Chapter 8
EIGHT
HANNAH
The look on his face fuels me.
Surprise. Disdain.
Hate.
Coach looks at me with confusion, but right now, he’s just a pawn.
“What are we apologizing for, Rye?” I ask, batting my falsies.
“Hannah,” he warns.
“Oh, right,” I fake a laugh, moving into the office. “Is it the time you had sex with Coach Winslow's wife at the Emerald Hotel? Or the time on the Sun House rooftop?”
“Coach, give us a moment, please,” Rye says, but Coach’s face is already deep red, gripping his pen so hard he might break it.
Not before I break him. “Oh, it’s for the time in your office, isn’t it?”
That gets Rye on his feet.
“Enough!” Coach is next to stand, looking between us.
“Excuse Hannah, she's having a mental break,” Rye says, calm and collected. But I don't miss his knuckles whitening as he grips the leather chair.
“Sorry, Coach, I’m just not used to seeing Ryung off your wife.”
Coach slams his clipboard on the table. “I want you both out of my office by the time I’m back.”
“Coach, wait.” Rye chases him to the door while I relish in his desperation.
“For what?” I ask, pushing the knife in. “Haven't you humiliated him enough? Or did you miss the headlines?”
Coach slams the door behind him, leaving us both in the quiet room.
My laughter breaks the silence.
“Oh, you think this is fucking funny.” Rye turns to me, standing by the door with his chest heaving. His black shirt sticks to his muscles, flexed as he glares. “You’re amused?”
So I square up with him. Because fuck him. “What? You thought you could take my dream internship and I’d let you get away with it?” Hoisting myself up on Coach’s desk, I soak up his anger. “Don’t fuck with me again, Rowen.”
“I’ll do with you as I please.” He moves towards me, passing a duffel bag on the sofa. “Let’s make that clear.” He looks at me like he did that night, those eyes sucking me into his darkness as he reaches into the bag.
“Why can’t you take the loss? This is my kingdom.
You failed at ruling it. And getting your sister to run the show because you can’t?
Desperate. Just like how you were begging for the Coach to—” A gasp escapes me, cutting off my words.
I don’t realize Rye is in front of me until the edge of a hockey skate lands against my neck.
“Not laughing now, are you, Hannah?” My eyes drop to the blade shining under the office lights. He chuckles, the coldness of the blade making goosebumps rise to my skin. “There she is.” He dips his head, his lips coming to my ear. “I’m learning what gets to you, Kitten.”
“You don’t threaten me.” He drags the blade down to my collar, my body stiffening.
“Liar.” His words land harshly against my ear.
“You feel threatened.” I hate the way my words come out. Shaky. Unconfident. But it’s tough when he’s pinning me between his hard muscles and this desk with that blade to my throat. “You feel weak, and that’s because of me.”
“Funny.” I shriek when he grabs my hair, spinning me around in one quick swoop so my back lands hard against his chest. The blade returns to my neck.
“I don’t feel weak. Not when I can feel your heartbeat on my fucking chest.” He pulls my hair harder, forcing a hiss out of my mouth. “Do I feel weak to you, Hannah?”
He moves the blade lightly against my collar, enough to kiss the skin. It reminds me of where he used that shard, and it makes my legs buckle enough that I fall against him.
Ember’s voice is loud in my head.
“Leave Ryung alone!”
“Coach is coming back," I remind him, but he ignores me, trailing that blade lower and lower. My back arches just a little when the blade lands between my breasts. Then my body betrays me, my nipples hardening when he drags the blade over them. My ragged voice betrays me, too. “Rye…”
“You think you’re more powerful than I am?
” The hum of the lights becomes inaudible, and all I hear is him.
“Show me.” He pulls the skate down to where the hem of the jersey meets my thighs.
Using the tip, he pulls up the fabric until my pink panties and bra are on display.
“What’s the matter, Kitten?” I’m frozen in place with the way he moves that blade, like in any second he can scar my skin.
Make me bleed. He uses the tip to push down the fabric of my bra, exposing my nipple to the cold air.
That’s when I realize how much they ache.
“Can’t play with lions? You meet your match? ”
“You’re so desperate to prove you can handle me.” Squeezing my thighs together, I won’t admit what he’s doing to me. “Cute.”
“Unh, unh.” He pushes his knee between my legs, keeping them open.
The cold blade of the skate caresses my aching nipple, and I fold my lips to make sure I don’t give him the satisfaction of how that makes me feel.
Like I’m on a cloud. “Don’t deprive yourself, Kitten.
” His fingers flirt with my skin, grazing my thigh as he lets the blade of the skate fall against my nipple.
Another gasp escapes me, my back arching against him again.
“You’re a feminist after all.” My mouth falls open when his finger slips between my legs. “You give in to my control, don’t you?”
“No.” My voice doesn’t have as much bite as I’d like. It sounds soft. Yearning.
“Then tell me to stop.”
“Controlling me doesn’t give you that power ba—” The way he slides his fingers between my slit brings my words to a shaking stop. I’m wet. I know he can tell. And that’s more embarrassing than how I felt at the gallery.
“You didn’t say stop,” he chuckles, that blade sliding back up to my throat. “I’ll give you five seconds to take that back, and I won’t bury my fingers deep inside you to teach you a lesson about control. Five…”
“Your blade’s against my throat,” I push out.
“Tell me to stop and I’ll move it. Four.
” Words don’t leave my mouth as his fingers graze my throbbing clit back and forth like a magician’s watch.
Hypnotizing. “Three.” His voice gets lower, like he’s noticed I’m not stopping him.
His countdown only fills me with an aching anticipation that drives me so crazy I buck against his fingers.
His chuckle rolls through me as he pats his fingers against my clit, each one making me shiver.
“Patience, Kitten, I keep my word. Two.”
“Please,” I whisper, and suddenly I’m the one in Coach’s office begging.
My cheeks burn at the thought, a roll in my stomach when I imagine Coach coming back to find us like this.
This jersey hiked to my chest, Rye’s fingers between my legs and a skate to my throat.
I must be as batshit as they say because right now?
I don’t care. Pushing back on him tells me he wants this as much as I do, his hardness against my ass. “We shouldn’t—”
“One.”
A soft moan escapes me when his long fingers enter me, my body embarrassing me with how easily they slide in.
“Oh fucking god…” It feels like I’ve found water on Mars, my body relaxing against him. The room spins as he thrusts his fingers inside me, a slow rhythm before he quickens his pace.
“What excites you about a blade to your throat while my fingers are inside you, Hannah?” His words landing against my face, I grind against his fingers.
He curls them, hitting a spot that makes my vision blur.
He plays me like he plays our games. Calculated.
Wild. Consuming. “What excites you about me controlling you?”
My answer? More moans.
He claims my body in a way that turns me into a freaking zombie. He moves his fingers not like he’s trying to get me off, no, he’s taking me for a ride. He rubs his thumb against my clit as he thrusts his fingers harder into me, my back hot against his warm chest.
“You don’t…” Trying to speak just makes me sound stupid, my words trailing off into a long moan.
“Control you?” He brings that skate up to my lips, a jolt up my spine.
The way he uses his fingers feels like a symphony in my body.
“Be quiet, Kitten, unless you want everyone around to hear what I do to you.” He picks up his pace when I try to speak, curling his fingers in tandem when they reach the top of his thrusts.
“Holy fuck.” My ass grinds against him, but that only makes him chuckle, the vibrations rolling through me. My body falls back against him as the entire room fades away. For a second, it’s just me in his arms as he moves his fingers, keeping me in the clouds for what seems like a decade.
“You want to come, I can feel it,” he growls in my ear.
“I can feel you tightening on my fingers, Hannah. I can feel how wet you are for me.” His words urge me on, and if this is Rye in full control, I can’t be mad.
He’s taking me all the way there. He’s taking me to—oh fuck.
I tighten around his fingers as he chuckles some more, but I’m a gasping mess.
My body shakes against him, the entire room a blur. “Show me what I do to you.”
It’s like he’s done this a thousand times, his fingers moving inside me like he knows every cranny. Then it hits me like a freight train.
“Fuck yes!” I cry, my skin tingling, my body quaking as I shatter against him. For a second, everything fades. My worries. My parents. My grades. Everything but us.
“That’s a good girl.”
His last words make the room crash back. The medals. The trophies. The team photo. Turning to meet his eyes, they look smug as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them one by one.
As for me? I’m speechless with jelly knees and my mouth stuck together.
Pushing off him, I pull down the jersey and head for the door, his laughter following me. My cheeks burn on the way, my head so fucking twisted that I don’t notice Mac until I bump into his chest.
“The fuck, Hannah?” he asks, aggressive as always. When I look up at him, he looks past me, and I glance back with him.
Rye stares at us through the Coach’s office window, that smug smirk still on his face.