Chapter 18
Connor
The doors to the arena hiss open as I walk through them, shoving people aside. I don’t give a shit if they’re fans. Everyone just needs to get the fuck out of the way.
Pebbles grind into my feet, but I don’t slow down.
My fingers tighten around the skates in my hand, sweat dripping down my spine under my chest protector.
It’s too damn hot.
“Connor!”
“Leave me alone.”
Ryan jogs toward me, but I refuse to slow down.
“Connor, stop.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” He grabs my bicep, pulling me to a halt.
I spin around, shoving him. “Go away.”
He doesn’t budge. Instead, he reaches out, brushing a thumb across my neck, brows furrowed. “He hurt you.”
“Said I’m fine.” I turn and start walking again. Not sure where to, but I don’t want to deal with anyone.
Ryan steps in front of me, growling, then tosses me over his shoulder.
“Put me the fuck down.”
“No.”
“Ryan, put me the fuck down. Now.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just changes direction back to our dorm.
I hit him with my skates, squirming to try to get loose. “Ryan!”
He only walks faster.
“You mother fucker!” This time, I punch him in the back. “Can’t wait to divorce you.”
His arm tightens around my legs. “What?”
“Merger’s off. That’s why my father bothered to show up.” And the fucking reason why he choked me. “So, I got what I wanted. Don’t need you anymore.”
“Not happening.”
“Excuse me?”
“Said I’d stay married until you were free from him, not the merger. Give me divorce papers and I’ll rip them up. So, don’t waste your time.”
I punch him a second time, in the ass, then hit him with my skates when he still doesn’t put me down.
People stare as we pass, and I want to throw my skates at them.
Ryan barrels through the doors of Young’s Hall, and a few of the football players stare at us. He doesn’t stop, just climbs the stairs, heading to our room. The fucker doesn’t even put me down as he opens the door, and I hit the back of my head on the frame.
“Ow. Fuck.” I rub the spot.
Once inside, he finally puts me down, only to shove me toward the bathroom. “Go shower.”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
He takes the skates from my hands, then places them by the door. “Go. Shower.”
“Fuck you.”
He crosses his arms, widening his stance. Hate this motherfucker right now. With a pissed off huff, I walk into the bathroom, slamming the door.
I rip off my jersey and throw it onto the ground. “Fuuuuck!”
Fuck all of this. Fuck my father. And fuck Henneman. And fuck everyone else for seeing.
After removing the rest of my equipment, I turn on the shower, letting the water warm up. My fingers graze over my neck. It already feels swollen. And swallowing’s a bitch.
I hiss through my teeth when the hot water hits my body, burning most where my father’s fingers dug into my skin. I lean forward, hands on the tile, head under the water.
How much did the team see?
I slap the wall.
Why’d my father have to show up? Why not summon me to Manhattan? Or home?
No.
He had to come to the game, had to choke me on my own turf. For my friends, for my . . . For Ryan to see.
And Ryan . . . he rushed over, slammed my father against the wall, and protected me.
Part of me wanted Ryan to snap my father’s goddamn neck. I couldn’t care less if the man dropped dead on the floor. The other part didn’t want anything to happen, only because Ryan would never survive jail.
I try to take a deep breath, but it’s like my throat won’t fully open. My father really did a number on me. Fucking Adam’s apple even hurts.
My eyes close as I stand under the water, trying to swallow. Trying to forget.
It’s not the first time one of my parents has hurt me. I survived it then. I’ll do the same now.
And at the end of the year, I’ll be free.
After washing up, I turn off the water. Goddammit. No towel. Fucking Ryan’s fault.
I open the bathroom door and walk across the room naked.
He’s on his bed, staring.
“Should’ve given me a towel.” I grab a clean one from the basket and dry myself off.
He stands, grabbing his stuff, and makes his way to the door. Once the doorstop is wedged, he goes into the bathroom.
I throw on a pair of boxer briefs, grab my laptop from the desk, then sit on my bed, leaning against the wall. But I don’t want to work on anything. Don’t even want to play games. Though, I should text Zach and Viktor.
Ah, fuck. My phone’s in the locker room.
My eyelids grow heavy and I let them close and sink into the mattress.
A door clicks and my eyes open. Ryan walks across the room in navy blue joggers and one of his Joan Jett T-shirts.
Shit, how long was I out for?
The laptop screen is off. So, I close it, then put it on the floor.
Ryan drops his base layers into his laundry basket, then goes back to the bathroom. He returns with my gear, placing it in the corner.
“I could’ve done that.” It comes out raspy and hoarse.
Great. Another side effect of being choked.
“Not a big deal.” He walks to my bed. “Need anything?”
“Jesus, fuck. I’m not sick. Didn’t have surgery. So knock it off.”
“Connor, your face was purple. He could’ve . . .” His bottom lip quivers. “It could’ve been worse.”
Yeah. Maybe.
But it wasn’t. Because of him.
He sits on my bed, then reaches out, his thumb brushing my neck. “Does it hurt?”
“What the fuck do you think?” I bat his hand away. “Stop hovering. I’ll be fine.”
Ryan leans closer, hesitating, then his lips brush against my neck.
“Are you fucking serious?” I shove him back. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to kiss it better like I’m some fucking kid.”
“Why are you such a fucking asshole?”
My nostrils flare, chest heaving, each breath a fight to get air down my throat to my lungs. Still, I don’t need the tenderness. Never had it. Not starting now.
But what I do need is . . . I lunge forward, smashing my mouth to his. I just want to get lost in his kiss, let it erase the night, for a few minutes.
He sucks in a sharp breath, both hands against my chest. He pushes me away, wide-eyed and a little pale.
Fuck.
Shouldn’t have done that. Not to him. When will I fucking learn?
Both hands rake through my hair, then tug at the strands. “I’m an asshole.”
I start to get up, to get away from him, but Ryan grabs my wrist and presses his mouth to mine.
His lips are soft, desperate. His tongue pushes into my mouth and I suck it. Deep and wet, like I’d suck his dick.
Is that something I want to do?
My dick throbs hard enough to hurt. Guess so.
Ryan groans and shoves his tongue deeper, fucking into my mouth, his hand snaking into my hair.
My throat's fucked. I can barely swallow my own spit, but I’m not going to stop. My dick is rock hard, pressing against the thin fabric of my boxer briefs.
He looms over me, and I shift, sliding down. My teeth sink into his bottom lip and he groans.
“Fuck. So hot when you make that noise.” My voice is still hoarse. Wish I could say it’s from kissing him.
But it’s not.
Doesn’t matter. Not right now.
I cup the back of his head and pull his mouth tighter to mine. He takes my wrist and pulls my hand from his head, pinning it to my pillow. He does the same with the other.
My wrists flex against his grip, not trying to get free. Just . . . Fuck.
He swings a leg over me, straddling my thighs. My nipples tighten, then every nerve lights up when his dick presses against mine.
I thrust up, grinding against him. The angle's perfect. “Fuck. Feels so goddamn good.”
Ryan sits up, letting go of one hand but still holding my other. His brows furrow, teeth worrying his bottom lip.
“You okay?” I can barely get the words out, I’m so short of breath.
He doesn’t say anything but brings my hand closer, then guides it over his length. He grunts, pressing himself into my palm.
Oh. Fuck.
This is important, and I refuse to screw it up.
“Ryan, what do you want?” I look at him, but his eyes are still on my hand. “Take what you need. You’re in control.”
His hand covers mine and he squeezes them over his length.
My dick twitches, precum coating the inside of my boxers. He’s so fucking big, so thick and hard in my hand.
He starts rocking, pushing against my palm, his hand tightening over mine.
“That’s it, baby. Show me how you like it.”
His pupils are dilated, face flushed. But then those beautiful amber eyes drop to my neck and his brows furrow.
“No. Don’t. Not right now.”
He looks back up, biting his bottom lip again before pulling my hand away.
No. No. No.
My teeth clench together. My father has to ruin every fucking thing, even when he’s not here.
Ryan shifts, though not to get off me. He’s still holding onto my wrist, but his free hand pushes down the waistband of his joggers.
I hiss out a breath when his dick springs free, the head swollen and deep red, and fucking leaking.
My hips buck, pressing against his ass. God, his fucking dick makes me hot.
He guides my hand closer. “Touch me?”
“Is that what you want?”
He nods.
“You control it, Ryan. You stop when you need to.”
He brings my hand to his length again, and I loosely wrap my fingers around it. He’s throbbing, his skin is hot and smooth. He places his hand over mine again, spits on his tip, then guides our hands from root to tip, then back down.
“You okay?”
He nods, still looking at himself sliding through my fist.
“Like watching yourself, baby? Like seeing how much you’re fucking leaking?”
He whines, his grip tightening, forcing my own to tighten on his length.
“Your dick’s drooling for me, Ry.” I swipe my thumb through the clear fluid. “Give me more. Show me how much you like it.”
Our hands move faster over his length, his breaths coming out shallow and sharp, punctuated by small grunts. It’s making my heart race and my dick ache. I’m so fucking turned on that I reach for his thigh without thinking.
He tenses and bats my hand away. “No.”
“Sorry.” I grip my pillow, giving my free hand something to do—no more fuckups.