Chapter 16
Sixteen
Kaeli
Today has been nothing short of a disaster.
The whole drive, I curse Ezra’s name, and by the time I reach home, I have a raging headache threatening to blow my skull into pieces.
Turning the key in the lock, I enter. Once I lock the door, I toss the keys of my car and house into the bowl on the counter as I knead my head, hoping for some relief, but it doesn’t come.
Stocking my shoes with the others in the rack by the entrance, I head to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
Twisting the cap of the chilled water open, I throw my head back and gulp it down in one go.
I soon realize my mistake when I hiss as I get a brain freeze because the water was a little too cold.
Slamming the bottle on the kitchen counter, I clutch my head with both hands as my elbows rest on the marble slab.
Groaning, I curse the entire day. Today has been a roller coaster of emotions from the moment I woke up. From the moment I accidentally liked Ezra’s post, him calling me out on it, to me inviting him to meet me, and him volunteering to teach me to skate.
What was I thinking?
Apparently, nothing. And now I’ve a headache to show for it.
Concluding that I need a good soak, I head into my bedroom. Entering my ensuite bathroom, I turn on the tap and set the temperature to warm. While it fills, I grab a bath bomb and drop it in the tub. Once it’s filled, I ditch my clothes and step into the bathtub.
A loud sigh escapes me as my muscles start to loosen. I let my head fall back on the edge of the tub and shut my eyes. Relaxing my shoulders, I let the warm water work its magic on every muscle in my body.
My mind wanders to the content I shot today and how I can creatively use it to make engaging posts and show a piece of Ezra that his fans would adore. I’ve seen how he hides his true self when on camera or with fans. He’s guarded.
I can’t blame him. I’ve seen the toll fame takes firsthand, even if I’m only experiencing it through Roman. People can be insensitive and cruel, thoughtless with their words and actions.
That’s why seeing Ezra in his element and relaxed on ice when no one was around was refreshing and felt intimate for some reason I can’t comprehend. The way he glides over the ice is magical, making the puck dance to his beats, making it move wherever he wants like a puppeteer.
I sigh when I think of how his big, veiny hands handle the stick. I wonder how he’ll handle me. Would he be gentle or rough?
Then I remember how he was so patient with me, never once complaining when teaching me to skate. But I also remember how his hard eyes and gruff voice were when we were arguing. I think he’d be both gentle and rough.
Just like his hands that were holding mine on the ice. I wonder how his hands would feel gliding my body like he glides on that ice. My eyes pop open when I realize my right hand has found its way to my sex under water.
The rational part of me knows that I should stop before I do something I can’t take back.
But the part that spent an entire day in Ezra’s hot and cold presence is frustrated and seeks relief.
So, I succumb to my base desire and let my head fall back and imagine it’s his fingers touching me, coaxing pleasure out of me.
He parts my folds with his rough and thick digits as his wavy obsidian hair falls over his forehead. Hovering over me, he plays with my clit and pinches it, eliciting a moan that I try to cover by biting my lips.
“Let me hear those screams,” he whispers in my ear, licking the shell of it.
Like a puppet in his hands, I dance to his tune and let my erotic voices out for the world to hear, even though in the back of my mind, I realize it’s just me at home.
Teasing me, he plays with my slick folds. “God, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.
Barely hanging on by the thread of my sanity, I beg. “Please…”
Then suddenly, without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside my pussy, stretching me wide, leaving me to my devices to accommodate him. I move in tandem with him, fucking myself on his fingers like a cat in heat as obscene sounds escape my lips.
“You can take one more, can’t you?” he asks, but it’s a rhetorical question because he adds one more finger in my pussy as his thumb flicks my nub, making my breath hitch as my lips part. My hand circles his wrist, intending to pull, but pushing his fingers knuckle deep instead.
“You take me so well, Kaeli.” His gruff voice tickles the hair on my forehead as a shudder rolls down my body.
My hips buck when he keeps thrusting his fingers, edging me and bringing me to the brink of an orgasm. My wet folds clench around his fingers as the knot in my belly grows tighter, begging to be released.
“I’m close…” I moan, my body bucking, hips shamelessly grinding on his fingers as I flutter my eyes open.
I find his dark gaze locked on me, drinking me in as he continues his ministration, raising his free hand and groping my breast and pinching the diamond-hard nipple.
The pleasure is too much to hold back my release, and as if he senses it, his next words lead me to it. “Come for me, Feather,” he growls, and that’s when the knot in my belly finally breaks free, and I shatter like a broken glass–everywhere and into a million little pieces.
I ride the orgasm on his fingers until every last drop finds its way out of my pussy, and my body ceases trembling. After a few minutes in the post-orgasm bliss, I come to my senses, and Ezra’s figure disappears like fog on a sunny morning.
Opening my eyes, I find myself in the bathtub–water now cooling down–as my chest heaves like I ran a marathon, and strands of hair stick to my forehead.
Pulling my fingers out, I look at them as if they have committed the grave sin of offending the Gods. “What the fuck did I do?” I mutter in the loneliness of my home.
Groaning, I get out of the tub and take a quick shower to clean myself.
Standing in front of the mirror and wiping the condensation away, I dry myself with the towel. I can never look at Ezra the same again.
Stomping in my place, I whine. At least my muscles aren’t coiled tight anymore.
“Of course, they aren’t. I helped,” Ezra says, winking at me.
Startled to see his figure in my mirror, yelping, I jump and turn to look behind me, only to find the painted walls of my house. Clutching the towel to my chest, I look around myself and find no one but me.
Realizing that he was a figment of my wild, overactive imagination, I put my hands on the counter and slump, letting my head fall between my shoulders. “Jesus Christ, I’m screwed,” I mutter as the reality of my action weighs down on me.
* * *
Today, we have a home game against the New York Falcons, our biggest rivals.
The rivalry between our teams surpasses professionalism.
Oftentimes, members, both current and retired, are found sabotaging something precious for other team players, such as keying their car, egging someone’s house, sending a prank item to a player’s room, and so on.
With their childish behavior, no one would claim that they are professional, mature NHL players.
That’s why the arena is buzzing the next evening. As I enter through the staff entry, I nod with a smile at the guards standing there. They recognize me, so I don’t even have to flash my ID anymore, even though I always wear it around my neck.
The click of my heels on the tiled floor is concealed by the chaos in the area as the staff ramble around, doing last-minute checks before the game starts. Depositing my bag in my office, I grab my camera and take a deep breath before exiting.
Don’t think about him. Don’t pay attention to him.
I remind myself, though I know it’s impossible since I’ll be there with my camera, even though Jodi will take her own shots.
Striding closer to the rink, I prepare myself to ignore Ezra and get into my zone.
Usually, the media staff stand in the Press Box or the designated media seats for live coverage and fan interaction.
However, I’ve always preferred to be closer to the ice, closer to the action, to get impeccable and clear shots.
Hockey is a fast-paced game, and I find it better to be here to get the footage.
Standing at ice level, I wait for the players to get off the ice after they’re done with their pregame skate.
Picking up my camera, I get a few shots of the fans in their element, wearing their favorite player’s jersey with paint on their faces, and some even have foam fingers as they sit on the edge of their seats in anticipation of tonight’s game.
A game between rival teams. A matter of immense pride.
I soak in the energy and adrenaline that circulates in the air until I come to a screeching halt. My camera suspended in the air as time seems to stretch around me.
My breath gets stuck in my throat as it gets suffocated for me, my heart rate kicking up, eyes fixated on a figure that gives me nightmares. Everything around me loses its meaning as my ears start ringing with my own throbbing heartbeat.
The figure looks right at me, eyes searing into mine from so far away.
Yet they feel like they’re standing right in front of me.
I can feel the beginning of a panic attack as their gaze pierces into mine, daring me to take action.
But it’s like I’m paralyzed, petrified to move a muscle, my bones weighing me down.
When I think that I might be hallucinating, the corner of their mouth lifts up, taunting me, challenging me, daring me.
No, this can’t be.
They can’t be…No, not again.
I can’t…
I’m unable to finish my thoughts when a touch on my shoulders makes me jump out of my skin. With a yelp, I look at the owner of the limb. Jodi wears a frown, lifting her hand in the air as if to show she means no harm.
I swivel my head to where I saw that monster, but there’s no one there. Panicked, I urgently scan the arena but come up empty. Though the crowd is on its feet, cheering as the team takes the ice after the Zamboni does its job.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” Jodi’s words pull me back to her. “I’ve been calling out for you for a while, but you seem distracted,” she says, hesitant, probably wondering if she did something wrong.
But how do I tell her? How do I tell anyone? I can’t.
I clear my throat as I put my camera on one of the seats beside me. “Yeah…uh, I’m fine, Jodi. Just have a lot on my mind. Would you mind giving me a moment?” I give her a tight smile, wrapping my arms around me as if they’ll protect me.
Confused, she nods. “Sure, yeah. I’ll come back in a minute.”
“Mhmm. Thank you.” The moment she’s gone, I let loose a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my heart to calm it down. My eyes search the same spot again, but there are just fans in the seats.
Shaking my head, I move my gaze to the ice, only to collide with Ezra’s behind his helmet. He looks at me with his brows furrowed and follows my line of sight to the same spot as if to see what has me disturbed. When he finds nothing, he glances at me again and mouths, ‘Are you okay?’
Weirdly touched by his concern, I nod at him. He looks unconvinced but can’t do much in the middle of the game, so he relents.
Was I hallucinating that predatory gaze?
I have my answer when I leave the arena and walk out into the parking lot. My steps stagger, and a gasp of horror escapes my lips. All the tires of my car are slashed.
Terrified, my eyes dart around wildly, scanning my surroundings, but come up empty.
I take hesitant steps toward my car, and my skin litters with goosebumps when I take in the note tucked on the windshield, warning me as it looms over me like a dreaded reality.
‘I’m always watching.’