Chapter 21 - Elias #2
“I swear I’m fine. Yeah, it hurts, but it’s nothing. I’ve played through worse. I want to play through worse. If you take me off the ice, they’ll think it’s because—because of us. Because you’re—” My voice cracks, ribs pulling when I suck in a breath. “Because you’re giving me special treatment.”
That gets him.
His head turns slow, water dripping off the scar at his mouth, mismatched eyes cutting straight into me. My knees almost buckle under it.
“You think this is favoritism,” he says. Not a question.
I swallow so hard it hurts. “Yes, sir.”
Silence stretches. Hot water pounds down my back. My ribs ache but I don’t look away. I can’t.
“I don’t want special treatment,” I whisper, words cracking. “I want to earn it. All of it. Every rep, every shift, every second. Please. Don’t take me off the ice.”
My voice breaks again on please. Too high. Too wrecked. My chest is trembling and I can hear how pathetic I sound, but I can’t stop.
“Sir, I’m begging you. Don’t bench me.”
My back hits the shower tiles with a wet slap, steam curling up around us like smoke. Captain’s hand locks around my throat, thumb pressing steady under my chin, tilting my head back until my pulse thunders against his grip.
He doesn’t say anything.
Not at first.
Just looks down at me. Those eyes drag over my face—eyes, lips, throat—and back up again, slow enough to unravel every nerve in my body. His thumb strokes my jaw once, deliberate, claiming.
I stare up at him like an idiot. Wide-eyed. Mouth parted. Like he hung the moon, the sun, the stars, every single light in the goddamn world. Because to me…he did.
The steam, the pounding water—none of it matters. It’s just him. The weight of his hand, the weight of his silence, the way he’s holding me in place like I’ll break if he lets go.
And then—finally—he speaks.
“Everyone’s off the ice tomorrow.” His voice carries, low but firm, cutting through the hiss of the showers. Loud enough that I know the boys outside hear it too.
My eyes go wide. My jaw drops. I gape up at him like he just set the whole rink on fire.
And then—
“Oh my god YES!” Cole groans from the other side of the wall. “Bless you, curls, you little angel—sucking real good, huh?”
Laughter detonates across the locker room. Shane wheezes like he’s praying through his cackles, Mats smacks his stick against the wall, Tyler chokes loud enough I’m surprised he doesn’t pass out.
My whole body ignites scarlet. Redder than my jersey, redder than blood on the ice. “Oh my god,” I choke, wanting the tiles to swallow me whole.
And Captain?
He smirks.
Just a slow curl across his scarred mouth. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even need to. His thumb strokes once more across my jaw, calm as ever, while my entire soul combusts around him.
“You did that on purpose…” I whine up at him, throat straining under his grip.
His thumb presses harder under my chin, tilting me back until the water beats down over my face, hot and merciless. His mismatched eyes never move.
“You accused me of favoritism.” His voice is steady, calm, sharp enough to cut the tiles behind my head. “It’s not favoritism if they’re all off the ice.”
My stomach flips. My pulse slams. And then—he presses me deeper into the wall, chest to chest, weight crushing, hand unyielding around my throat until I can’t even think about pulling air without his permission.
“And you’re going to pay,” he whispers, low against my lips, heat bleeding straight into me, “for that little attitude.”
My whimper cracks out helpless, muffled under the roar of the shower. My thighs tremble, my cock jerks against wet fabric because even bruised and pinned and wrung out, all I can think is yes, sir.
His mouth hovers a breath from mine, close enough to burn, close enough that if I lean forward even an inch, I’ll fall straight into fire.
The water drums steady against my back, my ribs protest under his hand, and my pulse thrashes wild against his thumb. I’m trembling, waiting for it, waiting for the punishment to land—waiting for him to break me right here against the tiles.
But he doesn’t.
He just leans in closer, lips brushing mine, not kissing, not giving—just hovering. His breath is hot enough to burn through the steam, through my skin, through bone.
“You think I’m giving you special treatment?” His voice is low, razor-sharp, scraping right down my spine. “You think it’s favoritism?”
I gasp, my lips parting instinctively, desperate for him, desperate for anything.
“I’ll show you favoritism later,” he whispers, lethal and steady. “When I’ve got you on your knees where you belong. When I make you choke on every word until you remember what you’re for.”
His mouth drags lower, close to my ear, and I feel his teeth scrape against my skin without ever biting. “I’ll keep you there until you forget your own name, pup. Until the only thing you know how to say is sir.”
My knees buckle. I almost slide right down the tiles, but his hand on my throat holds me upright like he knew I would.
And then—he steps back.
Just like that.
His hand leaves my throat. The heat of him vanishes. My back slams into cold tile as water crashes down, alone, merciless, brutal. I choke on a sound that’s half gasp, half broken cry, staring wide-eyed as he turns away without a backward glance.
He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t finish me. Doesn’t even look back.
He just walks out of the steam like he owns it, towel slung over one shoulder, body carved out of violence and calm.
And I’m left there.
Shaking. Trembling. Hard as steel.
Drowning in the promise of everything he just whispered.
My knees give the second his hand leaves me. I slide half an inch down the tile before I catch myself, palms splayed against wet porcelain, water pounding over my shoulders like it wants to drown me right here.
And then—footsteps.
I jolt upright, ribs screaming, throat raw. Steam parts just enough to show Cole stepping in, towel slung lazy over his shoulder.
He doesn’t chirp loud. Doesn’t crack a joke for the whole room. He just leans in as he passes me, sunglasses nowhere in sight now.
“You’re fucked.”
The words land sharp, brutal. Like he knows exactly what Captain whispered, exactly what’s coming.
A whimper slips out before I can stop it, high and wrecked. My lips twist into something like a grin, shaky and desperate. “You’re welcome.”
Because it’s true. They all get a day off tomorrow. The boys are probably halfway to celebrating already, tossing Gatorade and joking like they won the Cup. And it’s all because I opened my stupid mouth, whined at the captain, and got us benched.
Cole’s grin only widens. Wicked. Delighted. He taps my shoulder once, mock-gentle, and strolls out without another word.
Leaving me alone.
Bruised. Shaking. Wrecked.
And already aching for tonight.