Chapter 31 Neve
THIRTY-ONE
NEVE
The tension is already there when I walk in.
Faust didn’t lie. The private room is empty, and it’s smaller than I assumed. Not a dining room, but a lounge in miniature, with only a circular booth, a small bar top pressed with tempered glass, two stools beneath it.
Sylvan is sitting in the plush red booth, the dark marble table before him crowded with three drinks and two glasses of water.
When Faust closes the double doors at my back—this must be a place for the elite I teased him about last week—Sylvan looks up from his place at the center of the booth seat, hand curled around his glass.
Short, looks like whiskey, an orange slice set along the rim.
So Faust might not drink, but Frostbite sure as hell does.
That same frigid expression is on his face, but where he’s cold, I’m heated.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I snap.
The bass beats flood through here too, but quieter. It’s good background noise if you’re having a friendly or lust-filled conversation, but it’s not loud enough for the tension between all three of us, Faust still at my back.
He’s not touching me, but I can feel his presence. Larger than mine, more dangerous in his calm.
Sylvan is ice, but Faust is the kind of black cloud that promises a deadly storm.
And I seem to be the one to fan the flames.
Sylvan takes a drink lazily, but his gray-blue eyes don’t leave mine. When he sets his glass down, it doesn’t make a sound, so controlled is his motion.
He sits up tall then, hands down by his sides as he lifts his chin to stare me down from across the small room.
“You think it’s cool, having both of our attention?” His words are low. Tipped with ice. “You think you’re special, everyone watching you come in here alone with us?”
Truth be told, I didn’t think about it. My back was turned, my mind focused on appearing more confident and unafraid than I felt as I walked in front of Faust to the double doors.
But yeah, sure, I guess people saw me. How they feel about it is their business, but “cool” nor “special” are the words I’d use for this.
“Glad to see you have no problem with your ego,” I say sarcastically, smiling sharp at him. “One would think, after that loss, you might find some humility.”
His jaw jumps.
Ah, I think to myself, beaming inside. I’ve hit him where it hurts.
“That wasn’t on me.” He’s defensive.
I want to poke him more. “Really?” I lift my brows as he seethes.
“I’m pretty sure I saw you hesitate when you had a clear line to the net.
” I may not be an expert, but just as I’d turned around from high-fiving the girl behind me in the arena because we both saw Boris the Bear at the same time and shrieked his name in unison, I watched Sylvan’s too-slow shot get easily slammed back toward his goalie.
He takes a deep breath. I want him to lash out, because then I know I’ve won.
But he doesn’t.
He shrugs one shoulder flippantly, then has another drink.
Faust still says nothing.
“I saw your jersey.” Sylvan’s words are barely audible.
“You what?”
Sylvan drags his gaze over my body, from my stilettos to my tight leather pants, the way my waist is cinched in.
He lingers on my tits, and my nipples are hard since I don’t have my jacket or my jersey, but I don’t dare cover myself.
His attention crawls higher, to my collarbone, my throat, my lips.
At last, smirking, dimples showing in his pale skin, he meets my gaze again.
“You want to fuck him, don’t you? My captain?”
Suddenly, it’s like I can feel heat radiating from Faust behind me.
Or maybe that’s just the flush inside my own veins.
“Is that why you wore his jersey like he owns your cunt?”
My shoulders stiffen.
I didn’t expect him to say that word.
“Connor.” Faust’s voice rumbles at my back.
Sylvan’s smile widens.
He throws back the rest of his drink as my heart beats fast inside my chest, then, in fluid, graceful motions, he gets out of the booth and starts to stalk toward me.
I don’t think.
I just back up, even as I hate that I did the second the action is done.
But it’s too late.
My spine is pressed to Faust.
His hand comes to my hip, the weight of him heavy and firm.
Sylvan crowds my space but doesn’t touch me.
I’m between both of them, and even though there’s dozens of people right outside that door, including Cynthia who will undoubtedly come check on me if I’m in here too long, I feel trapped. Nervous.
But I don’t hate it.
Not yet.
Sylvan looks down, his eyes on my tight nipples, poking at the fabric of my shirt.
His nostrils flare as he steps closer, but he doesn’t look up.
“He can own you. I just want a bite,” he murmurs. He parts his lips and runs his tongue over his left canine. Then he glances up at me as my chest heaves. I feel like I’m liquid. Melting.
He brings his hand up and staring right at me, he palms my breast through my top.
A soft gasp leaves my lips and I arch my ass into Faust as I push my chest further into Sylvan’s big hand.
He laughs, like he’s amused, then he pinches my nipple hard.
I suck in a breath, my fingers curling into fists, but I don’t stop him.
He jerks up, like he’s tugging me along, and I rise on my tiptoes in my heels, like that will ease the pain.
He watches my eyes, mocking me. “Such a good toy,” he whispers.
“I’m not your fucking toy—”
He squeezes as hard as he can and I double over, causing Faust to grab Sylvan’s wrist and force him off me. I don’t think I wanted that, though. No one has touched like Sylvan has, and I like it.
But Faust jerked him closer, and now both boys are a breath away, over my shoulder.
“You don’t like when I hurt your plaything, Captain?” Sylvan murmurs softly, his eyes dipping down to Faust’s mouth.
Faust doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t let go of Sylvan, and he doesn’t move his hand from my hip.
Between them, I feel like I’m on fire.
“We could take turns. Put her legs behind her head and each fuck both holes before we switch off.”
Oh, fuck.
I feel dizzy.
Humiliated.
But I don’t hate it.
“Where did you learn shit like that?” Faust snarls.
Sylvan brushes his lips over Faust’s, and Faust doesn’t pull away. “You don’t know me. You have no idea where I come from.”
And I can’t resist. “Wherever it is, you learned to be a really sore loser, huh, baby Connor?”
Sylvan pulls back, then his hand is at my throat, knocking my skull back into Faust’s chest.
He’s not holding tight enough to leave a mark or stop my breath, but the motion has me gasping all the same.
“Where I come from, girls like you would’ve learned to respect their betters at this big age.”
Anger flares inside me. I breathe in, then, for the second time, I spit on his pretty boy face.
It lands on his cheek, his fingers flexing against my throat, and without warning, only flashing his teeth in a heartbeat of a smile, he leans in, and his mouth crashes into mine.
For a pulse, I don’t react.
His mouth is cold, probably from his drink, and the taste of whiskey and mint explodes on my tongue as I part for him.
The sensation I notice first is the way Faust’s fingers tighten on my hip.
How, involuntarily, I press further against him, and I can feel his erection on my spine.
But my fingers come to Sylvan’s chest, clawing against his shirt as I jerk him closer, and finally, I’m in control enough to kiss back.
He groans low in his throat, one arm snaking around my waist, just over Faust’s grip on me. My tongue twirls with his, but I want to hurt him. It’s reckless, wild, a consequence of how he touched me, pinched my nipple so hard I was like a puppet on a string for him.
I bite at his bottom lip, my eyes closed, but I hear him groan again, and it’s so fucking hot, nothing like the guys I’ve slept with who try to hide all the sounds of their pleasure.
He bites back, and when my eyes fly open in surprise, a moan of my own leaving my mouth, he’s staring back at me, blue-gray irises barely visible from his low lids, like he’s drunk, starving; both.
I rush my palm up, my fingers on his throat now, and he releases mine, only to trail it down my back, then…
Faust stiffens behind me, digging his fingertips so hard against my hip, I know he’ll have left a bruise.
And Sylvan is kissing me, staring at me, his lips soft and seeking now, but his hand at my back, it’s moving in a pattern, and I realize… he’s running his hand over Faust’s hard cock.
Fuck.
My heart gallops inside my chest, desire flooding through me in ways I didn’t think were possible.
But Faust’s lips come to my ear and he says, loud enough for Sylvan to hear but low enough it’s a whisper on my skin, “Tonight, it’s only her.”
“But you should let him—”
“Just you, baby.” He cuts me off, but Sylvan doesn’t stop touching him.
Until I feel Faust’s hand reach between us and he must grip Sylvan hard enough to hurt him because he hisses through his teeth, and the motion stops.
Faust guides Sylvan’s hand around me, then hooks his fingers on the top button of my pants.
Faust’s hands cup my thighs and he says to his teammate, “Ask her.”
Sylvan dips his head so his temple is pressed to mine and for the moment, our lips part.
“I want to make you fucking come, Neve,” he says, eyes darting from one to the other, pupils nearly blown. “You wear some other man’s jersey while you watch me play. You fuck up my goal. I deserve to be inside you.”
“Oh, you deserve it, huh?” I whisper, our lips touching.
“You cost us the game. Your pussy is the price.” He inhales deep, eyes fluttering shut one heartbeat. “Besides,” he says, staring right at me, “I can smell how wet you are already.”
My body is on fire, my pulse elevated, and Sylvan isn’t wrong in his assessment.
“Say yes,” he commands me. “Or I’ll fuck Tasia from behind and pretend she’s you. Her cunt is tight, too, and I know it’s just begging for me to come back inside. Her ass bounces when I’m deep and she told me I could take both holes next—”