Page 6 of Touchdowns and Tinsel

The kind I'm about to fucking ruin in every way possible.

We huddle with the team after the play, strategy spinning through our discussions. I throw on a brave face, but beneath it, insecurities begin to blossom. Did she ever look at me the way she looks at those accounts? I shudder at the thought, forcingmyself to listen to my teammates as they cheer and laugh, highlighting every triumph on the field.

“Hey, Saint, are you good?” Aiden nudges me, snapping me back to reality.

“Yeah, just... thinking about the next play,” I mumble, but he raises an eyebrow like he knows me too well. Because he fucking does.

The second half begins, and the pressure mounts. I can feel the coach's gaze on me, waiting for mistakes, as if he senses the storm brewing inside my head. With every tackle I dodge and every pass I throw, the wind carrying it away and off path like my life, I'm caught between worlds: the game in front of me and the twisted secrets behind the closed doors of my home.

As we kick into high gear, a player from the other team pushes me hard as I nail down another pass. I can feel the sharpness of the moment. It reminds me of the anger boiling from my own life, the raw reality, and my need for the truth to unfold.

By the end of the game, we pull off a stunning victory, but I hardly savor the win. The cheers from the crowd melt into the background as I head straight for the locker room. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.

“Great job out there, man!” Ryder pats me on the back, but I pay him no mind.

My pulse still races, my skin crawling and burning at the images of Noelle being tied up, blindfolded, and fucked.

Shit, if anyone is going to fucking degrade her in some twisted ass way, it's going to be me, and right now, fuck, it's all I can think about.

three

Noelle

Even after the game concludes with the Vikings emerging victorious and the crowd begins to dissipate, I find myself still seated on the cold, snowy seats in the middle of a mild storm. Bundled in team apparel, I allow the delicate flakes to dance around me, covering me in specs of glistening white.

The temperature has plummeted, and I can see my breath mingling with the night air, yet the warmth igniting between my thighs from watching Cole play is enough to keep me warm—overheated, even. It's wrong—so fucking wrong—to have these thoughts about him, but at times, I just can't fucking help it.

Things were different when his father was alive; we were passionately in love, and the best part was that Cole and I got along—not great, but we got along. Yet, over the past two years that Nicholas has been gone, a shift has occurred within me since Cole and I have been on our own, and I can't quite pinpoint when it began or even why.

Of course, no one knows the full extent of my feelings—my desires—and I would never act on them. I feel guilty enoughfantasizing about him. But that's not the only secret I carefully guard with all my might. Though I wish it was.

As the last remnants of the crowd fade away, I finally rise, shaking off the snow—and the forbidden thoughts from my mind. I make my way through the stadium, gliding down the empty hallway that leads to the main lobby, eager to reach the parking lot and hurry home before the worst of the snowstorm hits us.

A few times, I catch the faint shuffle of footsteps behind me, but each time I turn, no one is there. The sound grows louder this time, compelling me to stop and scan my surroundings with caution. Still, I see no one. I brush it off and turn again to leave, only to collide with a solid, broad chest wrapped in black and green.

A person in a shiny green skull mask looms inches from my face, pushing me back into an open janitor's closet, sending a jolt of fear through me. The door clicks shut behind us, and we’re left in the dim light from the flickering bulb above. I suck in a breath and hold it, anxiously awaiting the man in the mask's next move.

"Did you enjoy the game, Little Freak?" He asks, casually twirling a lock of my blonde hair around his gloved finger. "I noticed you staring at your stepson the whole time, so don't you dare fucking lie to me." His voice sharpens as he steps closer, the heat radiating from his body enveloping me.

"Who... who a... are… you?" I manage to stutter, my focus shifting from his question.

"You know who the fuck I am, Noelle." He slides his other hand down the front of my body, unzipping my jacket.

A low groan escapes him from beneath the mask as he cups my breast over my shirt and plays with my nipple ring before giving it a gentle squeeze. Despite the circumstances, it feels shockingly good, and I don't want him to stop, but he has to—wehave to. And he’s wrong. I don’t know who he is. It isn’t Cole; I'd recognize his scent anywhere, and this isn’t it.

His hand ventures down the front of my pants while the other remains on my breast, his finger circling my nipple, making it hard, showcasing the hoop piercing it that pokes through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"Stop," I whisper, though my plea inadvertently slips into a soft moan.

"Who the fuck do you think you're fooling? You want me to touch this sinful cunt just as much as I want to," he chuckles deeply.

His gloved fingers explore my pussy, spreading my arousal, and I struggle to stifle a moan as I fight against the waves of sensation threatening to overwhelm me. Somehow, I manage to gather my wits, grasping his wrist in an attempt to pull his hand away, but he’s far too fucking strong.

"Stop being a naughty girl and just enjoy it," he commands, pressing his body against mine, pinning me against the shelves.

"This... this is... is wrong, and I... I don't want it," I protest, trying to close my thighs against his invasive, addicting touch.

Yet he continues to skillfully rub and tease me, bringing me closer to the edge of a terrifying but intoxicating climax. He senses my impending release, and instead of letting me come, he keeps edging me, igniting every nerve in my body. He laughs again, twisting my nipple before finally withdrawing his hand from my pants.

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