Slash Me Savagely (The Blackwater Reaper Hockey #1)

4. Matt

Chapter 4

Matt

O nce the last of the season ticket holders shuffled out, the locker room felt heavier. Alaric Knightly stood at the front, arms crossed, his dark attire blending into the shadows. He was like a specter, sharp features illuminated by the overhead lights. His gaze swept across us, piercing and calculating, reminiscent of a ravenous hawk sizing up its prey.

“Listen up,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You’ve fought hard this season. But hard work isn’t enough if you don’t know how to harness it.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air. I leaned forward, eager for more but caught in my own thoughts. “If you want to win,” he declared, “you must want it more than your opponent.”

His eyes fixed on me again, unwavering. The challenge stirred something deep inside—a fire ignited by the image of Gemma watching from the stands.

Of her wearing my jersey in the stands.

I envisioned her face lit by stadium lights as she cheered for us—no one else mattered then. I wanted to be close to her; to bridge that gap between admiration and something more intimate. My heart raced at the thought of sharing more than just glances.

As Knightly wrapped up his speech with an admonition to remember our training drills for next week’s game, my resolve solidified. I’d make my move soon; I couldn’t let this opportunity slip away.

The other players filed out slowly after Coach dismissed us. My pulse thrummed with anticipation as I lingered in the locker room alone for a moment longer—ready to claim what I desired most: Gemma.

The locker room echoed with the distant clatter of departing teammates, their voices fading into the night.

I stood under the shower, hot water pounding against my shoulders, washing away the grime and sweat of the game. Steam billowed around me, creating a cocoon of solitude. My muscles relaxed, but my mind was anything but calm.

Gemma.

Her name echoed in my thoughts, a persistent drumbeat.

I pictured her in the stands, her eyes following me, her lips curved in a smile that hinted at secrets shared only between us. The image shifted, and suddenly, she was closer, her lips parted, her breath warm against my skin.

I closed my eyes, letting the fantasy take over. Gemma, on her knees, looking up at me with those fiery eyes. Her lips, soft and inviting, wrapping around me. The thought sent a jolt of electricity through my body, and I felt myself harden, the heat of the shower nothing compared to the fire burning within me.

I leaned against the cold tiles; the contrast heightening my senses. My hand moved almost of its own accord, wrapping around my length, mimicking the fantasy playing out in my mind. I could see her, feel her, as if she were right there with me. Her eyes, wide and teary, but filled with a hunger that matched my own.

I stroked myself, the rhythm steady, driven by the pulsating need that coursed through my veins. Each stroke was a step closer to her, each breath a whispered promise of what could be. The steam swirled around me, smothering me in thoughts of her.

My breath hitched as I chased the edge, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

I wanted to make her choke on my dick, on my come.

I bit back a groan; the sound echoing off the tiles. My hand moved faster, the fantasy playing out in vivid detail. Gemma, taking me deeper, her eyes locked onto mine, her body trembling with the same desire that threatened to consume me.

The tension snapped, and I came undone, the release sweeping through me like a tidal wave. I braced myself against the wall, panting; the water cascading over me, washing away the remnants of the fantasy. But the image of her lingered, a ghostly imprint that refused to fade.

I turned off the shower, the sudden silence jarring. The locker room was empty now, the echoes of my teammates long gone. I toweled off, the rough fabric still not snapping me back to reality. The fire within me still burned, the need for her unquenched.

I dressed quickly, the cold air of the locker room a harsh reminder of reality. But as I stepped out into the night, the image of her lingered, a promise of what could be, a challenge waiting to be met.

The stadium lights flickered off, leaving the parking lot in a soft glow. My heart raced—not just from the adrenaline of the game but from thoughts of her. I glanced around, my gaze scanning the empty spaces, as if expecting her to appear from behind a car or step out from the shadows.

Every time I caught her eye in the stands, something primal stirred within me. She wasn’t just another fan; she was mine in some unspoken way. I could feel it in my bones. That connection sparked a possessiveness that simmered beneath the surface, twisting and tightening like a noose around my heart.

“Hey, Sokolov!” A teammate’s voice broke through my reverie. It was Gideon Howard, his scars slashing across his face. “You good? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I forced a grin, shoving down the darker thoughts swirling inside me. “Yeah, just thinking about next week.”

“Sure you are.” He chuckled, nudging my shoulder playfully. “Don’t let that girl distract you too much.”

But she wasn’t just a distraction; she was everything I wanted and more. The idea of someone else looking at her sent heat pooling in my stomach—a burning jealousy that I couldn’t shake off. If anyone dared to approach her…

Even her own boyfriend…

The thought knotted my fists at my sides. I reached my car and leaned against it for a moment, inhaling deeply.

“You're fucking mine,” I murmured under my breath, staring into the darkness where I imagined her standing beside me.

No one would ever touch her again. Not while I was around.

At all costs, I vowed silently to myself.