Chapter 23 #2
I leave her room, closing the door behind me, and head into the bathroom.
I don't have much time, but still, I pull out my rock hard dick, lean over the sink, and pump it in my hand.
Closing my eyes, I imagine I'd just pulled those shorts down and fucked her over that pillow in her room with her tits spilling over her top.
I turn on the water so she doesn't hear me groaning while I stroke every painfully hard inch.
I need to fuck her before I beat my dick raw.
Cum erupts from the tip and into the sink, dripping down my fist until it finally stops pulsing. I clean myself up and leave the bathroom. Saige waits in the kitchen with her arms crossed in front of her, and she looks like she knows exactly what I was doing.
I don't give a fuck. I didn't come on her towels or her toothbrush, and I really wanted to. She should be grateful for that.
"Ready to go?"
"I don't have skates here," she says.
"The rec center has automated rentals for skates and gear. You just need your student ID. And if you don't have your student ID, I'll use mine."
"Great…"
Her tone drips with sarcasm, but I don't care—not this time.
She follows me out to the car, and I drive to the rec center—to the same rink where I'd threatened her before. I scan my card and nod to the security guard on the way in, and gear up while Saige finds some skates in her size.
"I'm going to look fucking ridiculous," she complains while she gets the helmet and pads on. "This is heavy as hell; I'm going to fall down."
I chuckle a little. "You're going to be fine."
No one is here—exactly as I'd hoped. I take a deep breath and glide out onto the ice. I have to admit—it feels right. It even smells right, and ice doesn't smell—at least I didn't think so before now. I do a few quick laps around the rink while waiting for Saige.
When she stumbles through the gate, I can't stop myself from laughing. Even in the smallest sized pads available, she's still drowning in them.
She rolls her eyes. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Play goalie," I tell her.
"Okay. I get it now."
"What do you get?"
"You just wanted an excuse to hit me."
My brow furrows with confusion. "Saige…you don't really think I want to hit you, do you?"
"I mean…" She shrugs. "Yeah, I kind of do. It's not like it would be the first time."
"That's not really why I do that. It's not like I want to beat you up or something. And if I did, well…you're the size of a flea, so I guess I would have done it by now, right?"
"Is that supposed to comfort me?" she asks as she skates toward the goal.
"Yeah, doesn't it? If I were going to physically hurt you, it would have already happened. You've certainly fucking asked for it."
"I haven't asked for shit!"
"You want to know why I do the things I do to you? It's because it makes my dick hard."
"Jesus, Elias…" She shakes her head. "Inside fucking thoughts. I told you to keep that shit to yourself."
I shake my head. "Whatever."
But then I freeze. Because she's fucking lying.
If she remembers inside thoughts, then she remembers everything else that happened that night. She remembers kissing me. And she's faking it.
It pisses me off.
I think she realizes her mistake because she quickly starts talking about something else, likely to distract me.
"When was the last time you played?"
"I haven't even been on skates since the accident, Saige," I tell her. "Nothing made me want to. Except for you. I wanted to do it with you—not because I want to hit you. I just want to be with you."
"Elias—"
"Don't tell me it's an inside thought. Are you ready?"
She nods. "I guess so."
I skate around for a while, just trying to get used to handling the puck again while I try to calm the fuck down a little. But rage always served me well in sports, and it seems to be serving me well now.
There isn't much to get used to. It's like riding a bike. I feel at home on the ice. I feel sharp.
I feel like a version of myself who's almost impossible to stomach now. Ah, well. Moment of truth, I guess.
I skate the puck to the center of the ice, pull back, and swing hard, sending the puck flying toward Saige and the net. She steps aside and lets it hit dead-center.
And I feel…nothing. I'm fine. Just like Saige said I was.
But I only hit it once. What would happen if I did that same motion two hundred or three hundred times? A thousand fucking times?
Even if your arm fell off, it would be worth it, the voice in my head says.
It sounds a lot like me.
"You have to at least try to block it," I tell her.
"I told you I wasn't the person for this job. How does your shoulder feel?"
I roll it out a few times, wincing for effect. "It's been better," I lie. "Send it back."
She swings at the puck and somehow manages to fucking miss it.
"That's terrible. You're not golfing."
"You made me come here."
"Just try again."
At least this time, she connects with the puck, and it almost makes it to me.
"Try to block it this time."
"Elias, it's one in the morning."
"If you try, you can sleep in tomorrow. I'll make breakfast."
"Ugh, fine. I'll stand in the middle and let it hit me."
I laugh. "Good girl."
My puck control seems to be just fine as I skate the outside of the rink, counting each shot. I take twenty over the next hour and a half, and Saige accidentally blocks two of them.
And still, my shoulder feels just fine.
It'll probably hurt in the morning. Unless she is right. I know Dax thinks I'm faking, too.
"Elias, I'm tired. This shit's heavy, and my legs hurt. Can we go home now?"
"Yeah, we can go," I tell her.
She drops the skates and equipment into the return bins, and we walk back to the car.
"How'd it feel?" she asks when I pull out of the parking space.
Honestly? It felt really fucking good. I feel at peace on the ice in a way I've never felt anywhere else—like I'm home.
It felt like that. But I can't say that.
"I don't know. Kind of weird. My arm's a little sore. Next time, I'll teach you how to shoot."
"Next time?"
"I know you want to hit me. I won't even wear pads."
Saige bites back a smile, turning toward the window so I don't notice. "Okay."
"Why are you the first one up and making breakfast?" Dax asks, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.
"I told Saige she could sleep in."
"Why?"
"Just felt like it," I say.
I grab a plate and sit across from Nolan before Dax sits next to me.
"Maybe I should wake her up," Dax says. "She has class at nine."
"It's only eight. She has an hour," Nolan tells him. "She hates waking up early. Just let her sleep."
"I'm up," Saige says, coming out of her room. "Your bad habits have rubbed off on me."
"Morning, baby," Dax says.
"Morning."
"I made you one, too, Saige. It's on the stove."
She side-eyes me before filling a cup of coffee and grabbing the plate. "Is it poisoned?"
"Maybe."
She sighs and pulls out the chair at the end of the table, but Dax stops her before she sits down. "You know the rules, Saige." He pats his leg. "I saved you a seat, princess."
Saige feigns annoyance before pushing her plate next to his and sitting in his lap, but I can tell she likes it. She likes when he babies her.
But I don't. I fucking hate it.
"You look tired," Dax says. "Are you having more nightmares?"
"No, that's because Elias made me go—"
"Saige…" I cut her off, pressing a finger to my lips and shaking my head. "It's a secret."
"Never mind."
"Go where? Secrets don't make friends," Dax says.
"It's just a small secret. I'll tell them when I'm ready, Saige; you don't need to do it for me. I don't think that's a lot to ask, do you?"
Saige shrugs. "I don't think it's that big of a deal."
"Well, it is to me. You keep the secret, and you don't have to do my laundry or my homework anymore. And I'll know if you tell."
"Fine."
"I don't like this," Dax says. "Since when do we keep fucking secrets from each other around here?"
"I have a good reason."
"Saige, let me see your phone, baby," Nolan says, changing the subject.
"I haven't gotten any texts in two days," she tells him. "I checked this morning."
"Well, that's fucking weird," Dax says.
Nolan shrugs. "Maybe…maybe not."
"I'm not complaining."
"Well, I'm going to go." Nolan leans over and kisses Saige on the lips. "Bye, baby. I'll see you at the library later, okay?"
"Okay, bye."
"Later," Dax says.
"I've got to go, too." I get up, put my dishes in the dishwasher, and head for the staircase. Dax and Saige start whispering and laughing before I'm even out of earshot. "Don't tell the secret, Saige. I'm so fucking serious."
"I'm not," she says. "I don't want to do your laundry."
"See you in psych. Remember what a terrible liar you are."
Maybe I'll make her wear my jersey next time. I haven't been able to look at it in years, but I haven't gotten rid of it. I think I'd like to look at it on her.