Page 89 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

After taking one last sip of my drink and flashing a few more polite smiles, I signed an autograph for the son of someone from Human Resources. But let's be honest: from the way she gripped my arm and licked her lips, little Johnny probably doesn’t even exist. I winked in her direction and excused myself to the bathroom, but as soon as I saw my ice princess leave, I snuck out of the presidential house and followed her discreetly to wherever she was going.

I had seen the irritation in her face all night long. She absentmindedly twirled a lock of her golden hair around her finger that she tugged from her bun, the same curl men kept tucking behind her ear. She was too annoyed to notice the romantic gesture. When she felt no eyes on her, she would furrow her brows and chew on the corner of her pinked glossed lips, frankly driving me mad all night. It only made me want to pull her lip between my teeth and bite it properly, kiss her properly.

The crisp air nipped at my cheeks as I entered the ice rink. I could see her slender figure already lacing up her skates, hidden beneath the bleachers. She seemed to be muttering to herself with a sense of urgency.

Gone was the image of the ice princess I had once been fascinated with. Instead, I watched as she angrily yanked her hair out of its perfect bun and marched onto the glistening ice. The blades of her skates cut through the smooth surface, leaving behind deep grooves in their wake. Her movements were powerful and determined, like a warrior preparing for battle on a frozen battlefield.

She glided across the ice with fierce grace, like a predator honing in on its prey. My little hellion drilled her blades into the ice, carving a path with precision and determination. She repeated the same combination relentlessly, her eyes blazing with the intensity of an obsessive athlete on a mission to perfect her craft.

As I watched from the shadows, hidden behind the bleachers, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. Josie wasn’t performing for an audience now and wasn’t giving the polite, rehearsed routine that had the crowd eating out of her hand at the showcase. This was raw, unfiltered. She wasn’t skating to dazzle; she was skating to destroy.

Her anger made her movements sharper and more aggressive. She dug her blades into the ice with purpose, spinning and leaping in a furious ballet that looked more like an attack than an art form.

Before, I had been intrigued. I wanted to see if the ice princess cracked, but now with this fire blazing off of her,fuck,I wanted to feed off of her; if this is the real her, I want all of it.

That guttural howl that only leaves the throat of an athlete that has beaten themselves over the head and came out covered in the blood of their desire to succeed.

The girl everyone saw at the parties, smiling and perfect in her champagne dress, wasn’t the real her. No, this was. The tension in her jaw, the way she slammed down after each jump, the rage radiating from her every movement—that was the Josie Richards I was drawn to. Not the ice princess, but the warrior who fought her battles on the frozen stage. My little hellion.

I stepped closer, the sound of her skates cutting through the ice echoing in the empty rink. She didn't know I was there anddidn't need to. I liked that this moment was mine. She was skating for me, and I soaked up every moment, from her face, flushed from exertion, to her loose hair stuck to the sweat on her neck, to the snarl permanently on her face.

She practiced until she screamed. Every time she faltered, she growled in frustration. That guttural howl that only leaves the throat of an athlete who has beaten themselves over the head and came out covered in the blood of their desire to succeed.

And god, I thought I had wanted her before when she was a little princess, but nothing compared to her now. She had a burning fire inside her that matched my obsession, my own relentless need to win. And I have won hundreds of games on the ice, rarely losing one— but her and her fierce, raw, unrelenting passion? I wanted every part of it. I fucking needed it like I needed air to breathe.

But don't worry, she'll be mine. She doesn't have a choice in the matter.

My heart pounded in my chest as I watched her launch into the air, twisting mid-jump before landing with the grace of a predator. She didn’t smile, didn’t revel in the moment.

I leaned against the railing, letting the cold metal bite into my palms as I watched her with hungry eyes. She didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. Not until she’d pushed herself past whatever limit she had set for herself tonight. But I could see it—the slight tremor in her legs, the way her breath came in ragged gasps, and all I could imagine was how much better it would be if she trembled under me and if I fucked her so good she couldn’t breathe. I wanted that. I needed all the passion she put on the ice to be reflected in claw marks along my spine.

Pushing away from the railing, I stepped out from the shadows and onto the ice, my boots crunching softly against the cold surface. Josie didn’t notice me at first, too caught up in her own personal battle. But as I approached, she faltered slightly, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. She stood there, chest heaving, eyes vast and wild, like a caged animal. I could see the sweat glistening on her brow, the flush in her cheeks. Her body screamed for rest, but her mind wouldn’t let her quit.

"What move are you trying to do?" I said quietly, my voice low and even.

Out of breath, with her hands tightly propped on her hips, she narrowed her eyes on me. "And you are?"

"Answer the question." My voice was firm, eyes hooded.

"Answer mine."

"Christopher."

Her eyes widened, but she quickly schooled her features and bowed her head like the polite little princess she played all evening. "Christopher Jackson?"

"In the flesh," I smirked, my lips slipping to the side, crossing my arms over my chest. "Now, what move are you working on?"

"Mr. Jackson, I can assure you that I—” she stuttered, gliding closer to me, her hands dancing in front of her.

I cut off her rambling, narrowing my eyes on the pinks in her freckled cheeks. "You messed up a spin three minutes into your performance."

She paused, looking over her shoulder and lowering her voice as if we weren’t alone. "You noticed?"

My gaze roamed over her body, taking in every inch. “I'm observant," I shrugged, wanting to mention how much I noticed about her, because a stumble was only the surface. But I restrained myself, knowing that patience is a virtue, even if mine was wearing thin.

She scoffed and bit her lip, her eyes flickering around the empty rink.

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