6. Chapter 4

The scalding water cascades over my body, steam billowing around me, but it does nothing to calm the raging storm inside. My heart pounds against my ribcage, my blood thrumming with a desperate, aching need that consumes me.

I close my eyes, my hand wrapping around my aching cock, and I lose myself in the sensation, stroking hard and fast, chasing the release that hovers just out of reach.

Images of Jackson flash through my mind—his intense green eyes, his angular jaw, the way his hard muscles flexed as we grappled in the woods, the way his wavy hair morphed from chestnut to mahogany when sweat-soaked.

I should be disgusted, ashamed, but instead, I grow harder, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I fuck into my fist like a man possessed.

The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until, finally, it shatters, and I"m coming harder than I ever have before, my knees buckling beneath me as I ride out the waves of pleasure. I slump against the cool tile wall, my chest heaving, my mind reeling.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It's not the first time I've jerked off to him. Happened after our fight last week. Wasn't as intense, but still threw me for a loop.

Tried to pass it off as leftover adrenaline. Frustration, even. But it's . . . more than that.

Slowly, I straighten up, my legs still shaky beneath me. I turn off the water and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. The bathroom is filled with steam, the air thick and heavy, and I struggle to catch my breath, my lungs burning with each inhale.

I stagger out into the room, collapsing onto the bed. The towel slips loose, but I don"t bother to fix it, too drained to care. My mind is a whirlwind of confusion and self-loathing, and I bury my face in the pillow, trying to block out the world.

Thank God Trembley's out because I'm not sure I want to explain to my hotel roommate why I just went to town on myself.

My fingers curl around the wet strands of my hair and tug. Possibly being gay, or bi, or whatever is the least of my worries. It's how turned on I got when fighting with Jackson.

From being chased by him.

It's too fucked up.

And to make matters worse, the bite on my forearm is already bruising. The motherfucker marked me.

He's such an asshole. Always has been. An entitled prick who probably got a nose job to fix his perfect fucking features because I know I broke it when we fought at camp back when we were ten.

There's also the time at the New England Sports Center when I made his nose gush blood during finals at the Haunted Shootout Tournament.

No way he's got some kind of miracle healing powers that it still looks perfect without surgical intervention.

Why does the fact he might have gotten a nose job bother me so much? Okay, that's probably the easiest to answer . . . because there's no evidence of all the times I kicked his ass over the years.

Someone knocks at my door and I get up to answer it, acutely aware of the towel still slung low around my waist, the damp fabric clinging to my skin.

Raiyne stands on the other side, his bottom lip split open and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You made it back without a scratch. Figured you might be hungry."

I chuckle when he hands me a takeout bag from Antonio's. "Did you buy me dinner?"

"Should be the other way around since I had to take on four dickwads while only one went after you." He pushes past me into the room, flopping down on a chair near the window. "Petrov got me good."

I close the door and turn to face him. "How the hell did you get away?"

Raiyne throws his head back and lets out a full-bellied laugh, the sound echoing off the walls. "His fucking boyfriend!"

I tilt my head, blinking in shock as I wait for him to calm down enough to continue.

"The kid and his female friend literally pulled up in a car and got out yelling at Petrov. His boyfriend threatened to drive back to Long Island—wait for it—unless Alexei got ‘in the car right fucking now'." Raiyne"s face turns a dark shade of red as he laughs so hard he starts coughing, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Petrov actually gave in. Can you believe it?"

Petrov's boyfriend was at our last game against the Titans. He's tiny compared to the hulking Russian defenseman. I remember seeing the way they look at each other.

My parents used to look at one another like that before my dad passed away and left my mom to fight her battle with muscular dystrophy alone. Well, not exactly alone since she has me and my sisters.

So, while my friend finds the whole situation hilarious, and I have to admit it"s pretty funny, I can"t help but see it a bit differently.

I put my sandwich down on the dresser, my appetite suddenly gone. "Lucky for you then. I"m surprised the others let you go so easily."

He shrugs. "Walsh didn"t want to. He threw in some hits, but a few coaches from some of the other teams were around. Knight just appeared bored by the whole thing."

"What about Novotny?"

"Got in the car with Petrov, who seemed annoyed at that too." Raiyne juts his chin at me. "What happened with Reed?"

"Same old shit."

Lies.

But I don"t want to get into it with him, don"t want to admit to the confusing mix of emotions swirling inside me. While I"m close with a few of the guys on the team, I"ve never really opened up to them, never let them see beyond the carefully constructed walls I"ve built around myself.

Sure, they know about my mom, but only because she sometimes comes to games when we play in Boston in a wheelchair, while other times she doesn't. So, they had questions. But I never share how it affects me.

I don"t want their sympathy, and I don"t want my friends to look at me differently. Taking care of my mom and sisters is my duty, my privilege, and I wouldn"t have it any other way.

It"s why I turned down the contract with the Rangers, why I chose to go to college instead. I need a degree to fall back on, something to ensure I can still provide for them even if my hockey career is cut short by injury.

"You okay?"

Fuck.

Guess I zoned out. "Was just thinking about how to get them back."

"Good, because I have a solution." He takes out an amber bottle labeled DHY Laboratories. "Shit's stronger than the average stink bomb. Not military grade, but it's up there."

Jesus, fuck.

"And what are we doing with that?"

"Stopped off at the hardware store and got some tubes. Figured we jimmy it under the door and pour this into their rooms. One of the rookies was able to get the Titans room numbers."

I run a hand through my hair, my mind racing. It"s a damn good plan. Fucking with the Titans" sleep could cost them a win tomorrow.

Perfect.

After getting dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants—too hot for a shirt—Raiyne and I head down to the sixth floor where Jackson's room is. And he's rooming with Petrov. Don't know how one of our rookies got the information, and I don't really care.

Raiyne carefully gets a plastic tube under the door and luckily there's enough room that it doesn't squeeze closed.

I take the bottle and unscrew it, gagging immediately. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Shh."

I pour the stuff into the funnel, holding my breath. Raiyne backs away holding his nose. Fucker. Leave me to do the hard shit.

"What is that smell? Oh, my god."

Raiyne snorts loudly, hand clamped over his mouth as he tries to keep from laughing. Part of me feels bad because that voice doesn't belong to either Petrov or Reed, which means it must be Alexei's boyfriend.

Oh, well. Date a Titan, expect to be collateral damage.

"What the fuck is that!"

Shit.

I drop the bottle and run just as the door is yanked open, while Raiyne's already turning the corner to the stairwell.

"Blackwell, you motherfucker!"

Behind me, Jackson's cursing as he chases me. Again.

My cock starts filling, and I slam into the door before racing up the stairs. Why is this shit getting me hard?

I make it to the landing and turn to go up the next flight just as the door crashes open, hitting the cement wall. Jackson and I lock eyes for a moment, jade against amber, and his lips curl up into a sneer. But my gaze also rakes over his shirtless chest, and my cock twitches.

Swallowing hard, I shake my head and continue running up to my floor, to safety because one thing's for sure . . . Jackson Reed is going to kill me if he catches me.

Arriving at the ninth floor, I race down the hall to my room, pulling my keycard from my pocket. But the fucking thing isn't registering. I tap it against the pad two more times until finally the little light turns green and the door unlocks.

However, Jackson slams into me with the force of a linebacker, both of us crashing to the ground inside the room, an empty fucking room.

"Looking to die, Blackwell?" Jackson mushes my face into the carpet. "Guess you didn't get enough earlier, huh?"

I arch my back, using the remnants of my energy to try to twist, then something heavy and unmovable lands on the middle of my back.

His knee.

The pressure is so strong, I think he'll break a few bones. While we may fight, and I don't mind rearranging his face, right now—I'm afraid.

Afraid he'll paralyze me.

Afraid by doing so, he'll take away my chance to play in the NHL.

Afraid he'll take away my ability to take care of my family.

Slowly, I turn my head to look over my shoulder. He's watching me, those eyes like green lasers, but he might as well be looking through me.

His face is feral, angry, unforgiving.

A brutal titan who probably doesn't know how to touch anything without the ruthless energy that emanates off him in menacing waves.