44. The Sin Bin
44
THE SIN BIN
RORY
N ational qualifiers are in two days. I need every second of ice time I can get. We’re set to fly out first thing tomorrow morning.
It’s late, and Karina’s long gone. I just finished another run-through of my routine, failing once again to land the triple-triple combination that’s thankfully toward the end of my program. And now I’m wiped after running it too many times to count. I don’t bother getting up this time. Half the lights are off in the arena, leaving half the ice in shadow.
I lay back, letting the cool ice calm my heated body, closing my eyes, trying to get my head right. The pressure of the competition, and my family’s expectations, are getting to me.
“You dead, love?”
The deep tenor of a male voice startles me and I scramble up from where I’m lying, vulnerable, on the ice. No one else should be here… I rented private ice time.
I peer up and some of the tension ebbs away when I realize who stands over me.
“Go away, Aidan,” I groan at the sight of the Irish enforcer standing over me, dark hair falling into his face as he studies me at his feet. He’s dressed for a practice in his jersey and pads, leaning on his stick, cocky grin and all.
Determined to ignore him, I lay back on the ice and shut my eyes, hoping he’ll take the hint.
“Did you fall?”
Now I know I’m imagining the trace of concern in his tone. My eyes fly open. Frustrated at the interruption of my mini meditation session, I push my body up off the ice. Getting my skates under me, I huff “I was taking a break —” I glare up at him before sighing irritably, “which is clearly over now…”
Aidan helps me to my feet, hooking a hockey glove under my arm. I wince, and quickly pull away, when he brushes against a sore spot. The dark bruises Matteo’s fingers imprinted there last weekend are well hidden by my long sleeve top.
Aidan furrows his brow, reading pain on my face.
“Just sore… training,” I mutter lamely, working my rotator cuff to better sell the lie, eyeing him warily. The Breakers practiced this morning… I remember the busy shift at the Chill Zone for their packed open practice. “Why are you here?” I fold my arms across my chest and look him over, doing my best to ignore how attractive all his hockey gear makes him look. “Or do you not have anything better to do than follow me around?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, love,” he hums, “you’re the one on my ice.” He drops a puck at his feet, deftly stick handling it back and forth, his hands moving impossibly fast to keep it well under control. “I suggest you get off of it before you get hurt.” He shoots me a look, suggesting he might enjoy that, before he takes off.
Leaning into the ice, he takes long, powerful strides around the rink. Switching from forward to backward with a smooth motion, effortlessly crossing over with footwork that could give any figure skater a run for their money.
I catch myself gawking and shake my head to clear it. The exhaustion is clearly getting the better of me. Don’t even go there, Rory.
“Actually, you’re on my ice,” I shout after him as he passes close to me. A few pieces of hair have come loose out of my ponytail and they fly back as he whips by a little too close. “I have the ice until nine-thirty.”
Aidan laughs, carrying on with his warm-up, ignoring my protests. “It’s past ten, Angel.”
“ What ?” I left my phone in the locker room instead of keeping it with me and the Zamboni driver switched off the scoreboard clock when he left for the night hours ago.
“By the way, your guards are top tier.” Aidan almost looks angry as he talks, “enjoying the latest pornos out in the parking lot.”
I curl my nose in disgust. Niko’s been busy this week, preparing for some big delivery the Bratva has coming in. And so Sasha’s been appointed to accompany me to and from the rink. He waits outside while I practice. Honestly, I couldn’t care less about what he does. I prefer the freedom. So long as he doesn’t touch me. Some of my father’s other guys… I wouldn’t put it past them.
Aidan slows over by the far end of the rink, dragging a hockey net out onto the ice. I linger in the center circle, watching him. I don’t know why I do. It’s late. I should already be home, sleeping or mentally preparing for my competition. But for reasons unknown, my skates are frozen in place.
Aidan notices me staring and the corner of his lip ticks up into a knowing smile. “Give me a hand with this.” He motions to the heavy goal post he’s trying to set on its peg.
I start toward him, but halfway there think better of it. I come to a stop, warring with indecision. I really shouldn’t be alone with him. He did already steal me once. He sighs, setting down the net. “Come on Rory, I promise… I’ll only bite if you ask me to.” His green eyes sparkle as he shoots me a smug little wink.
My immediate reaction is to roll my eyes, but in truth, I’m stalling, hesitating for a whole new reason. He said my name. Out loud. I can’t remember if I’ve ever heard him use my name before… And the way his faint Irish accent curled around the R’s… Not to mention the words that followed my name…
Aidan raises his eyebrows, and I flush. Keeping my eyes on my skates, I finally skate the rest of the way over to help with the post. Dropping to one knee, I raise the goal peg that had fallen over. Aidan lifts the net, deftly dropping it into place and setting the goal.
I rise slowly. He doesn’t back away. I catch a whiff of his now familiar scent. The amusement in his eyes fades into something more serious. I can’t look away—lost in darkening pine green. Out of nowhere, I’m hit with an overwhelming urge to kiss him.
“Your competition’s Saturday, isn’t it?” His voice interrupts the intrusive thought.
“Yes,” I say, surprised he knows.Distracted while chastising myself for that last thought.
“Still having trouble landing that combination?” My cheeks heat with embarrassment. He’s been watching me. It’s a sensitive subject, and I’m instantly defensive. I’ve landed it. I just don’t more often than I do. Jaw tight, I avoid looking at Aidan.
“You’re in your head.”
Ibristle at his observation; Not because he’s wrong. On the contrary, the asshole is dead on. Karina still says I’m trying too hard. My fixation with perfecting the combination keeps me from landing it. A glorious paradox.
“I know,” I admit softly, still avoiding his gaze, “it’s hard to find my way out…” Skating is different than how it used to be. Before mom and the accident. Before the Russians, Irish and Italians.It used to be fun, but now…
I can feel the heat radiating off of him, both of us surrounded by the icy chill of the rink. When Aidan says nothing for several breaths, I chance a look up at him through my lashes.
His eyes, dark and intense, are locked on me. And once my eyes meet his, it’s impossible to look away. He glides forward slowly, closing the already too small gap between us. My breath catches, inhaling a warm, heady, vanilla scent I recognize as his. Aidan’s gaze drops to my lips, and he leans in.
“What are you doing?” Suddenly nervous, I back away, but his glove catches the back of my neck, halting my retreat while invading every single one of my senses.
“Getting you out of your head,” he murmurs softly before he closes the gap.
His kiss is tentative—gentle. Nothing like I would expect from the rough-cut Breakers defenseman—or the Irish Mob’s enforcer.
I don’t kiss him back; too stunned to react properly or push him away. The tip of Aidan’s tongue traces along my bottom lip, as if asking permission. He increases the pressure of his lips on mine and I fold, opening for him.
That’s all it takes for him to consume me entirely. My lips move alongside his, his tongue searching my mouth hungrily. His gloves find my hips, pulling my body against his.
And I let him, my skates gliding on the ice.
I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s bad—It’s bad for so many reasons. But I don’t want to stop— can’t stop— physically unable to stop—and work out the exact reasons why. A familiar heat sparks, growing in intensity and I press my thighs together, needing the pressure.
Aidan breaks our kiss, pulling away, and I chase after him, my eyes fluttering open.
“Patience,” he chides, his dark smile igniting every nerve ending straight down to my core. I’m breathless, though it’s only been seconds. He nods behind me. I didn’t realize he’d pushed us across the arena. My back is almost up against the door to the penalty box.
With his eyes locked on mine, Aidan takes the hockey stick he’s still holding in his hand and reaches behind me, shoving the end into the door latch, opening it.
Need and anticipation, mixed with fear and second thoughts, cloud my mind. I open my mouth to stop this before it’s too late, but get nothing out because he bends down, scooping me up. My traitorous legs wrap around him as he carries me into the box.
Slamming the door shut behind us.
Once inside, his mouth is back on mine. I’m caught between the glass and him and it’s overwhelming. I am aware of every inch of my body that touches his. Rationality melts away, replaced with an all-consuming need to be closer .
Aidan’s mouth leaves my lips only to find my neck. I arch into him, curling my fingers in his hair. When he grazes my ear with the tip of his tongue, tracing along the sensitive cartilage, I let out a shaky whimper. A bone shaking shiver tears through my body.
He chuckles, the warmth of his breath ghosting my skin. It’s too much, and I rock my hips, grinding into his leg, needing his attention lower— so much lower. Aidan’s eyes meet mine, darkening with desire. He’s tossed his gloves. His bare fingers find the little sliver of skin across my stomach. His touch sets my skin alight, sending tiny electric shocks directly to my core. I’m already a trembling mess before his fingers dip below the waistline of my leggings, playing along the hem.
Aidan’s green eyes never leave mine, searching them— asking .
I bite my lip—faced with a decision. Tense and bristling with anticipation, a deep ache intensifies low in my belly. The sweet pressure building with every second his hands are on me.
Subtly, I dip my chin.
That’s all he needs, driving in and taking my mouth in a fierce kiss. His fingers slip into my panties and when they find that little bundle of nerves—I go feral. My breath quickens, scattered between soft moans and gasps. I feel his smile against my lips as he explores further, discovering the slick evidence of my desire.
Soaked.
“Melting for me, ice princess?” Aidan’s finger moves in agonizingly slow circles and I might convulse from the intensity of the pressure he’s building low and deep. He relinquishes my mouth, flicking my ear with his tongue on his way to my neck just as he slides one of those sinful fingers inside. A strangled scream escapes me.
Aidan presses the palm of his free hand against my mouth, letting out a groan of his own when I arch into him, forcing his finger deeper. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
I’m shaking—on the verge of exploding. I reach for him, pushing his jersey up—finding bare skin. My fingers trace over ripples of hard muscle and he sighs, resting his forehead against mine in a move that somehow feels far more intimate than anything we’ve done so far.
When he slips a second finger inside me, I cling to Aidan’s jersey for dear life. He keeps up those agonizingly slow circles with his thumb. My desperate whimpers are muffled by his hand over my mouth.
And I do melt for him—in this moment I think he could ask me for anything and I swear, I would do it. I’m entirely at his mercy, a trembling mess in his arms, starving for his attention.
He pumps his fingers faster, but it’s when he curls them inside me, a sudden jolt of sensation explodes out, radiating heat, unlocking a wild and uncontrolled pleasure. I come apart, shattering completely on the fingers of the Breakers’ star defenseman. Aidan fucks me with his fingers through an orgasm that seems to go on forever, all while I scream into his palm.
I’ve never come so hard. Never felt anything like this, this level of intensity. It’s like I’m high, slowly coming down from the sweetest of hits.My body responds to him in ways I didn’t know were possible.
As I’m coming down, the reality of what just happened slams into me as hard as if he checked me into the boards.
Aidan sets me back on my skates, the blades protected by the black rubber flooring lining the penalty box. Quickly, I disentangle myself from him and he takes a step back, putting space back between us. I fight the urge to pull him back, missing the heat of his body on mine. Both of us breathing hard.
I’m absolutely panicked for a moment, wondering if he expects?—
But that characteristic smirk is back on his face. The arrogant prick is so pleased with himself, leaning against the wall at his back, the two of us still too close in the small space, crossing his arms and watching as I spiral into crisis, confusion and regret at the forefront.
The penalty box is too small… He’s still far too close... His scent is all over me.
“How did it feel?” His eyes sparkle knowingly. “Letting go?”
If my cheeks weren’t already on fire, they’re a bloody inferno now.
“That... shouldn’t have happened.” I tear my gaze away from his, adjusting my clothes. Needing out of this box.
I don’t know a lot about Aidan, but I know his type. I know hockey players. A hook-up like this might just be another Thursday night for a guy like him. There’s no lack of stories about Belles hooking up with one player or another. Maybe he does this all the time.
“It doesn’t mean anything.” And there it is. Aidan’s tone is cool and casual as he unwittingly confirms my theory. His words shouldn’t cut into me as much as they do.
I keep my face carefully blank. “No, it doesn’t,” I agree, my voice coming out far steadier than I feel. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen. No one has to know.” I add the last part in a rush, eyeing him warily. A terrifying realization rooting into my mind. I don’t think he would tell my father or Matteo what we did. But I did just hand Aidan an Ace, one that should he choose to play, would have devastating consequences.
“Fine by me.”
“Great.” I put far too much enunciation on the “t.”
Aidan pulls up the bar on the door, swinging it open. “After you, princess.”
Straightening my spine, I step back out onto the ice, feeling entirely different from the girl who stepped off. I’m aware of him at my back, following me out. I don’t turn around as I head straight off the ice.
“Hey, Kostalova,” Aidan calls after me. And it’s back to Kostalova now. I look back over my shoulder, still moving steadily toward the exit. “Next time you need out of your head, you know where to find me.” I can’t mistake the playful edge to his voice.
That ache, which I thought was well sated, flares back to life deep within me and I feel feverish. Maybe I’m coming down with something—the flu? Perhaps… Yes, that could explain the momentary lapse in judgement.
“In your dreams, O’Rourke,” I quip back with a little smile. Proud of myself for the quick comeback.
A beat passes, and then another before he responds, “More like in yours.”
I choke at his response. But by now, I’m too far away for him to hear it.
Aidan picks up his abandoned hockey stick and resumes his drills like nothing happened.
All while I walk on shaky legs back to the locker rooms, fighting the overwhelming urge to run as fast as I can.