Page 109 of On Thin Ice

So why did it hurt so fucking much to wake up alone?

“I’ll never stop wanting you,” he’d vowed last night, his voice ragged with emotion.

Butwantingwasn’t the same ascommitting.

I needed to remember that.

With a quiet groan, I forced myself upright, the remnants of our passion clinging to my skin, uncomfortable and tacky. My quads screamed from all the time I’d spent on the ice last night, and I hissed as I stood, my legs a little shaky as I shuffled toward his bathroom.

My body was wrecked. I needed some TLC, and I deserved the luxury of Ethan’s ridiculous shower with its multiple massage jets and endless hot water.

I turned the water as hot as I could stand it and stepped under the spray, a groan escaping me as six perfectly positioned jets hit my aching muscles. Water sluiced down my skin, washing away the evidence of last night, but not the memories.

Not the marks.

Rivulets streamed across the perfect imprints of Ethan’s fingertips on my hips. The angry red bite mark on my shoulder looked like it might stay there for weeks. I traced it with my fingers, remembering the exact moment his teeth had sunk into me, when he’d been so lost in the moment he couldn’t contain himself.

Steam filled the glass enclosure as I reached for his shampoo, working it into my hair. Wrapping myself in his scent felt like one last indulgence before I had to face whatever waited for me beyond this room. I took my time, letting the scalding water work its magic on my sore muscles, turning my skin pink under the relentless spray.

When I finally stepped out, the mirror was fogged, my reflection nothing but a vague shadow. It seemed somehow fitting.

Back in his bedroom, I stared at his dresser for a beat before I found myself drifting to it. Ethan’s sweatpants would be a little big on me, but I didn’t care. And his Aces shirt, the one from last season with the collar stretched out, was softer than any of mine. I grabbed it too, dressing in his clothes seeking comfort … or maybe armor.

Once presentable, I padded barefoot through the house, following the scent of coffee to the living room.

Ethan sat on the couch, a steaming mug clutched between his hands. His shoulders were hunched forward, his black t-shirt stretched tight across his back.

I cleared my throat as I entered the living room, not wanting to startle him.

His head swung my way, a flicker of relief crossing his face before his expression changed, his features hardening, gaze dropping to the floor. His knuckles whitened around his mug, and he set it down with a sharpclickon the coffee table.

I recognized his expression. The way guilt crawled across his face, tightening his jaw, creasing his forehead.

“Hey,” I said, voice still rough from sleep and screaming his name.

“Morning,” he muttered, not meeting my eyes as I moved to the kitchen to pour myself some coffee.

No way was I doing this uncaffeinated.

The pot was still warm, the liquid inside black and fragrant. I poured some into one of Ethan’s favorite mugs—an All-Star one from three seasons ago—a small act of defiance, or maybe just a way for me to claim another piece of him.

“There’s a breakfast burrito in the oven if you’re hungry.”

I made my way to the couch, lowering myself down with a wince I couldn’t hide, the leather cushion dipping beneath my weight.

“Thanks, but I’m good for now.”

I was actually starving, but my stomach was tied up in knots, and even if I somehow managed to swallow the burrito down, I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t come right back up.

He nodded stiffly, his gaze bouncing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the room as his fingers drummed a nervous tattoo against his knee.

I shifted, letting out a smallhissat the sharp twinge between my thighs.

Ethan’s eyes darted to my face, down to my crotch, and then away again, like my pain physically hurt him to witness. “I’m sorry. I was … I shouldn’t have been so rough. I lost control.”

I reached across the space between us for his hand, relieved when he didn’t pull away. His skin was warm from the coffee mug, slightly rough against mine. “I wanted it, E,” I told him, my thumb finding the pulse point at his wrist. “Everything you gave me, I asked for. I welcomed it.” I squeezed his fingers. “I’llalwayswelcome it.”

He finally looked at me, his dark eyes searching mine for a moment before his eyebrows dropped into a deep vee. “I hurt you.”

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