Chapter 1 #3
I peel the rest of my gear off slowly, dragging it out. Every motion feels heavy, deliberate, like maybe if I move carefully enough, I won’t have to face what’s really gnawing at me. But of course, it doesn’t work.
The second my chest is bare, the second I stretch my sore muscles and breathe deep—the thought crashes back. That bastard is in my veins tonight, crawling through me like fire under the skin.
I picture him grinning at me across the ice, his mouth curving like he knows a secret, his eyes sparkling with cruel delight. He didn’t just want to win—he wanted to unravel me.
And he succeeded.
I slam my locker shut with a metallic bang.
The sound ricochets off tile and concrete, sharp enough to startle me in the emptiness.
For a moment, I stand frozen, jaw clenched, fists tight, trying to breathe.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him. I shouldn’t be seeing his face every time I blink, or replaying that stupid brush of contact, the taunt that slipped straight under my armor.
I’ve always noticed him, always watched the way he moves.
Even before tonight, even before this latest humiliation.
There’s something magnetic about him, something raw.
Where I am all angles and discipline, he is fire and chaos, and part of me has been drawn to that from the start. And I hate myself for it.
Would it help if I bent you over later?
My body betrays me. My cock stirs in my compression shorts as if to remind me of the nights I’ve lain awake after games, fists clenched, images of Magnus storming into my head uninvited.
Dark images. Shameful ones.
Him finding me here, when the team is gone, when no one could ever know. His voice in my ear, mocking, taunting, telling me how pathetic I am while pinning me against the lockers.
I imagine his breath hot against my throat. His hands rough, greedy, holding me down. The scrape of stubble, the press of teeth.
I’ve replayed it in my head too many times.
Magnus shoving me down to my knees, fingers curling in my hair, forcing me to look up at him with those ice-blue eyes while I choke on his cock.
Him whispering That’s right, Ice Prince, melt for me.
Sometimes it’s worse. Sometimes I picture him bending me over the bench, his laugh curling dark in my ear as he drives into me, relentless, brutal, until I forget who I am and what I’m supposed to stand for.
I jerk back to the present with a growl, dragging my hands over my face hard enough to sting.
God, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I’m supposed to be in control. That’s who I am—Alaric Hale, steady as stone, cold as ice, unshakable no matter the pressure. That’s what my family drilled into me. What the Titans expect from me. What I built my reputation on.
But one smirk from fucking Flint, and I’m undone.
The shame twists in my gut, a knot I can’t loosen.
It makes me angry—at him, at myself, at this whole fucking night.
I pace the room, bare feet slapping against cold tile.
The showers hiss in the distance, but otherwise it’s just me, circling like a caged animal.
My mind won’t stop circling, too. Every time I try to push him out, he claws back in, stronger.
I pause in front of the mirror above the sinks. My reflection stares back—silvery hair plastered with sweat, skin flushed, eyes too dark. I don’t look composed. I don’t look controlled. I look… hungry.
The sight makes me flinch.
I grab the edge of the sink, knuckles white, forcing myself to breathe. In, out. In, out. But all I can think about is how close he was on the ice tonight. How his shoulder brushed mine. How his words slid like a blade between my ribs.
And how part of me wanted to lean in closer.
My fantasies shift, unbidden. I picture him different this time—not laughing, not mocking, but looking at me with something sharp and serious, pinning me not just with his body but with his gaze. Something dangerous there. Something that promises I’ll never be the same.
My cock is hard now, pressing against the fabric, humiliating proof of my weakness. I squeeze my thighs together, fists trembling, trying to will it away. But it only gets worse.
I need to get out of here. Maybe I can slip out before any of the wolves, rush back to the bus, and just rot under the seats. Because I know if I see him, I won’t be able to hide the straining shame in my pants.
I remember the heat of him against me. I remember the way my pulse spiked, the way my control shattered. I can’t let this guy own something of me. He’s so wrapped in my head I think one more thought might kill me.
I don’t know how the fuck to take back my focus, my dignity.
I sit in the silence until my breathing slows, until I can look at myself again, until I can shove the fantasies deep enough down to function. But even as I finally grab my towel and head toward the showers, I know the truth I can’t outrun:
If he ever does corner me here, if he ever follows through on the threats that glint behind his grin—
I won’t be able to resist.
Not really.
And maybe that terrifies me most of all.