Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
ETHAN
I woke up slowly, the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped heavily over me, low, even breaths gusting against the side of my neck, and heat seeping into muscles that ached pleasantly.
I hadn’t ever shared a bed with someone, so I hadn’t known what to expect. I was convinced I would toss and turn all night, hyper-aware of every sound, every breath, every movement. But instead, I loved it. Loved how right it felt to have Bell curled around me, his heart beating steadily at my back, his leg thrown casually over mine, pinning me to the mattress.
It was addictive, this feeling. And so fucking terrifying.
Bell shifted closer, nosing sleepily against my neck, his stubble grazing gently against my skin. “Stop thinking so loud,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
I huffed out a breath, fighting a smile at how easily he read me, even half-conscious.
“Wasn’t thinking,” I lied.
His hand wandered lower, his palm splaying over my belly, pinky finger tracing the trail of hair pointing south. “Liar.” His voice had lost its drowsiness, edging toward a smug purr. “Bet I can guess what you were thinking about.”
I tried to wiggle away, but he just pulled me tighter, caging me in with his body, his dick hard against my ass.
My first instinct was to feel ashamed about last night, to retreat behind walls of denial and distance. Instead, I pushed those urges aside as longing bloomed beneath my skin.
“You’re trouble,” I muttered, my voice scratchy from sleep—and maybe just a little bit from all the groaning and shouting I’d done the night before. The memory of those desperate pleas sent heat crawling up my neck.
Bell chuckled, low and wicked against my ear, his breath raising goosebumps along my skin. “And you,” he said, “are a greedy little thing when you want something badly enough.” He nipped at my shoulder, teeth catching skin and making me jolt.
“Bell.” His name came out half-warning, half-plea.
“Remember how you cried for my cock, E? Let me make a mess of you. Let me ruin you.” His voice was all dirty satisfaction now, honey-thick and dripping with sin as his fingers traced idle patterns on my stomach, dipping lower with each circle.
Flashes of last night played behind my eyelids—the way I’d begged, the filthy things we’d done, how completely I surrendered. I buried my face in the pillow, groaning in mortification, the cool cotton muffling the sound of my embarrassment.
Bell laughed, low and sweet and so fucking fond that it cracked something inside me, as he pressed a soft, lazy kiss to the curve of my shoulder. He shifted behind me, his hand sliding from my stomach to my hip and then lower, until his fingers slipped between my crease and brushed over my hole.
I flinched, a broken gasp escaping before I could stop it.
He stilled immediately. “Did I hurt you?” His voice sounded worried, all his earlier teasing replaced by concern.
I nodded, embarrassed to acknowledge the discomfort. “No, just a little sore.” I was a professional hockey player; I regularly skated with bruised shins and taped ankles. I supposedly ate pain for breakfast.
He exhaled a soft breath. “I should’ve been gentler your first time.” His hand moved away, stroking over my hip instead.
“You were perfect,” I said quickly, my face flaming with the admission.
His fingers trailed back through the hair below my navel. “Can I taste you, E? I’m starving for you.” His hand glided down to wrap around my dick, his grip somehow both lazy and purposeful at the same time.
I arched into his hand, his name falling from my lips with a sigh.
“Let me make you feel good,” he murmured against the back of my neck. “Let me take care of you.”
He stroked me with slow, easy pulls, his rhythm unhurried. My whole body went molten, tension melting from my muscles with each lazy stroke. No one had ever touched me like this—with so much care and so much patience.
I whimpered, helpless against it, helpless against him.
“Fuck,” I panted, my hips moving of their own accord, chasing his touch. My skin felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive and singing. “Feels so good.”
“Yeah?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You gonna come for me like this? Gonna let me milk it out of you nice and easy?”
I nodded, unable to speak, the words stuck somewhere between my chest and throat. My thighs tensed as pleasure built at the base of my spine, coiling tighter with each stroke.
Bell chuckled, low and dirty, the vibration of it transferring from his chest to my back. His strokes grew a little faster, a little rougher, his grip tightening just enough to make my breath catch.
He sucked the pulse racing in my neck into his mouth, his teeth scraping over my jugular, and I gasped, my hips jerking helplessly into his fist. As my thighs began to shake, a stray thought flickered through my mind—I hoped he didn’t leave a mark above my collar where the whole damn team could see.
I did not want to have to explain that.
“Don’t worry,” he said, pressing one last open-mouthed kiss to my neck. “It won’t bruise.”
And there he went again, somehow instinctively knowing what I was thinking without me having to say a single word. Like he could read the panic in my pulse, feel the fear vibrating just beneath my skin.
He rolled me gently onto my back, his hands soothing over my thighs to coax them open. He kept his touch light, mindful of my lingering soreness.
I lifted my head just enough to watch him settle his broad shoulders between my legs. He caught my gaze, blue eyes dark with heat and promise, his pupils blown wide. He held my stare for one electric second—asking, offering, waiting —and when I nodded, his mouth closed around me.
I sucked in a breath as wet warm heat engulfed me. Bell hummed around me, his gaze staying locked on mine as he sank even deeper.
And in that moment, I knew I was irrevocably fucked. There was no coming back from this. After just one night in his bed, Stryker Bell owned my body completely.
“Bell, fuck, I—” I gasped, as pleasure coiled tight in my gut.
He sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks and taking me deeper, his hands stroking my flanks.
It was too much.
Too good.
Too everything .
I came with a strangled shout, my hips jerking helplessly as I spilled down his throat.
When I finally slumped back against the bed, my muscles felt liquified.
He pulled off with one last lazy lick up my length, his eyes glittering with satisfaction. “Better?” he asked, his voice rough.
I nodded weakly, too blissed out to form words.
Bell grinned and moved up my body to kiss me, a slow and dirty slide of our tongues that let me taste myself on his tongue. I clung to him, already half-hard again. At my age, I’d assumed those days were well behind me, but my body responded to him in ways I hadn’t known was possible.
He laughed against my mouth. “Sadly, we don’t have time for another round. Team’s meeting downstairs in”—he twisted to check his phone on the nightstand and winced—“fifteen minutes.”
“Fuck,” I groaned, the real world crashing back in with jarring suddenness. The bubble of intimacy we’d created popped, and reality seeped in.
“Come on, lazybones.” He rolled off me and slapped my stomach lightly, making me yelp. “Shower. Now.”
We stumbled into the bathroom together, bodies colliding in the narrow doorway, laughter bouncing off the walls as we rushed through what had to be the world’s fastest shower. Steam filled the room almost instantly, fogging the mirror and wrapping us in a warm cloud that smelled of Bell’s expensive body wash and minty shampoo. Our elbows knocked in the confined stall, water sluicing over bodies marked from the night before—a bruise here, a scratch there, evidence of what we’d shared.
By the time we made it downstairs, the lobby was buzzing with the chaos associated with getting a professional hockey team out the door. The space echoed with loud, boisterous voices, the sound of bags being dropped onto trollies, and the repeated ping of elevator doors opening and closing.
Bell nudged me with his elbow as we crossed the marble floor, his grin easy and relaxed, like he hadn’t spent the night—and this morning—absolutely destroying me.
I tried to match his energy, but my skin felt too tight and hot. The collar of my shirt chafed against marks I couldn’t see but knew were there. I was sure our teammates could tell what Bell and I had done, could read it in my walk, my posture, the flush I couldn’t seem to control. Like I had “Property of Stryker Bell” stamped across my forehead in dark ink.
I adjusted my grip on my coffee cup I was clutching like a fucking life raft, the cardboard sleeve rough beneath my fingers, the liquid inside scalding through the paper.
My heart pounded in my ears, the thud thud thud drowning out the ambient noise of the lobby. Were people staring? Were they whispering? Could they smell sex on me despite the shower and my cologne? My paranoia spiraled, each glance from one of the guys or hotel staff feeling like an accusation.
I caught a few looks—quick glances, sidelong stares—and immediately dropped my gaze to the floor, my stomach flipping. The pattern of the marble blurred beneath me, spots dancing in my vision.
Beside me, Bell was already moving away without a backward glance, as though the intimacy we’d shared had evaporated the moment we stepped into public view.
I watched, helpless, as he crossed the lobby and found Miller, bumping their shoulders together and grinning like they didn’t have a goddamn care in the world. The casual ease of their interaction made something sour curl in my gut, bands of tension wrapping around my ribs, making each breath shorter than the last.
I hated the way he smiled at Miller.
Hated that he looked so normal when I felt like I was bleeding out inside.
I hated even more that none of this was Bell’s fault. I was the idiot who wanted more than he could give. Who’d agreed this was “just physical” but was already drowning in feelings I had no right to have.
“Morning, sunshine.”
The sudden intrusion of a voice beside me yanked me from my spiral of self-pity. I crushed the cup in my grip, coffee surging through the lid’s drinking hole and splattering across my knuckles.
“Fuck!” I hissed, jerking my hand, scalding liquid burning my skin.
I gritted my teeth and transferred the mangled cup to my other hand, wiping my palm roughly on my pants, leaving a dark smear behind.
Viggy smirked at me, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You’re jumpy this morning.”
I blinked at him, my heart hammering, my face burning hot enough that I was sure he must think I was on the verge of stroking out. Was he implying something? Had he heard Bell and me last night? The walls in these hotels could be thin. My mind raced through every possible interpretation, each one worse than the last.
“I—what?” I croaked.
Viggy just laughed, clapping me lightly on the shoulder. The casual touch made me flinch, though I tried to hide it. “Relax, man. Just wanted to say you look way less miserable than you did yesterday. Good to see it.”
I stared at him as he sauntered toward the revolving doors, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. Relief washed through me, making my knees weak.
It wasn’t the sex. It wasn’t mine and Bell’s secret … situationship.
It was just grumpy old me.
Apparently, not looking like I wanted to stab someone was newsworthy enough for my captain to comment on.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, breathing through the weird cocktail of relief and panic clawing at my ribs. The lobby sounds faded to a dull roar as I focused on filling my lungs, one breath at a time.
When I opened them again, Bell was glancing my way, his mouth lifting in the smallest, softest smile. A private expression meant only for me, a thread connecting us across the crowded space. Something warm unfurled in my chest, pushing back against the anxiety. And even though my heart squeezed so tight it hurt, I smiled back.
When we boarded the plane back to Austin, Bell was just ahead of me, chatting with one of our goalies. The narrow aisle forced us to walk single file, my eyes level with the back of his neck, his hair knotted into a thick bun at his nape. As I claimed my seat, my eyes caught on a tiny purple bruise lurking just behind his ear that I didn’t remember leaving.
Bell dropped into a seat across the aisle from me, slouching down and getting comfortable. “I can’t wait to get home.” He stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up to flash a strip of golden skin where his hip met the waistband of those ridiculous underwear he wore.
The display drew my eyes automatically, a Pavlovian response I couldn’t control.
Spencer—one of the rookies who would probably be sent back down to our AHL affiliate after this road trip—leaned over the seat, a wide grin stretching across his boyish face. “Ooh, big plans?”
Bell shrugged, the gesture deliberately casual, though I could already see the mischief dancing in his eyes.
What was he doing?
“Nothing major. Just chilling. Maybe hanging out with my favorite roommate.”
I choked on my coffee, my eyes watering.
That did it. No more coffee for me. That was twice this morning I’d made a mess of myself.
Spencer leaned forward, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Wait, you two actually get along? I always assumed Harrison was a miserable bastard off the ice, too.”
A few of the guys laughed.
My ears burned at being discussed as though I wasn’t sitting right there, heat crawling up my neck to stain my cheeks. I slumped lower in my seat, the leather squeaking beneath me as I prayed for death to come quickly. Or at least for a sudden bout of temporary invisibility.
“Nah,” Bell said easily, glancing across the aisle at me with a smirk that was way too soft to be safe. Something private and warm lurked in his expression, visible only to someone who knew what to look for. At least I hoped that was the case. “He’s a great roommate. Very … smiley.”
I nearly dropped my phone, my fingers suddenly clumsy.
Seriously, what the fuck was he doing?
The double entendre might be lost on the others, but it wasn’t lost on me. Images from this morning flashed through my mind—me smiling down at him as he moved between my legs, as he kissed me afterward.
“Smiley?” Keats twisted around in his seat two rows ahead to glance between Bell and me, his expression confused. The movement made his chain catch the light, flashing silver. “How’d you manage that?”
“I’ve seen E smile. Once. It was terrifying,” Viggy said as he strolled past on the way to his seat at the back of the plane.
More laughter rippled through the group, some guys turning in their seats to join the conversation. The focus of so many eyes on me made my skin prickle with discomfort.
I fixed my gaze on my phone like it might save me from spontaneous combustion, but the screen had gone dark from inactivity. My thumb hovered over it, pretending to scroll through content that wasn’t there.
Chet, who was seated across the aisle from Keats, popped up, his eyes glinting with malice. “That asshole?” He jerked his chin toward me.
Bell’s face went still for half a second before his easygoing grin slid back into place, though I noticed the smile didn’t reach his eyes. The muscle in his jaw twitched, a tell I was beginning to recognize. “Yeah,” he said tightly. “That asshole.”
Chet snorted, flicking his beady-eyed stare my way and then back to Bell, the contempt in his gaze palpable. “Can’t imagine what it’s like living with him. Harrison’s got that whole intense serial killer vibe going on. Bet you sleep with one eye open.”
My fingers curled around my phone so tightly that the case creaked in protest. His words shouldn’t have stung—I’d cultivated that unapproachable image deliberately—but they did. I wasn’t a deranged psychopath, I was just … reserved. Careful. Scared.
“Nah, Ethan’s a good guy,” Bell said, a slight edge creeping into his voice.
And because Chet couldn’t ever leave well enough alone, he turned his smarmy grin on me. “What about you, Harry?”
His use of the nickname that only he ever used felt like a deliberate provocation. It made my skin crawl, reminded me of schoolyard bullies from decades ago.
“Bell bringing all his dates home must drive you insane.”
It was bullshit like this that kept guys like me locked in the closet. The implication that Bell’s sexuality was an inconvenience I shouldn’t have to endure. Worse, that just because Bell was bisexual, he fucked anything and everything with little to no discernment. I didn’t know how Bell or Miller managed to live so out in the open when people like Chet were always looking for ways to tear them down.
Bell’s jaw flexed, the muscle ticking once before he leaned back in his seat with a lazy smile. The expression was pure predator, though few would recognize the danger in it. “You jealous, Chet?” he asked smoothly, his tone deceptively light. “Mad you’re not my type?”
A couple of the rookies snickered, and Chet scowled, his face turning bright red, the flush creeping up from his collar to stain his cheeks and ears. He turned away briskly and flopped back into his seat with more force than necessary. “Fuck you, fairy,” I heard him mutter in response.
My heart thundered in my chest, that word unearthing something dark and half-buried that I’d spent years trying to forget. A flash of voices and pain surged forth before I could shove it back down. The recycled air of the cabin suddenly seemed too thin, insufficient for my lungs.
Bell’s eyes found mine across the aisle, his smile fading as he registered my expression. His brow furrowed slightly as he mouthed, “You okay?” so subtly that no one else would notice.
Something wordless passed between us, a silent communication that existed outside of language. Not just camaraderie among teammates now, but a different kind of reassurance— I see you and I’m here .
I managed a small nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Bell held my gaze for a moment longer before giving an almost imperceptible nod as the plane’s engines roared to life and the flight attendants completed their pre-flight checklist.
I leaned my head back against the seat, closed my eyes, and focused on steadying my breathing. One in, one out.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I opened my eyes to read the notification on my screen.
Bell
We need to talk when we get home.
Five simple words that sent my heart rate skyrocketing again. In my experience, nothing good ever followed that phrase. Especially not after someone had seen you at your most vulnerable.
I looked across the aisle, but Bell had his headphones on, eyes closed, his face turned toward the window.
The plane taxied down the runway and lifted off the ground, my stomach dropping with the ascent, and I couldn’t help but feel like even though I was soaring high into the clouds, I should be preparing myself for a fall.