Chapter 5
Idrag myself to the locker room after everyone else has left, my legs still trembling from the disaster on the ice. The lights hum overhead, casting harsh shadows across the rows of metal lockers.
I chose my locker specifically for privacy, it tucked away in a small corridor branching off the main changing area. Only four lockers here, and they’re rarely used. It’s dim and quiet, exactly what I need when I’m trying to avoid being seen.
The shower is quick. I scrub away the sweat and humiliation as fast as I can, letting the hot water burn against my bruised knees. When I shut off the water and grab my towel, wrapping it around my hips, I’m already planning my escape route.
Get dressed, get out, forget this entire nightmare ever happened.
I pad barefoot down the corridor toward my locker, water still dripping from my hair down my neck and shoulders.
And then I see him.
Blackwell is sitting on the narrow bench in front of my locker, legs spread wide, taking up almost the entire space. He’s still in his usual black athletic pants and a fitted Beasts t-shirt that clings to every muscle in his chest and arms.
He’s staring at me.
I nearly shout in surprise, my hand flying to clutch the towel at my hip.
“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice comes out higher than intended.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just looks at me with those odd blue eyes, his gaze traveling slowly from my face down to my bare chest, my stomach, the edge of the towel.
Heat floods my entire body, not just my face, but everywhere. My skin feels like it’s on fire.
A cocktail of emotions surges through me: embarrassment, fury, confusion, and something else I absolutely refuse to name.
I straighten my spine, lifting my chin despite the fact that I’m standing here practically naked while he’s fully clothed and completely in control.
“Well?” I demand, my voice sharper now. “Are you going to answer me or just sit there?”
“You shouldn’t be so worried all the times, Patton,” he says finally, his voice low and even.
“Worried? I’m not—” I bite off the words. “Just move. I need to get to my locker.”
He doesn’t move.
Because of how wide his legs are spread, there’s barely any room to maneuver. I’m forced to stand sideways to the bench, angling my body awkwardly to reach the locker door. My fingers fumble with the combination lock while I’m hyperaware of how close he is, how his shoulder is inches from my hip.
I manage to get the locker open and start pulling things out, my backpack, my clothes. I set the backpack on the bench between us, trying to create some kind of barrier.
“Should I expect the rest of the hockey team to show up?” I ask, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Since this corner of the locker room is apparently so popular now?”
“No one would dare come here now.”
His voice is sharp, almost angry, and it makes me freeze.
I look at him, really look at him, and there’s something in his expression that I can’t quite read. Something intense and tightly controlled.
“Then go ahead and laugh at me if you came here to mock me,” I say, trying to sound defiant even though my heart is racing. “Because I need to… get changed.”
The last words stick in my throat. The thought of changing in front of him, of dropping this towel while he watches, makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
I could go back to the shower room with my clothes. But that would be admitting defeat and showing him exactly how much power he has over me.
I won’t do it.
“When did I make fun of you, Patton?”
His voice is serious. Too serious. It sends goosebumps racing down my arms.
He’s just playing with you, I tell myself firmly. Don’t fall for it.
I turn away, refusing to answer, and reach for my backpack to pull out my underwear. My fingers close around the strap, and I tug—
It doesn’t move.
I look down.
Raiden has shifted his weight, and now he’s partially sitting on my backpack, pinning it to the bench.
“Are you kidding me?” I snap, turning to glare at him. “Isn’t that bullying, in your opinion?”
“What exactly?”
“Move over and let me get my backpack.”
He leans back slightly, not enough to free the bag, just enough to look like he’s considering it. His eyes stay locked on mine, deliberately not dropping to my bare chest, which somehow makes this even worse.
“You’re very resilient,” he says, his tone conversational. “You lasted a long time out there on the ice. To stay upright better, you need to bend your knees. Bend them properly and hold them in that position.”
“If I need advice, I’ll ask the coaches.”
“Hmm. They’ll probably say the same thing.” His mouth curves slightly. “Maybe you need some hands-on help learning how to bend your knees… in practice.”
Something in his tone makes my stomach flip.
My patience snaps.
“That’s it. I’m taking my backpack and my things, and you can sit here by yourself.”
I grab the edge of the backpack and pull hard.
He spreads his legs wider, trapping it more firmly beneath him.
Frustration and embarrassment flood through me in a hot wave. I yank harder on the strap, trying to work it free, and before I fully realize what I’m doing, I’ve climbed onto his knees to reach the other side of the backpack, trying to pull it out from that angle.
I brace my hands on his shoulders to keep from falling.
He exhales loudly—a sharp, shuddering sound that vibrates through his chest beneath my palms.
“Sorry,” I say automatically, the word tumbling out before I can stop it.
His hands come up to my hips, holding me in place. Not roughly, but firmly enough that I can’t move without making it obvious I’m struggling.
The towel shifts dangerously low.
“Oh no,” I whisper, swaying slightly as I try to grab the towel and pull it back up my thigh.
“Why do you hold the towel?” Raiden’s voice is quiet, softer than I’ve ever heard it. “It’s normal to be naked in the locker room.”
“I swear I’ll transfer to another college so you’ll stop teasing me,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “Of course, that’s probably what you’re trying to—”
His lips press against my skin, just below my collarbone.
I forget how to breathe.
He kisses me again. And again. Soft, deliberate presses of his mouth against my bare chest, trailing up toward my throat.
“You’re not transferring to another college, Patton. Understand?”
His voice is rough, almost broken.
“Does this feel like mockery too? Because if it does, there’s no point in me stopping. I don’t know if I’ll stop at all.”
“Stop what?” I manage to whisper.
“This.”
And then his mouth is on me in earnest—no longer soft kisses but desperate and consuming. He sucks hard at the skin of my throat, my shoulder, the hollow of my collarbone, marking me.
It’s like something inside him has broken free. Like he’s been holding himself back for so long and now he can’t anymore.
His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me closer, and I make a sound—half gasp, half moan—that I immediately wish I could take back.
“Raiden—”
“Don’t,” he says against my skin, his breath hot. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to lose what’s left of my control.”
I should demand to know what the hell he thinks he’s doing. Should remind him that he’s spent six months making my life miserable and he doesn’t get to just—
But his mouth finds mine, and every thought evaporates.
The kiss rips through me. His teeth graze mine, his tongue pushes insistently, and every motion is claiming, demanding. It’s not gentle—it’s fire and hunger that presses down on me, like he’s been starving for me forever.
My hands are still on his shoulders, and instead of pushing him away, I’m gripping the fabric of his shirt, holding on like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s suddenly tilted sideways.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
His pupils are blown wide, that irregular dark spot in his right eye more visible than ever.
He doesn’t give me time to recover. Before I can process the shock of his mouth on mine again, he dives back in, devouring me. One of his large hands slides up my back to the nape of my neck, holding me in place, while the other grips my waist with bruising force.
My brain has short-circuited. The man I’ve spent months terrified of is currently eating me alive, and God help me, my body is responding with a pathetic eagerness.
He breaks the kiss with a ragged gasp, but he doesn’t pull away. His face buries itself in the crook of my neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against my sensitive skin. Then he moves lower.
His hot, wet mouth trails down the center of my chest, over my sternum.
“Raiden,” I gasp, my hands tangling uselessly in his hair. “God—”
His head dips lower, and suddenly his lips close over my left nipple.
A jolt of electricity shoots straight to my cock.
I cry out, my back arching violently off his legs without my permission. I’m exposed, vulnerable, my towel hanging precariously by a thread, and he’s treating my body like it’s his personal playground.
He sucks hard, his tongue swirling over the nub, teasing it into a painful, aching point. His hand on my waist squeezes, thumb digging into my hip bone, anchoring me as I writhe against him.
“Stop moving,” he growls against my skin, the vibration running through my chest.
He switches to the other nipple, biting down lightly—just enough to sting, just enough to make me whine in the back of my throat. It’s overwhelming. I’ve never felt so small, yet so entirely the center of someone’s universe.
I squirm again, trying to find some kind of leverage, and as I shift my hips forward, I freeze.
Through the thin fabric of his athletic pants, his rock hard and massive cock is pressing directly against my thigh.
I stop breathing. My eyes snap open, staring down at him.
“Raiden,” I breathe, my voice barely a squeak. “You’re… you are very hard. Because of… me?”
He freezes. Slowly, he lifts his head from my chest.
His lips are wet and swollen, his eyes dark, the pupils so blown out the blue is barely visible. He looks wrecked. But when he speaks, his voice is laced with a sudden, defensive fury.
“I’m always hard when you’re around, Patton. Or are you too blind to notice that, too?”
I stare at him, stunned into silence. He grips my hips tighter, his fingers digging into my flesh almost painfully. He looks angry—genuinely angry—but underneath the rage, I see a flicker of something else. Something vulnerable.
“Well?” he snaps, jerking his hips up so the ridge of him grinds explicitly against me. “Do you like it? Or is this just something else for you to analyze?”