Page 24 of On Thin Ice

“Fuck you, Bell,” he seethed, before he turned and fled into the house, the door banging shut behind him.

I sat there for a few seconds, my breath coming too fast, my skin feeling too hot, and my cock throbbing like it had its own goddamn heartbeat.

Then I stood, my legs shaky beneath me, and stumbled through the darkened house to my room like I was drunk. I didn’t even bother turning on the lights when I got there. Just flung the door shut behind me and stripped down fast—shirt yanked over my head and my shorts and boxer briefs shoved quickly down my legs, catching around one ankle until I stumbled and kicked them aside.

My cock was hard and leaking when I dropped onto my bed, the cotton duvet cool against my overheated skin. I spat into my palm and wrapped a hand around myself with a strangled groan.

My whole body arched off the mattress with the first stroke.

Ethan’s flushed face flickered behind my eyelids, the way his pupils blew wide when I talked about getting a man to come apart for me. The way he stared at my mouth like he wanted to devour it. The quiet, desperate hunger he’d tried so hard to hide.

Fuck.

He wanted me. Even if he didn’t say it. Even if he didn’t know what to do with that want.

I bit down on my bottom lip, but it wasn’t enough to muffle the noises spilling out of me. I clamped my free hand over my mouth instead to keep from gasping his name too loudly.

Because his bedroom was right there.

Right fucking there.

And the thought of him hearing me? Of knowing what I was doing, what he’d made me want to do without ever even touching me?

Fuck.

I stroked harder, faster, my thumb smearing pre-come over the flushed head of mu cock. My thighs tensed, and my hips bucked up into my fist. My whole body was strung so tight I thought I might snap.

After a few more rough pulls, I came hard, my orgasm tearing through me so violently I had to bite down on my hand to keep from crying out. Hot stripes of cum splattered across my chest, my stomach, and dribbled down my wrist.

I lay there in the dark, panting into the crook of my arm, my body spent but still humming.

But as the last aftershocks pulsed through me and the high started to fade, a cold prickle settled at the base of my spine.

I dragged a hand over my face and whispered to the ceiling, “What have I done?”

CHAPTER6

ETHAN

The moment the puck dropped, I knew I wasn’t in the right headspace for tonight’s game.

My blade caught wrong on my first shift on the ice. Nothing major, just a stutter-step that threw off my rhythm. I recovered, but it was enough for Washington to swarm, intercept the puck, and fire it back into our zone.

I muttered a string of curses under my breath as I pivoted and chased it down.

The rest of the period followed that same rhythm; I was always just a bit off. Too wide on a pass. Too slow on a line change.

Too much in my head.

Coach’s voice barked out across the ice as I skated past, “Play smart, Harrison, and get your head in the damn game!”

I gritted my teeth and nodded in his direction. The problem wasn’t smarts, though. It wasn’t conditioning or my ability to read our opponents.

My problem was that, mentally, I was stuck in my backyard on a beautiful Texas evening.

My problem was a mouth I couldn’t stop dreaming about and a voice that haunted my every waking thought—and most of the unawake ones, too.

My problem was Stryker Fucking Bell.

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