Chapter 8 #2
We duck through a side door marked Employees Only. It’s quiet—too quiet. He pushes open another door, and suddenly we’re in a private lobby bathroom. Marble, gold trim, the kind of place no one ever actually uses.
He locks the door behind us.
“This is insane,” he says. “You can’t just—show up like this.”
I lean against the counter, studying him. “You could’ve ignored my message.”
He shakes his head, frustration sharpening every word. “You think this is a game?”
I don’t reply, just level him with a look.
He exhales hard, pacing. “Magnus, we need to stop whatever this is.”
“That’s why you came down here alone?” I tilt my head and smile. “To break things off with me?”
His jaw tightens. He looks away, then back at me, eyes bright with something I can’t quite name—anger, guilt, want. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”
Frustration finally swallows me whole. He can’t keep acting like he’s not playing the game, too.
“I’m not doing anything you don’t want, Alaric.
If you don’t want to be near me, say the word.
You don’t want me to kiss you again? Tell me.
I’ll never touch you unless it’s to beat your ass on the ice.
But I want to know if you feel this consuming hunger for me like I do for you.
Because I can’t get you out of my fucking head. ”
He steps closer, voice rough. “You think this—whatever this is—can survive the league? The press? Our teams?”
I shrug. “Didn’t ask about survival. I asked if you feel it.”
His silence answers for him.
I take a step forward, closing the space until I can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the pulse in his throat. His breathing stutters but he doesn’t back away.
He leans his forehead against mine. “I don’t know what I want.”
“I can show you a possibility,” My voice doesn’t sound familiar to me.
The moment tilts. The air changes. He moves first—grabs my hoodie, yanks me down, mouth finding mine in one clean motion that feels like breaking and coming home at once.
It’s not soft. It’s too full of everything we’ve been avoiding—frustration, want, the months of trying to pretend it didn’t matter. I taste the apology he won’t say. The warning I won’t hear.
For a heartbeat, the world outside doesn’t exist. There’s just his breath against my cheek, the sound of rain on the windows, the echo of something we can’t name pulling us closer.
Then he pulls back, eyes wide, chest heaving.
“We can’t,” he says again. “If anyone saw—”
“No one has.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point. You want me in the dark? Fine. As long as I can have you.”
I meet his lips again, sliding my hands under his shirt.
He breaks the kiss. “You make everything complicated.”
I grin faintly against his neck. “I make everything better.”
Alaric’s head lolls to the side as I suck against his collarbone. I turn him so his back is flat against my chest. My mouth still painting his neck with bruises. He makes a dirty little sound as he presses his ass against my hard-on.
“You want me?” I growl into his ear.
“Magnus—”
“Answer the question, prince.” I grip his jaw, making him meet my eyes through the mirror.
He breathes heavily, his gray eyes all fire—no trace of the ice he’s known for. “Yes.”
Relief almost swallows me whole. He admitted it.
He can’t deny that I’m the only one who can give him what he needs.
I try to stay calm. Every nerve in my body is telling me to tear into him, to leave him ruined and torn in this bathroom.
I take a deep breath to steady myself. I can’t break my toy so early on.
“Good boy. Open your mouth.”
His eyebrows knit together, and his mouth opens like he’s about to ask me a question, but I shove two fingers down his throat.
His back arches, a small sound of surprise humming through his chest.
I pull his hips against me, trying to relieve myself with a small amount of friction. “Suck.”
He listens beautifully when he’s this needy. Alaric sucks and licks my fingers like they’re candy as my free hand slips just below the waistband of his joggers. My fingers brush against his hair, his cock only a few centimeters away.
I push his pants down over his round ass. He moans as the cold air causes goosebumps to scatter across his skin.
God, he’s so fucking vocal. I need to stay focused so I don’t come in my pants right here.
I pull my fingers from his mouth and press them to his entrance.
“Wait—”
Wait? I can’t wait any longer. I’ve been dreaming about him, worshiping him from afar, and now I finally have him under my hands. And he wants me to wait?
My other hand starts pumping his penis, using the small bead of pre cum to make my hand slick. Alaric’s hands grip the counter, his knuckles white. His hole begins to loosen as I press my fingers into him even deeper.
I press a kiss to his neck, doing my best to keep him balanced against me. “Take your shirt off, Alaric.”
Alaric raises shaky hands and grabs the neck of his shirt, pulling it over his head.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My pupils are blown, mouth just about salivating at the sight of him. “Fuck, you’re so pretty. You’re doing such a good job listening, baby.”
Alaric moans, and his cock twitches in my hand.
I chuckle. “You like praise?”
He blushes, avoiding my gaze. “Maybe.”
Fuck, he’s so cute when he’s shy. I lick up his neck.
“Yes. I mean, yes.” Alaric croaks.
“Hm, I guess I’ll reward you for your honesty.”
I pull my hands from him, kissing his shoulders while fumbling to find my wallet. Do I have a condom in there? God, I hope so.
“Hurry up, Magnus.” Alaric presses his thighs together, arching his back. His voice is husky. “I feel like I’m gonna die.”
I smirk, spinning him round to face me. My hand finds his throat, choking him enough to make him dizzy but not enough to actually hurt him. “Who the fuck are you talking to like that?”
The red head of his cock is heavy and dripping against my jeans. “Sorry...”
“Make it up to me.” I nod towards the ground.
Alaric drops to his knees, unbuttoning my jeans with trembling hands. My heart pounds in my ears at his willingness to listen. Like he was made for me. Like he wants me as badly as I want him.
His mouth is soft and warm around me, almost making my knees buckle. I need to remember this is supposed to be a punishment for him giving me sass. My hips buck, pressing myself deep down his throat.
“Fuck, what was I doing?” My fingers lace through his silver hair, forgetting my wallet on the counter.
He’s doing something with his tongue that’s making it too hard to think. “I was going to fuck you, but then you tried to rush me, baby.”
Alaric releases my cock with a pop. “I said I was sorry...” He pouts, licking the seam of my dick.
I yank his hair so his eyes have to meet mine. “Guess you’ll have to wait till next time to come.”
“What—?” I shove myself deep into his throat, my hips bucking punishingly.
Tears stream down his face as he chokes around me.
“Damn, you’re even pretty when you cry.” I wipe the tears from his cheeks.
His dick is swollen and wet in his lap, like one touch would undo him. Perfect.
“You’re gonna swallow every drop, Alaric.”
He blinks in acknowledgment before I come long and hard into his mouth.
His fingers grip my thighs, pulling me closer as I feel his throat swallowing around me.
Alaric pulls away from me, his lip split, cheeks pink. “You’re...really not gonna let me come?”
I pull my pants up, leaning down to kiss his mouth. “Nope, that’s your punishment. I will next time.” I pause. “If you want a next time.”
The words hang there. I can tell he wants to say more, to push, to run—but the spell’s already breaking. The hallway hums with the faint whir of vents, footsteps echo somewhere beyond the door. Reality seeps back in.
Alaric stands, pulling on his clothes. His cock is angry and large in his pants.
“You gonna let Kyle see you like that?” I ask, smoothing his hair out of his face.
He reaches for the handle of the bathroom, not meeting my eyes. “You need to go before someone sees you.”
I nod, forcing myself to back away, though my pulse is still racing. “You going to pretend this didn’t happen?”
His lips twitch. “I’m good at pretending.”
He opens the door a crack, peers out, then glances back once—just once. The look he gives me isn’t confusion anymore. It’s warning, and promise, and something dangerously close to need.
Then he’s gone, slipping back toward the elevator, hoodie up, every inch of him composed again.
I stay there, breathing the ghost of him in the air, knowing full well this isn’t over.
Not even close.
The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows feels deafening.
For a second, I just stand there—hands braced on the counter, chest rising and falling hard enough to hurt. The marble still smells faintly like him: soap, sweat, and something clean that’ll stick to my memory for weeks.
I push off the counter, rake both hands through my hair, and stare at myself in the mirror. My reflection’s a mess—eyes bloodshot, lips bitten, sweat cooling on my neck. I should feel guilty. I should feel something close to shame.
Instead, I smile. It’s not pride. It’s not regret either. It’s victory.
Because he came to me. Because every wall he’s tried to build since that first night keeps crumbling the second we’re alone. Because no matter how polished he is in interviews, how perfect he looks on the ice, he can’t hide from what happens when it’s just us.
He can fight it all he wants—he’s mine now. Maybe not in words, maybe not in the way that counts on paper, but in every look, every shiver, every breath. He’s tethered to me. And I’ll tug the line until he admits it.
I grab my jacket, slip out the service exit the same way we came in. The night air hits like cold water, sobering and sharp. The lot’s mostly empty—just a few team buses and a row of sleek cars that scream sponsorship deals and family money.
For a second, I imagine him inside, trying to sleep, lying on his back in that hotel bed while the sound of my voice still echoes in his head. I bet he hates himself for it. I bet he’s replaying every second.
That thought keeps me warm on the drive home. The road stretches long and empty. The headlights carve tunnels through the dark. I roll the window down halfway, let the cold air bite at my face. The world feels too still, too ordinary, after what just happened.
I tap the steering wheel in rhythm with the hum in my chest—the leftover adrenaline, the low hum of satisfaction that still won’t fade. I should probably feel bad for showing up again, for pushing him when he was trying to do the right thing.
But that’s not what this is anymore. It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about real. About that look in his eyes when I touch him—the one that says he’s been starving for something he can’t even name. The one that says no one else makes him feel like this.
Kyle Thorn sure as hell doesn’t.
My jaw tightens at the thought of him. The guy who’d buy flowers, watch bad rom-coms, and never raise his voice. Alaric deserves better than safe. He deserves someone who can see him—all of him—even the cracks he keeps hidden under those expensive suits and that polished smirk.
I think about the way he whispered my name tonight, like he didn’t mean to let it slip. That’s what I’ll remember. That’s what I’ll chase.
When I hit Frost Haven’s city limits, the neon signs blur by like ghosts. My hands ache from how tight I’m gripping the wheel. The clock on the dash flashes 1:27 a.m. I should sleep. I should crash for ten hours, let my body rest before practice.
But I can’t stop thinking about him. I want to see him again—soon. Push harder. Make him admit it out loud.
Next time, I’ll make sure he can’t leave without saying my name twice.