Misconducts & Temptation (The Crestwood Elite Hockey Academy #10)

29. Elodie

Chapter 29

Elodie

T he car ride home felt endless. Keaton's silence matched mine, the tension between us thick as the air outside. My eyes drifted to his hands on the steering wheel. His knuckles, raw and bloodied, told a story of violence. A pang of worry twisted in my chest.

"You should have wrapped them," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Keaton glanced at me, his eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. "Doesn’t matter."

It did matter. Those hands held his future on the ice, his ticket away from everything he hated. But I couldn’t bring myself to argue. Not after what he’d done for me.

If he hadn’t come… The thought alone made my stomach churn. I turned to look out the window, watching the world blur past in muted colors. The memories of the warehouse felt like chains tightening around me.

Keaton broke the silence again. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

I hesitated. "My phone was dead."

He gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening despite the cuts. "You don’t have to handle everything alone, Elodie."

I bit back a bitter laugh. Handling things alone was all I knew. But his presence beside me, his unexpected intervention—it challenged that belief in ways I wasn’t ready to face.

We pulled up to the house, the oppressive silence in the car giving way to the soft purr of the engine shutting off. Keaton turned to me, his eyes piercing through the darkness. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against my cheek.

"Lola did that to you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper but heavy with anger.

I looked away, my heart racing. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, but it still felt foreign. Keaton’s hand moved to my chin, tilting my face back towards him, keeping our eyes locked.

"Don’t," he said firmly. "Don’t hide from me."

My breath caught in my throat. The sincerity in his gaze, the raw intensity—it was overwhelming.

"I should kill her for touching you," he muttered, his jaw clenched.

"And ruin your chance at being drafted?" I countered, trying to deflect the intensity of his anger with a touch of logic.

He scoffed. "We both know I don't have a snowball's chance in hell."

"You’re still going to the draft though?" I asked, searching for a glimmer of hope in his response.

His lips quirked into a half-smile. "I expect my wife will make me?"

"I doubt I could make you do anything," I replied, my voice softening despite myself.

His eyes dropped to my lips. "Trust me, babes," he murmured. "There are plenty of things you could make me do."

Before I could respond, he leaned in. His lips met mine slowly, tentatively at first, as if asking for permission. The kiss deepened gradually, his mouth moving against mine with an exquisite tenderness that sent shivers down my spine. His hand slid from my chin to cradle the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

Every sensation was heightened—the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, the soft brush of his lips exploring new territory. The world outside faded away until there was nothing but the connection between us. His kiss was a promise and a question all at once—intense yet tender, filled with unspoken emotions neither of us had dared to voice.

I melted into him, surrendering to the moment as his other hand cupped my face. Each touch ignited something inside me I hadn’t known existed—a spark that grew into a fire with every passing second.

Keaton’s eyes held mine, searching for something I wasn’t sure I could give. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the unspoken promise between us and the hope that maybe—just maybe—we could find a way out together.

We got out of the car, the cool night air wrapping around us. Keaton's hand found mine, his grip firm yet gentle. He led me inside, our steps echoing in the grand hallway. The house was quiet, almost eerily so, as if holding its breath for what was to come.

We made our way upstairs, my heart pounding with each step. Keaton pushed open the door to our room, and I followed him inside. He didn't stop there, though. Instead, he guided me to the attached bathroom.

The bathroom was nothing short of luxurious. Marble floors gleamed under the soft lighting, and the walls were lined with intricate tiles that seemed to shimmer. A large, freestanding bathtub took center stage, its smooth curves inviting and elegant. Beside it stood a spacious glass shower with multiple showerheads, each promising a cascade of water from different angles.

On one side of the room, a long vanity stretched out with twin sinks embedded in its surface. The faucets were sleek and modern, their polished metal reflecting the light like tiny mirrors. Above the sinks hung a massive mirror framed in dark wood, its surface unmarred by fingerprints or smudges.

Soft towels were neatly folded on a heated rack, and a collection of high-end toiletries sat arranged on a small shelf nearby. The air smelled faintly of lavender and eucalyptus, calming and refreshing all at once.

Keaton turned to face me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation or fear. I felt none—not here, not with him.

"Let’s get you cleaned up," he said softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that took me by surprise.

He moved to turn on the faucet at one of the sinks, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise from the flowing water. He reached for a soft cloth and dampened it under the stream before gently pressing it against my cheek where Lola’s slap had left its mark.

And that was one injury amongst others.

The warmth of the cloth against my skin felt soothing, washing away not just the physical sting but some of the emotional pain as well. Keaton’s touch was careful and deliberate, each movement filled with an unspoken care that I hadn’t expected from him.

"Better?" he asked after a moment.

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "Thank you."

His eyes softened further as he continued to clean away any traces of tonight’s ordeal. In that luxurious bathroom with Keaton’s gentle hands tending to my wounds, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in a long time—hope.

When Keaton finished cleaning my cheek, he turned his attention to the bathtub. The tub was a masterpiece of design, an inviting expanse of pristine white porcelain set against a backdrop of elegant marble tiles. Its smooth curves beckoned, promising warmth and comfort.

Keaton reached over and turned the gleaming chrome faucet, adjusting the water temperature with precision. Steam began to rise, curling into the air like soft whispers. The sound of running water filled the room, mingling with the calming scents of lavender and eucalyptus that permeated the space.

He turned back to me, his eyes holding something akin to tenderness. Without a word, he reached for the hem of my shirt. His fingers brushed against my skin as he lifted it over my head, the fabric whispering away from my body. I stood still, my breath catching in my throat as he continued to undress me with deliberate care.

One by one, he removed each piece of clothing, his touch never wavering. His movements were slow, as if each part of my body held a story he wanted to uncover. When I was finally bare before him, he took a moment to look at me, his gaze steady and unflinching.

Gently, he helped me step into the tub. The hot water embraced me immediately, soothing muscles I hadn’t realized were tense. I sank into the tub’s welcoming depths, feeling the heat seep into my bones and wash away the remnants of fear and pain.

Keaton didn’t look away as he began to undress himself. His eyes stayed locked on mine while he removed his clothes with the same deliberate care he'd shown me. Piece by piece, his strong and sculpted body was revealed, each movement exuding an effortless grace that seemed at odds with his usual intensity.

When he was finally naked, Keaton stepped into the tub behind me. He lowered himself into the water with ease until his body pressed gently against mine. The warmth of his skin mingled with the heat of the bath, creating a cocoon of comfort around us.

I leaned back against him, feeling his steady heartbeat against my back. For once in my life, I felt safe—truly safe—in his arms.

Keaton’s hands were gentle but firm as he washed my back. The soft bristles of the sponge moved in slow, soothing circles, each stroke easing away the tension that had coiled within me for far too long. The warm water lapped at my skin, and I felt myself relax against him, letting go of the worries and fears that had plagued me.

The sensation of his hands moving over my skin was almost hypnotic. He worked methodically, washing away not just the grime of the night but the remnants of my past. Each touch was a promise, a silent vow that I wasn’t alone anymore.

“It feels good,” I murmured, my voice barely audible above the gentle splash of water.

Keaton didn’t respond with words; he didn’t need to.

As he finished washing my back, his hands transitioned seamlessly into a massage. His fingers kneaded the knots in my muscles with practiced ease, each movement deliberate and controlled.

A moan escaped my lips before I could stop it, the sound reverberating in the quiet bathroom. Keaton’s touch was like magic, his fingers finding every tense spot and working it until it melted away under his skilled ministrations. My body responded instinctively to his touch, leaning into him as he continued to massage me.

His hands roamed over my shoulders and down my spine, coaxing out the tension that had settled deep within me. Every stroke brought a new wave of relief, and I found myself lost in the sensation, floating in a sea of warmth and comfort.

Then his hands began to wander further, exploring every piece of me. His touch was light at first, almost tentative, as if seeking permission before delving deeper. My breath hitched as his fingers traced along my sides and then moved lower.

My body responded before my mind could catch up. I instinctively spread my legs, granting him access. Keaton’s fingers moved with an assured confidence, finding my clit with a precision that sent jolts of electricity through me.

A soft gasp escaped my lips as his touch ignited a fire within me. My head fell back onto his shoulder, surrendering to the sensations he elicited with each stroke. His other hand found its way to my breast, his fingers expertly fondling my nipple.

I couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped, the sound raw and unfiltered. Keaton’s breath was warm against my ear, his fingers continuing their relentless dance over my clit, building a rhythm that had me arching into him.

His hand on my breast squeezed gently, sending another wave of pleasure through me. I felt myself melting into his touch, the world outside the bathroom fading into oblivion.

I could feel his heart beating against my back, steady and strong, grounding me even as he pushed me closer to the edge.

Keaton’s hands moved over my body with an intensity that made my breath hitch. His fingers teased and coaxed, building a rhythm that had me teetering on the edge. His lips brushed against my ear, his voice a low, possessive growl.

“You’re mine, Elodie,” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. “No one else gets to touch you like this.”

I could feel his cock pressing hard against my back. The heat of the water seemed to amplify every sensation, making each touch and whisper feel like fire on my skin.

“Do you understand?” he continued, his voice rough with desire. “You belong to me.”

I nodded, unable to form words as his fingers worked their magic between my legs. My body arched into him, seeking more of his touch, more of the pleasure he was giving me. Keaton’s lips found the sensitive skin of my neck, and he began to suck gently at first, then harder as if claiming me with each pull.

The combination of his fingers on my clit and his mouth on my neck sent me spiraling closer to the edge. I could feel the tension building within me, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like I would explode.

“Come for me, Elodie,” he murmured against my skin, his voice both commanding and tender. “Be a good girl and come for your husband.”

With a final flick of his fingers and a hard suck on my neck, I shattered. My body convulsed with the force of my orgasm, pleasure rippling through me in waves that left me gasping for breath. Keaton’s hand never wavered, continuing its relentless rhythm as I rode out the intense climax.

My head fell back onto his shoulder, and I let out a soft moan as the last tremors of pleasure coursed through me. Keaton’s mouth moved from my neck to press a gentle kiss to my temple.

“You’re mine,” he repeated softly, his voice filled with a possessive tenderness that sent shivers down my spine.

As the waves of my climax subsided, I felt my breath slowly return to normal. The warmth of the water, coupled with Keaton's presence, created a cocoon of safety and comfort. I turned to look at him, meeting his intense gaze. His eyes were dark with desire, his lips slightly parted.

"You look so fucking beautiful," he said in a low, raspy voice that sent a shiver down my spine.

I noticed his cock jutting proudly from the water, hard and ready. My pulse quickened at the sight. I wanted to please him, to bring him the same pleasure he had just given me.

Tentatively, I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his shaft. His reaction was immediate—his eyes fluttered closed, and a soft groan escaped his lips. The sound emboldened me. I began to move my hand up and down, feeling the silky smoothness of his skin over the hard length beneath.

Keaton's breathing grew heavier, each exhale accompanied by a low growl of pleasure. His hand gripped the edge of the tub as if anchoring himself against the sensations I was creating. Watching him respond to my touch ignited a fire within me; I wanted to see him lose control.

I increased the pace, my hand moving more confidently now. Keaton's hips began to thrust in time with my strokes, his head falling back as he let out another guttural moan. The sight of him like this—vulnerable and consumed by desire—was intoxicating.

"Fuck, Elodie," he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice strained with pleasure.

I leaned in closer, pressing soft kisses along his jawline and down his neck as I continued to work him with my hand. His free hand found its way into my hair, tangling in the strands as he pulled me closer still.

"You feel so good," he whispered against my ear, his breath hot on my skin.

I could feel him growing even harder under my touch, his body tensing as he approached the edge. The knowledge that I was bringing him to this point filled me with a heady sense of power and connection.

Keaton's grip on my hair tightened, and his hips bucked more urgently. "I'm close," he gasped out, his voice raw with need.

I quickened my pace once more, determined to push him over that final edge.

I bent my head, letting my lips brush against the tip of his cock before taking him into my mouth. The taste of him, the heat, was addicted. I hollowed my cheeks and began to suck, my tongue swirling around his shaft as I moved up and down.

Keaton’s hand tightened in my hair, guiding me with a firm grip. He thrust into my mouth with a controlled intensity that made my eyes water, but I welcomed it. I wanted to take all of him, to show him how much I needed this—needed him.

His pace quickened, his hips bucking harder as he fucked my face. Each thrust was rough and demanding, but I took it willingly, reveling in the raw power and connection between us. The water sloshed around us with each movement, adding to the chaotic symphony of sounds.

I could feel him swelling in my mouth, his breathing ragged and desperate. His groans filled the air, mingling with the splashing water and the wet sounds of my lips moving over him.

Then, with a final thrust that sent him deep into my throat, Keaton came. His release was hot and sudden, filling my mouth as he let out a guttural moan. I swallowed around him, taking everything he gave me without hesitation.

As his climax subsided, he pulled me up from the water and into a hard kiss. His lips crashed against mine with an urgency that sent shivers down my spine. The taste of him lingered on my tongue as our mouths moved together in a desperate dance.

The water splashed onto the marble floor as we clung to each other. Keaton’s hands roamed over my body, possessive and tender all at once.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again," he whispered against my ear, his voice raw and filled with a ferocity that sent shivers down my spine. "I fucking promise, babes. I'm going to take care of you for the rest of my fucking life."

For the first time in a long while, I believed it. Keaton’s hands moved gently over my skin, his touch reverent and careful now, as if he was afraid I might break.

The warmth of the bathwater enveloped us both, creating a small world where nothing else mattered but this moment. His eyes met mine, blue and intense, searching for something in my gaze that I knew he found. I felt safe—truly safe—in his arms.

He pulled me closer, his body pressing against mine with a possessive tenderness that made my heart race. His lips found their way back to mine, capturing them in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other's embrace. His hands continued their gentle exploration of my body, each touch reassuring me of his vow. I leaned into him, letting the tension of the past few days melt away under his care.

"You're everything to me now," he murmured against my lips between kisses. "I won't let anyone take you away from me."

As we held each other in the warm bathwater, I let myself imagine a future where I wasn't alone anymore—a future where Keaton's promise held true. And for the first time in a long time, hope didn't feel like a distant dream but something tangible and within reach.

In that moment, surrounded by warmth and Keaton's unwavering presence, I knew one thing for certain: I was no longer alone in this fight.

And maybe—just maybe—he felt the same way.