Secret Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

I flag down the bartender. “Same thing,” I tell him. “No ice.”

He nods. I watch him grab a clean glass and fill it with water. He finishes with a squeeze of lime and a splash of vodka floated on top. Not enough to really matter, but the drink will smell like it.

Willow’s drunk enough to not be able to tell the difference. She was drunk enough. Now she’s coming down off it, as I intercepted her beverages. And I’ve been running interference ever since.

Now, her eyes are closed and she’s swaying on the dance floor by herself. I wrap my arms around her and put the lip of the glass to her mouth.

“Drink, and then let’s go,” I say in her ear.

Like a little bird, she parts her lips and lets me tip the drink in. I cup her throat, and she swallows against my palm. My dick’s been hard for what feels like hours, even though we haven’t been here very long at all.

With a full day of classes, studying, and then practice—none of us can really afford to stay ’til midnight. Greyson and Steele look ready to quit, and I am, too.

Maybe I’m just eager to get her back in my bedroom.

Drink gone, I take her hand and lead her away from the dance floor. My friends follow us out, herding the girls. We fetch coats and bags and make our way to the exit.

Willow’s got her arm looped around mine now, and she leans on me as we walk to the car. “You can dance.”

I smile. “I know.”

“I didn’t.” She sighs. “Maybe I would’ve danced with you more if I had known.”

I don’t reply to that. That could be true—or it’s just wishful thinking after what happened with my brother. Even thinking about him and her drives a big wedge between us. I don’t want to think about them. Just us.

Just her.

I put her in the passenger seat and drive us home quietly.

Home is a weird concept all its own. Although we’ve had some fluctuations—most recently Erik, who graduated last year, then Greyson, then Steele—this house has always been filled with friends. And laughter. And in the past year and a half, women. Violet, then Aspen, and now I’m bringing Willow into it. Although I guess she had already been here.

Now, Finch and Rodrigues are filling the empty rooms. It feels a little more like how Knox and I intended it. Not quite the same without Steele and Greyson, but fine all the same.

Having a full house is nice. It reminds me of when all our relatives would come and stay with us for the holidays. Not to mention the fact that Knox and I always had friends over. My childhood home was never empty.

So naturally, I wanted to replicate it.

Jacob, another friend who graduated the year prior, is at the house. His truck is parked out front, and there are sounds of video games and laughing shit-talk coming from the basement. I move past the stairs without comment, and Willow follows on silent feet. She’s my shadow upstairs, although she passes me and goes into the bathroom.

We had decided, Knox and I, that he would get the primary bedroom with its own bathroom. At least until he graduates. Then I’m taking it over. But three years of sharing the hallway bathroom with various roommates had made me regret that decision ever since.

The door slams, the lock flicking audibly. I consider waiting for her in the hall, then shake my head and get ready for bed.

I’m dead tired.

And she’ll be grumpy in the morning, I have no doubt.

But not hungover.

I smile at that. My good deed for the year. Then I pull down my blankets. I washed everything in preparation for her coming to stay here. Changed them, then straightened up my room like a nervous teenager. It was probably due, but I like to keep things tidy even when I’m not hosting a girl in my bed.

Her bag is still on top of my dresser, the second drawer left open and empty. She didn’t unpack… and now I’m tempted to do it for her. Just to settle her in faster, right?

Or to make it harder for her to leave.

I unzip it and shove the clothes inside, leaving out the few bits of makeup that were salvaged. She’s got some bags from shopping that I found in the trunk of my car. Underwear—a six-pack of thongs, of course—and socks, some leggings and sports bras, plain t-shirts.

Nothing fancy.

“What are you doing?”

“Unpacking.” I’m unbothered, but my heart squeezes. I turn to face her and frown. “Shut the door.”

She does. Slowly.

That dress is toxic. It looks fucking amazing, hugging her curves and highlighting her assets. But it’s trouble because it almost makes me forget my anger. And the plan I came up with.

“Rules,” I announce.

Her arms fold over her chest, and her mouth opens.

“No.” I hold up my hand. “You don’t get a say. These are my rules.”

My gaze drops to her bare thighs. She toes off her shoes, leaving them just inside the door.

“Well?” Her voice is soft.

“No panties. Including thongs.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Or pants,” I add. “While you’re in this room.”

She exhales. “And why is that?”

“To make you uncomfortable.” Words she said to me just this morning.

Was it really only this morning?

She nods once, and her blonde hair swings in her face. She tucks it behind her ear and bends down, hooking her thumbs under her dress and dragging the neon-green thong down her legs. ’Til it gets to her knees and falls on its own. Then she steps out of it, slinging it with one foot to land on top of her shoes.

“Is that it?”

“No.” I move closer and hold out a shirt. “Put this on.”

She eyes the ball of fabric in my grip, then slowly steps forward. Her toenails are painted black. Not the cute color I would’ve envisioned for her. But she shakes out my t-shirt and holds it up, then lowers it.

“Is that a rule? Wear this shirt?”

“The rule is, you wear what I tell you to wear.”

“So you’re going to dress me,” she responds.

Yes. The word comes up and stops behind my teeth. I barely manage to contain it. But I nod anyway, and her gaze drops to her feet. She reaches behind her and drags the zipper of her dress down and lets the whole thing slide off her body.

My brain stops working.

My dick, however, has fully woken up. It stiffens immediately, standing at attention against the zipper of my pants.

Her tits are bare, no bra to speak of. Her nipples pebble.

There’s so much space between us, it’s laughable.

Once the shirt is on, she resumes her cross-armed stance. The bottom hem hits her mid-thigh, and I once again admire the smooth tanned skin peeking out from under it.

“Repeat the rules,” I order.

She rolls her eyes. “No pants or underwear in the room. You’re going to tell me what to wear. Although I’m not really sure on what you mean by in the room. Is there a grace period? Like, I’ve got five minutes to take off my clothes? Or am I expected to strip in the hallway?” She glances over her shoulder. “Tony wouldn’t give a shit, but Finch might be interested in our arrangement. And Kno—”

“Third rule,” I interrupt. “No mentioning my brother.”

She presses her lips together. “In here, or ever?”

“Ever,” I snap. “And you come in here, you close the door, and you strip. Simple as that.”

“What if I just need to come get a book or something?” She tilts her head. “It’s a little convoluted—”

“For fuck’s sake, Willow,” I growl.

I stalk forward. She quickly backs up, bumping into the door. My hands land on the wood on either side of her head.

“When you come here to sleep, take off your fucking panties.”

“Fine,” she replies, breathless. “What else?”

I raise my eyebrow. “What makes you think there’s more?”

“Because you’re Miles Whiteshaw,” she murmurs. “There’s always more.”

My lip curls up, and I take my time looking in her pretty blue eyes. She’s a disaster, there’s no denying it. And the only reason she’s not sloppy drunk right now is because of me.

“No more drinking.”

Her nostrils flare. “When, here?”

“Anywhere,” I decide.

“Bullshit.” She shifts, like she’s going to try to escape.

There is no escape.

“Let’s talk consequences,” I say instead.

She stills. “Okay. What happens when I break one of your rules?”

Her hand lands on my chest, using it to leverage some distance between us. I’m tempted to lean into it—and I do, testing her resistance. Her nails dig into my sternum.

“Wait, let me guess. You’re going to punish me. A little corporal punishment, yeah?” Her laugh escapes her, and she sucks her lower lip between her teeth. “What makes you think I won’t enjoy that sort of thing?”

Well, fuck.

I remove my hand from the door and wrap it around her throat. Slow. Because I want her to see my moves coming from a mile away. And true to form, her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t try to stop me.

“Trust me, wild girl. You’ll enjoy and hate my punishments in equal measure.”

I release her and step back. Her chest rises and falls, and her tongue darts across her lower lip. I almost groan at that, but instead, my spine straightens. My gaze travels across her body, too hidden by the shirt. I should’ve picked something in a smaller size.

“Are you ready for bed?” I ask. “Brushed your teeth?”

She bristles but inclines her chin. “Thank goodness someone stocks that bathroom with extra toothbrushes.”

My shoulders tense. “Get in bed,” I order.

We stare at each other. And then the most beautiful thing happens. Her delicate neck bends, her gaze falling to the floor. She breaks for me. She listens to me. Her body seems to release some tension and gain more, and she inches toward the bed. I let her go, giving her the space to move.

She fluffs one of my pillows and lies on her side, facing the windows. She drags the blankets up to her neck.

I watch her for a moment, then flick the light off. I leave the room and take care of business in the bathroom, then return. I shed my clothes in the dark and slip into bed. I wait for a moment, listening to her breathing.

She’s barely taking any breaths at all. Her short inhales and exhales are too shallow.

I reach for her and drag her into the middle of the bed. Her ass finds my groin, and my hard dick waiting for her. She gasps, her hands turning into claws on my arm.

“Relax,” I demand.

It takes her a second, but she does. She melts against me, and I don’t know why.

Is she just done fighting for the day?

I trace a pattern on her thigh, then push her top leg forward. Her hips angle down, and my weight covers her.

“Don’t,” she warns. “Miles—”

My fingers find her hot cunt. I spread her for myself and notch my dick at her entrance. My heart is hammering, but there’s nothing we can do about that. I want this more than she does.

She doesn’t at all, but she will.

I push inside her. Her muscles grip me, and I let out a low groan of appreciation. Fuck, I could come just from this. Just from entering her once. I pull out and slide back in, relishing the feel of her. But then I hook my arms around her and pin her back flush to my chest.

Willow fights me for a second. She tries to buck and claw at me, and the prick of pain on my forearms just brings forth a rush of adrenaline. My nose is aching—I can only imagine what it’d feel like if she bashes her head into it a second time.

I lift my chin, tucking her head under it. She’s short enough that it works. She can be impaled on my cock and still fit snugly against me.

The silence stretches forward. We’re spooning, with the added agony of my cock buried inside her. I don’t move, and neither does she. Eventually, her nails loosen. She sniffs.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Trying to sleep.”

“With your…”

I growl. I’ve got my girl in my arms. Finally. But the kicker? She doesn’t want to be here. She’s been ground down into dust by my brother. She thinks I’m going to leave her here after I take what I want from her.

But I want everything.

I want her tears and her anger and her heartbreak. I want her smile and laughter and joy. And fuck, I just want her to walk around not looking so dazed. Or drunk. Or pained.

She’s in pieces now, and I’m not going to glue her back together. I’m not going to paint a pretty picture for her to live in instead of reality.

I’m going to forge her into something new. Something stronger.

“Sleep,” I say again, just to see if she will. In this new position, with this new invasion.

How far can I push her?

Maybe I’ll find out tomorrow, because right now, she does sleep. And that’s enough.