24. Michael

24

Michael

I clutched the phone tightly, my breath hitching as I listened to Addison's moans echo through the receiver. Her voice was a symphony of desire, and it sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. The panties I'd taken earlier were wrapped around my dick, the fabric soft and warm against my skin. I stroked myself in time with her gasps, my eyes glued to the window of her bedroom.

From my vantage point outside, I could see her silhouette moving rhythmically on the bed. The sight of her touching herself was enthralling, and I felt a primal urge to claim her, to make her mine in every possible way. My grip on the phone tightened as I imagined her fingers replaced by mine, exploring her body and bringing her to the brink of pleasure.

The feeling was indescribable, a heady mix of lust and possessiveness that threatened to consume me. I wanted to be inside her, to feel her tremble beneath me as she surrendered to the ecstasy that only I could provide. The thought of anyone else touching her filled me with a white-hot rage, and I vowed to do whatever it took to keep her from anyone else.

As I continued to stroke myself, I felt a familiar tension building in my lower body. My muscles clenched and released, and I could feel the pressure building to a fever pitch. With one final, desperate thrust, I released my grip on the phone and let out a guttural moan, my body shuddering with the force of my orgasm.

I stood there for a moment, panting and spent, before slowly coming back to my senses. I looked up at Addison's window, my heart swelling.

As I tucked myself back into my pants and adjusted my shirt, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Eren was still in the picture, and the thought of him being anywhere near Addison filled me with a deep-seated anger. I vowed to keep a close eye on him, to make sure that he didn't do anything to her.

With a final glance at Addison's window, I turned and walked back to my car, my mind racing with thoughts of her. I couldn't stay away for long. I needed to be near her as much as possible. And as I drove back to the game, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen, something that would change everything.

I arrived at Pandora's Box; the rink echoing with the hum of ice machines and the distant clatter of pucks against boards. The place was almost empty, a rare quiet before the storm of the game. I walked past the rows of lockers, my skates slung over my shoulder, ready to get into my pre-game routine.

Damien Sinclaire stood alone near his locker, staring at nothing. His face looked drawn, like he'd been wrestling with demons all night.

"Hey, you okay?" I asked, stepping closer.

He jerked his head up, grey eyes wide with surprise. "Fuck off," he spat.

I didn't back down. Damien's mood wasn't new to me; we'd all had our rough patches. But this felt different. "This wouldn't have to do with the new dean's daughter, would it?"

Damien's eyes flared, a wild spark igniting in their depths. Before I could react, his fingers gripped my shirt, and he slammed me against the locker with a force that knocked the breath out of me.

"What the hell do you know about that?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. His breath was hot and ragged, laced with something far more dangerous than anger.

I met his glare head-on, trying to keep my own rage in check. "Enough to know you're not handling it well."

Damien's grip tightened for a moment before he shoved me away roughly. "Stay out of it," he growled.

I adjusted my shirt, watching him warily.

At that moment, Eren walked in, his face twisted in confusion. "What the hell, man?" he said, rushing over to pull on Damien's arm.

Damien didn't move an inch. He gave me a glare, a warning. But after a tense moment, he finally let go of my shirt and moved to change, his back still bristling with unspoken threats.

"What the fuck was that?" Eren asked, turning to me, his voice low but charged with worry.

I shrugged, my own voice matching his tone. "I don't know."

Eren sighed and took a seat next to me as we both started strapping on our shin guards. The familiar routine offered a strange comfort amidst the tension.

"You ready for tonight?" he asked, not looking up from his gear.

I stopped mid-motion and glanced at him. He looked back at me, and we both knew he wasn't talking about the game.

I ticked my jaw and resumed getting ready. A quick nod was all I could muster in response. Words seemed inadequate for what lay ahead.

The silence between us thickened as we continued our preparations. The weight of unspoken fears and unresolved conflicts hung heavy in the air, making each breath feel like an effort.

The sound of skates being laced up and the murmur of other teammates filtered through the locker room, but it all felt distant, like background noise in a dream. My focus remained split between the task at hand and the storm brewing inside my head.

"Michael," Eren said quietly after a while, breaking the silence but not looking up from his skates this time. "Whatever happens... we've got each other's backs, right?"

I paused again, feeling the weight of his words settle over me like a heavy blanket. I met his gaze once more and saw a flicker of uncertainty that mirrored my own.

"Yeah," I replied softly. "Always."

He gave a small nod and returned to tightening his laces, the moment passing but leaving its mark.

As we finished gearing up, the rest of the team started filtering in, their energy a stark contrast to our quiet tension. I could see Damien across the room, still seething but keeping his distance for now.

Eren leaned in one last time before we headed out onto the ice. "Let's get this done," he said simply.

I nodded again, feeling the familiar fire ignite within me. Whatever lay ahead tonight, on or off the ice, we'd face it together—just like always.

And then, it would be over.

Coach Morgan strode in, exuding an aura of intimidation that seemed to suck the air out of the room. His presence commanded attention, and his eyes sparkled with a dangerous kind of charisma. His smile was more of a sneer, and he carried himself with the confidence of a man who knew he could crush you, but might just enjoy dragging it out.

He clapped his hands together; the sound echoing off the locker room walls. "All right, boys," he began, his voice dripping with enthusiasm and menace. "Listen up, 'cause I ain't gonna fucking repeat myself."

We all turned to face him, the room going deathly silent. Morgan had a way of making you hang on his every word.

"We've got a big game tonight," he continued, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. "And I don't need to tell you what's at stake. You already know. But I'm going to tell you anyway."

He stopped in front of Damien, who didn't dare meet his gaze. "This isn't just another game. This is the fucking game. The one that separates the boys from the men."

Morgan's eyes scanned the room, locking onto each of us in turn. When he looked at me, it felt like he could see straight into my soul.

"You think you're ready?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You think you got what it takes to step out on that ice and make those sons of bitches wish they'd never laced up their skates?"

A few guys nodded hesitantly. I clenched my fists, feeling the adrenaline start to pump through my veins.

"Well, let me tell you something," Morgan said, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Ready ain't good enough. You gotta be more than ready. You gotta be hungry. You gotta be ruthless."

He pointed a finger at Eren. "You! What are you going to do out there?"

Eren stood up straighter, meeting Morgan's gaze head-on. "I'm going to play my heart out," he said firmly.

Morgan snorted but didn't break eye contact. "Your heart? That's cute." He turned to address the whole team again. "Your heart isn't going to win this game! It's your guts, your grit! I want blood on that ice! I want them crawling off the rink when we're done! You fucking hear me?"

The energy in the room shifted; we were all leaning forward now, caught up in Morgan's spell.

"Now get out there," he barked finally, stepping aside and pointing towards the door that led to the rink. "And make yourselves proud."

We surged forward as one unit, fueled by Morgan's words and our own burning desire for victory.

The locker room behind us seemed to pulse with leftover intensity as we marched toward our fate.

I stepped onto the ice, feeling the familiar chill seep through my gear as my skates carved into the surface. The rink was buzzing with energy, a tangible electricity that crackled through the air as both teams began their warm-ups.

Pucks flew across the ice, the sharp sound of blades cutting through the frozen expanse filling my ears. But none of it mattered. There was only one thing on my mind, one person I needed to find.

I scanned the crowd, my eyes darting over the sea of faces until they landed on her.

Addison.

She was sitting right behind our bench, a vision in the midst of the chaos.

She wore my jersey, the bold letters of the team name stretched across her chest. It sent a thrill through me, seeing her marked as mine for all to see. The fabric hugged her curves, accentuating the soft swell of her breasts and the delicate line of her collarbone.

Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, a waterfall of silken strands that I ached to run my fingers through. She had it pulled back from her face, revealing the elegant slope of her neck and the gentle curve of her jaw.

But it was her eyes that caught me, even from this distance. They sparkled with excitement, a vivid brown that seemed to pierce straight through me. When our gazes locked, I felt a jolt of electricity shoot down my spine.

She smiled then, a slow, secret curve of her lips that made my heart stutter in my chest. It was a smile meant only for me, a silent promise of things to come.

I tore my eyes away reluctantly, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. But even as I went through the motions of warm-up, my mind was filled with her. The way she looked in my jersey, the way her eyes had met mine across the crowded arena. And heaven help anyone who tried to stand in my way.

"I can't wait to fuck her in that jersey," Eren said without preamble.

I gripped my stick tighter, my knuckles turning white beneath my gloves as Eren's words echoed in my ears. The urge to snap my stick in half surged through me, a violent impulse that I barely managed to suppress. He didn't realize the truth, didn't understand that Addison wasn't his to claim. She was mine, marked by my jersey, my scent, my touch. Hell, I came all over that pretty face a couple of hours ago.

But this wasn't the time or place to stake that claim. Not here, not now, with the game looming before us and the eyes of the crowd upon us. I had to focus, had to channel the rage and jealousy coursing through my veins into something productive on the ice.

I took a deep breath, forcing the air into my lungs and willing my heart to slow its frantic pace. The familiar chill of the rink settled over me, grounding me in the present moment. I had a job to do, a game to win. Everything else would have to wait.

But even as I pushed thoughts of Addison to the back of my mind, I couldn't entirely banish the image of her in my jersey, the way the fabric clung to her curves and proclaimed her as mine for all to see. It was a tantalizing glimpse of what was to come, a promise of the real game that would begin once the final buzzer sounded.

I glanced up at the scoreboard, watching the seconds tick down until the puck drop. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, a test of my patience and self-control. But I knew that the wait would be worth it, that the real prize lay not on the ice but in the arms of the girl who wore my name on her back.

So I gritted my teeth and focused on the task at hand, pouring every ounce of my frustration and desire into the game before me. I would play like a man possessed, fueled by the knowledge that once the final whistle blew, the real game could begin.

And then, at last, Addison would be mine in every way that mattered.