Chapter 24 #2
"It's the noise. The rumors. The bullshit floating around your head." He taps the tablet screen, where I know the Briarcliff Whisper headline is still glowing. "You're letting the narrative dictate your game. You're so busy looking for the next hit piece that you forgot how to play hockey."
The truth of it lands like a punch to the gut. He's right. Zoe isn't the problem. She's the only thing keeping me sane. The whispers. That feeling of being hunted. The inability to trust that the guy next to me isn't the one leaking my life to the fucking internet.
"I don't care what they're saying about you," he continues, his eyes hard.
"And I don't care who you're seeing. But if you let that noise follow you onto my ice, if you let it make you a liability to this team.
.." He lets the sentence hang, the threat unspoken but deafening.
"Fix it," he says, turning his attention back to his tablet.
The dismissal is clear. "Or I'll find someone who can play through the static. "
I stand up, my legs stiff. I grab my bag and walk out. The hallway feels longer than it did five minutes ago. The silence feels louder. He didn't forbid her. He just told me to shut out the world. And the only way to do that is to lock it down tighter than ever.
The door clicks shut, and the silence of the hallway is replaced by the heavy, stagnant air of my dorm room. It's too small. Too quiet. The hum of the mini-fridge sounds like a jet engine in my skull. I can still hear Coach's voice. Fix it. The words are carved into the bone behind my eyes.
I drop my bag on the floor. It hits the cheap laminate with a dull thud. Zoe is already here, leaning back against my desk, watching me. She doesn't ask how it went or if I'm okay. She just looks at me with those sharp, assessing eyes, taking inventory of the damage.
In two strides, I cross the room. The noise needs to stop. I need to feel something that isn't failure.
"Gio." My name is a warning, but she doesn't move away.
I crowd her, backing her into the edge of the desk until her ass hits the wood.
I grip the sides of her face, my thumbs pressing into her cheekbones.
She smells like vanilla and something sharp, like ozone.
It cuts through the smell of my own sweat.
"Tell me to stop," I grind out, my voice scraping against my throat.
She looks up at me, her gaze unwavering. "I'm not going to tell you to stop."
"Zoe."
"I know." She reaches up, wrapping her hand around my wrist where I'm holding her face. Her grip is tight. "Take it."
The permission snaps the last tether on my control. I crush my mouth to hers. It's a collision. Teeth, tongue, desperation. I taste copper, maybe blood, maybe just the metallic taste of my own exhaustion. She kisses me back just as hard, her nails digging into the skin of my forearm, anchoring me.
I pull back, both of us breathing hard. I push down on her shoulders. "Knees," I say.
Zoe doesn't hesitate. She sinks to the floor, the movement fluid and graceful.
She reaches for my belt, her fingers quick and efficient.
I let my head fall back, staring at the ceiling.
The texture is a blur of white noise. When her mouth wraps around the head of my cock, the static in my brain cuts out.
It's instant. A sudden, blinding silence.
She takes me deep, her tongue flattening against the underside.
A groan escapes me, my hand flying to her hair, tangling in the strands.
There's no guiding her. No need to. Zoe sets a rhythm that is brutal and wet.
Her mouth sucks me like she's starving, hollowing her cheeks, taking me until I hit the back of her throat.
"Fuck," I hiss, my hips jerking forward.
A slight gag, but she doesn't pull back.
She takes it, her eyes watering, her mascara smudging.
It's the hottest thing I've ever seen. I look down at her, at the way her lips are stretched around me, flushed red and swollen. The visual is a brand on my retina.
"Touch yourself," I command, my voice rough.
Zoe pulls back just enough to breathe, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to my dick.
She wipes her chin with the back of her hand, never breaking eye contact.
"You like watching?" she challenges, her voice husky.
"I like knowing you're this desperate for it.
" A smirk curves her lips. Her hand reaches under her skirt, disappearing between her thighs.
I hear the wet sound of her fingers sliding through her folds.
She lets out a low moan around my cock, the vibration shooting up my spine and straight to my balls.
"Jesus, Zoe." My grip tightens in her hair, holding her in place as I start to fuck her mouth in earnest. I'm not gentle.
There's no gentleness. The friction is necessary.
The heat too. She's working herself with her fingers, her wrist moving frantically, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps through her nose.
The sounds she makes—wet, choking, desperate—are the only things that exist. The room, the team, the rumors—they're gone.
There's only her mouth and the desperate need to come.
"I'm going to come down your throat," I warn her.
She hums in response, her tongue swirling around the head, and that's it. The orgasm tears out of me, violent and uncontrolled. I spill into her mouth, my hips stuttering, my vision whiting out. She swallows it all, her throat working, taking everything I give her until I'm empty.
I pull back, sliding out of her mouth. My legs are shaking.
I sink down to the floor, sitting back on my heels, my head in my hands.
For a second, the silence is perfect. The noise is gone.
I'm just a body in a dark room. But then the reality starts to creep back in.
The edges of the dark are sharpening. I can feel the weight of the day settling back onto my shoulders.
I look at her. She's wiping her mouth, her chest heaving, her skirt hiked up around her hips. She looks wrecked. Zoe looks beautiful.
"Get on the bed," I say.
She raises an eyebrow. "You're not tired?"
"No."
Standing up, I haul her with me. I walk her backward toward the bed, stripping her clothes as we go.
Her shirt, her bra, her skirt. Patience isn't an option.
I need her skin. I need to be inside her in every way possible.
I push her down onto the mattress. She bounces slightly, her hair fanning out against the pillow.
I crawl over her, settling between her thighs.
"You're bossy when you're spiraling," she murmurs, but she spreads her legs for me, an invitation.
"Shut up."
I lower my head. No teasing. No warming her up.
A broad stripe of my tongue drags up her cunt, tasting her.
She's wet, dripping for me. I groan against her, the taste of her flooding my senses.
I latch onto her clit, sucking hard, flattening my tongue to press against the bundle of nerves. Her back arches off the bed.
"Gio—fuck."
I eat her like I'm starving. My teeth, my lips, my tongue.
My fingers fuck her, curling up to find that spot that makes her gasp.
She's loud, cursing a blue streak, her hands fisted in my hair, pulling me closer.
"Don't stop," she gasps, her thighs tightening around my head. "Don't you fucking stop."
I don't. I work her through the first orgasm, feeling her pulse around my fingers. She cries out, her body shaking, but I don't let up. I keep going, drawing it out, pushing her toward a second peak before she's even come down from the first.
"Too much," she whimpers, trying to squirm away.
"You can take it," I growl against her, lapping up the fresh wave of wetness. "You love it."
She does. She's grinding against my face, chasing the friction.
I bring her to the edge again and again, until she's a writhing, sobbing mess.
When she comes the third time, her whole body locks up, a silent scream tearing from her throat.
I pull back, my face wet, my jaw aching.
I look down at her. She's limp, her chest heaving, her eyes glazed.
But she's looking at me. She's seeing me.
I need more. Need to be inside her. I reach for the nightstand, fumbling in the drawer for a condom.
My hands are shaking. I rip the foil open with my teeth, rolling it on with practiced efficiency.
The pause is agonizing. In that few seconds of silence, the thoughts try to creep back in.
You're a liability. You're dragging them down.
Climbing back over her, I frame her face with my hands. My eyes lock on hers. "Zoe."
"I'm here," she says, her voice steady. "I'm right here."
Lining myself up, I push inside. The sensation is overwhelming. Tight, wet heat. It blanks out my mind completely. I sink deep, burying myself to the hilt. Stillness for a moment, just feeling her. She wraps her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, pulling me impossibly deeper.
"Move," she demands.
I start to move. Nothing rhythmic. Nothing smooth. Just desperation. I fuck her hard, driving into her with a force that shakes the bed frame. The headboard slams against the wall, a rhythmic thudding that matches the pounding of my heart.
"Take it," I grit out, burying my face in her neck. "Take all of it."
"I am," she gasps, her nails raking down my back. "I'm taking it, Gio. Fuck me harder."
The dirty talk spills out of us, sharp and filthy. It's not about degrading her; it's about grounding us. Every word is a tether keeping me in this room.
"Your cunt feels so good," I groan.
"Your cock is huge," she breathes back. "Fill me up."
We're racing toward the edge, spiraling out of control. The pressure builds at the base of my spine. My hand reaches between us, finding her clit again. Tight, harsh circles. "Come with me," I order.
She shatters beneath me, her pussy clamping down on me like a vice.
The sensation drags me over the edge with her.
I come with a hoarse shout, my hips jerking erratically as I empty myself into the condom.
It's violent. It's a collapse. I collapse on top of her, burying my face in her neck.
My heart is hammering against her ribs. I can't breathe. I can't think. I'm just... gone.
For a long time, we just lie there. The only sound is our breathing, slowly syncing up. The room is dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside the window. The panic waits to come back. Then comes the guilt. The noise.
It doesn't come.
I lift my head, looking down at her. Her eyes are closed, her lashes dark against her pale skin.
She looks peaceful. She looks like she belongs here.
I should move. Getting up would be smart.
Cleaning up would be smart. I should leave.
I don't. I roll off her, but I don't go far.
I pull her against me, tucking her head under my chin.
She sighs, a soft exhale of breath, and drapes her arm over my chest.
"You okay?" she asks, her voice muffled against my skin.
I stare up at the ceiling. The silence in my head is heavy, but it's not empty.
It's full of her. The scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin, the weight of her leg thrown over mine.
I'm terrified. I'm absolutely fucking terrified.
This is what I need. Her presence shuts out the world.
She makes the noise stop. And that's a dependency I can't afford. But I can't let her go.
"Yeah," I say, the word sticking in my throat. "I'm good."
I lie awake, listening to her breathe as she drifts off. The silence isn't scary anymore. It's just the truth. I'm not fixing it. I'm just hiding. And she's the only place left to hide.
The silence doesn't last. It never does.
The high is fading, the chemical flush of endorphins draining out of my system and leaving the hollow ache behind.
I'm staring at the ceiling, counting the water stains on the plaster.
Zoe is asleep, her breathing soft and rhythmic against my side.
She's out. She trusts the dark. I don't.
My eyes drift to the door. The thin slice of light under the wood is steady.
No shadows moving. No footsteps in the hall.
But I can't stop looking. I'm tracking the perimeter of a six-by-six room because I can't shut off the part of my brain that screams threat.
I used her. I used her to scrub the noise from my head, and she let me.
She took every fucked-up, desperate thing I dished out and asked for more.
That should make me feel like shit. It should make me feel like a predator.
Instead, it just makes me feel like I've found the only weapon that works.
I shift my weight, careful not to wake her.
My shoulder throbs where I hit the boards, a dull reminder that the real world is still out there, waiting for morning.
Coach's ultimatum hangs over the bed like a guillotine.
Fix it. I can't fix it. Shutting out the rumors isn't possible.
I can't stop the whispers. But I can come here.
I can bury myself in her until the static goes quiet.
That's not protection. That's a fucking addiction.
I look down at her face in the gloom. She looks peaceful.
Untouchable. The irony tastes like ash in my mouth.
I'm supposed to be the dangerous one. I'm the one with the record and the temper.
But she's the one who just gutted me without even trying.
I need to get up. Getting dressed has to happen.
I need to get the hell out of here before the sun comes up and forces me to look at myself in the mirror.
But my arm is trapped under her, warm and heavy, and the thought of moving it feels like a physical loss.
I'm losing the distinction between keeping her safe and keeping her close.
The line was already thin; now, it's gone.
If I lose this—lose her—I'm not just losing a girl. I'm losing the only tether I have left.
I stare at the door until my eyes burn, waiting for something to break. Nothing does. The room stays dark. The silence stays heavy. And I lie there, terrified, knowing I'm one mistake away from losing everything.