28. Bonus- A Christmas Surprise! #2
I leaned against the railing, letting the cold metal bite into my palms as I watched her with hungry eyes.
She didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. Not until she’d pushed herself past whatever limit she had set for herself tonight.
But I could see it—the slight tremor in her legs, the way her breath came in ragged gasps, and all I could imagine was how much better it would be if she trembled under me and if I fucked her so good she couldn’t breathe.
I wanted that. I needed all the passion she put on the ice to be reflected in claw marks along my spine.
Pushing away from the railing, I stepped out from the shadows and onto the ice, my boots crunching softly against the cold surface. Josie didn’t notice me at first, too caught up in her own personal battle. But as I approached, she faltered slightly, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. She stood there, chest heaving, eyes vast and wild, like a caged animal. I could see the sweat glistening on her brow, the flush in her cheeks. Her body screamed for rest, but her mind wouldn’t let her quit.
"What move are you trying to do?" I said quietly, my voice low and even.
Out of breath, with her hands tightly propped on her hips, she narrowed her eyes on me. "And you are?"
"Answer the question." My voice was firm, eyes hooded.
"Answer mine."
"Christopher."
Her eyes widened, but she quickly schooled her features and bowed her head like the polite little princess she played all evening. "Christopher Jackson?"
"In the flesh," I smirked, my lips slipping to the side, crossing my arms over my chest. "Now, what move are you working on?"
"Mr. Jackson, I can assure you that I—” she stuttered, gliding closer to me, her hands dancing in front of her.
I cut off her rambling, narrowing my eyes on the pinks in her freckled cheeks. "You messed up a spin three minutes into your performance."
She paused, looking over her shoulder and lowering her voice as if we weren’t alone. "You noticed?"
My gaze roamed over her body, taking in every inch. “I'm observant," I shrugged, wanting to mention how much I noticed about her, because a stumble was only the surface. But I restrained myself, knowing that patience is a virtue, even if mine was wearing thin.
She scoffed and bit her lip, her eyes flickering around the empty rink.
"We're alone, Josie. Tell me." My steps echoed throughout the stadium as I made my way closer to Josie. The scent of fresh snow and vanilla invaded my senses, and I had to swallow back the growl trying to escape my throat.
"It's a Biellmann spin. It’s supposed to be simple." She shook her head, looking down at her bare legs, pink from the cold, and her hands shaking from frustration.
I pinched her chin, making her look me in the eye. Her breath caught in her throat. Her pink lips were slightly agape. Her green eyes, which looked like emeralds, glossed over and were wide as she stared at me.
"Explain it to me, princess," I whispered, my breath feathering over her face.
She took another breath, her words coming out slow, deliberate.
“You start spinning, just like any other move. Then you reach back, grab your skate, and pull it up over your head... It’s like—like you’re trying to break yourself in half.
Your leg is straight, but you have to keep spinning. Faster. Tighter.”
Her voice faltered as I tilted her chin just a little higher, making her look at me, getting a peak of a perfect-like heart right behind her right ear.
"Your back arches so deep it feels like it might snap, but you have to hold it. You can’t slow down. Everything has to stay perfectly balanced, or you fail." Her eyes flashed with frustration, like the memory of every failed attempt was burning through her.
"And where do you fail?"
She swallowed, her eyes darting from me, but I squeezed her chin tighter, pulling her damn near underneath me. Josie is so small I could toss her around with one hand, and her nerves radiate off her onto me in waves that I allow to satiate me until her fury returns.
"Fail?" Her nostrils flare. "I don't fail."
"Don't lie to me, little girl. You wouldn't be on this ice if you weren't failing." I licked my lips, my eyes trained on her face while hers darted to my lips. Naughty girl, turned on by the lips of a man fifteen years her senior.
"It's tighter." She whispered so low I barely heard her.
I watched the fire in her eyes flicker, the blush creeping up her neck as she tried to compose herself, but she was trembling— half with anger, half with something else. I tilted her chin higher, not letting her escape the moment.
“Tighter, huh?” I murmur, my voice low, teasing her, testing how far she’ll let this go.
“Yes, tighter,” she snapped, her breath coming faster. “The moment I pull my leg up, everything has to lock in—my core, back, even my hips. One tiny slip, one muscle out of place, and the spin goes wide. If I’m not tight, I lose control. I can feel it wobble.”
I smirked, inching closer, my thumb brushing over the soft skin of her chin. “So that’s where you’re failing? You’re not tight enough?” The words roll off my tongue slowly, like a challenge.
Her lips parted, the slightest hitch in her breath giving her away, but she kept her gaze locked on mine, refusing to back down. “I’m tight enough,” she whispered, her voice sharp despite how she shivered beneath my touch.
I leaned in closer, my mouth just inches from hers, and I could feel the tension vibrating between us. “Prove it, then,” I whisper against her lips. “Show me you can hold it together, princess.”
In waves, heat danced off her body, and right when she was going to break and tell me to fuck off or show me how she takes command over her body, the man I was going kill for her came into the stadium.
"Why don't I hear your fucking skates?!" A man barked. I turned slowly, looked over my shoulder, and narrowed my eyes at the idiot. He was shorter than me and looked like a clean-cut, all-American skater.
"Because I'm talking to her," I growled, baring my teeth.
"Oh, Mr. Jackson, I am-"
"Who the fuck are you?" I snarled, making the more petite man in a fucking neon turtleneck flinch.
"I am Dylan. Josie's partner, right babe?"
Josie placed a small hand on the center of my back, sending flames rushing through me.
"Right." She whispered, moving around me.
"You let your partner talk to you like that?" I lowered my eyes to hers, ignoring the nervous twitching of the idiot.
"No. Dylan, I will practice when I want."
"Women, am I right, Jackson?! Don't know a hard day’s work."
Heat surged through me, my jaw locking the moment that idiot's voice grated the air. I focused on Dylan, feeling the primal need to protect her spike in my chest. He had a smug grin plastered on his face, clearly trying to play buddy-buddy.
“You think that’s funny?” I growled, my voice dangerously low as I stepped closer, towering over him. Dylan’s smirk wavered.
"Come on man, you know what it takes to be at the top, and she's not putting the work in."
My eyes flicked to Josie—she was stiff, her expression unreadable, but I could see the tension in how she clenched her fists. She was annoyed, maybe even embarrassed by the idiot, but too polite to put him in his place.
“Not putting in the work?” I echoed, my voice low, dangerous.
Dylan chuckled, running a hand through his hair, but his laugh lacked real humor. “She’s great, don’t get me wrong. But you know how it is, man. Sometimes, they need a little...push. Otherwise, they fall behind.”
Josie’s lips parted, but no words came out. I saw her flinch just the tiniest bit, and that was all it took for me to lose the last thread of patience I had.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between Dylan and me, towering over him now. My voice was steady, lethal. “A push?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “That’s what you call it?”
Dylan shifted, his cocky expression faltering for a second, but he still tried to keep up the act. “You don’t get it, Jackson. She’s stubborn. If I don’t keep her in line, she’ll never be ready for the big leagues. You’ve seen it yourself—she’s slipping.”
“Keep her in line?” I repeated slowly, letting the words hang in the air like a threat. My voice dropped, dark and cold. “What the fuck do you mean by that?"
"Stop it." Josie snapped, her body a paling pink and the phantom print of her hand against my spine ringing. "I need silence to practice."
"Josie-" I said, but she shook her head and kept her eyes down.
"Both of you need to leave, please; I need to practice." She spit out the words like venom before skating away to the other side of the stadium.
I took a step closer to Dylan, ready to give the obnoxious punk a warning, when the voice of the PR head of the Titans rang through the stadium. "Jackson! I have been looking all over for you. We need photos!"
A growl rolled through my chest, and Dylan flinched out of the way as I stalked out of the stadium. That would be the last time I would ever leave Josie unprotected.
Josie
Ten Months Later -- Present Day
Right foot slide. Left slide. Turn over your left shoulder. Scrape the right foot across the ice. Tuck and-
"Fuck!" I tumble on the ice again; the flurries of snow scraped up from the blades of my skates soak into my already wet pants.
This is the twentieth time I have attempted to do a Mohawk Turn into a jump, a simple move I could have done in my sleep last season, and now, I can barely do anything more than a basic glide.
I rest my elbows on my knees, my right hand scratching at the loose curls from my bun around the nape of my neck. I almost forget I am not alone, but then the slow clapping from the sidelines erupts. My stomach free falls, and the sound of his skates gliding towards me grates across my skin.