. She ends up on her back. Her eyes are filled with tears.

She looks so fucking perfect like that. With my cum in her pussy, already leaking out. Her expression is broken.

“I’ll do this to you every night,” I promise her. “I’ll be your own personal demon.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the enemy.” Simple.

I step over her and straddle the windowsill, casting one long look back at her. This is the last time I’ll take the window, that’s for fucking sure. Because this is the last time she’ll leave it unlocked.

But that’s okay. I have her keys, and I’ll make copies. I’ll sneak in when she’s away and imprint myself in this entire fucking apartment, just to make sure she’ll never escape me.

I put the screen back, leaving her to close the glass from the other side. I pocket her keys and sling my bag over my shoulder, and I smile to myself. Satisfied for the first time in six fucking months.