Page 44 of On Thin Ice

I tried to wiggle away, but he just pulled me tighter, caging me in with his body, his dick hard against my ass.

My first instinct was to feel ashamed about last night, to retreat behind walls of denial and distance. Instead, I pushed those urges aside as longing bloomed beneath my skin.

“You’re trouble,” I muttered, my voice scratchy from sleep—and maybe just a little bit from all the groaning and shouting I’d done the night before. The memory of those desperate pleas sent heat crawling up my neck.

Bell chuckled, low and wicked against my ear, his breath raising goosebumps along my skin. “And you,” he said, “are a greedy little thing when you want something badly enough.” He nipped at my shoulder, teeth catching skin and making me jolt.

“Bell.” His name came out half-warning, half-plea.

“Remember how you cried for my cock, E? Let me make a mess of you. Let me ruin you.” His voice was all dirty satisfaction now, honey-thick and dripping with sin as his fingers traced idle patterns on my stomach, dipping lower with each circle.

Flashes of last night played behind my eyelids—the way I’d begged, the filthy things we’d done, how completely I surrendered. I buried my face in the pillow, groaning in mortification, the cool cotton muffling the sound of my embarrassment.

Bell laughed, low and sweet and so fuckingfondthat it cracked something inside me, as he pressed a soft, lazy kiss to the curve of my shoulder. He shifted behind me, his hand sliding from my stomach to my hip and then lower, until his fingers slipped between my crease and brushed over my hole.

I flinched, a broken gasp escaping before I could stop it.

He stilled immediately. “Did I hurt you?” His voice sounded worried, all his earlier teasing replaced by concern.

I nodded, embarrassed to acknowledge the discomfort. “No, just a little sore.” I was a professional hockey player; I regularly skated with bruised shins and taped ankles. I supposedly ate pain for breakfast.

He exhaled a soft breath. “I should’ve been gentler your first time.” His hand moved away, stroking over my hip instead.

“You were perfect,” I said quickly, my face flaming with the admission.

His fingers trailed back through the hair below my navel. “Can I taste you, E? I’m starving for you.” His hand glided down to wrap around my dick, his grip somehow both lazy and purposeful at the same time.

I arched into his hand, his name falling from my lips with a sigh.

“Let me make you feel good,” he murmured against the back of my neck. “Let me take care of you.”

He stroked me with slow, easy pulls, his rhythm unhurried. My whole body went molten, tension melting from my muscles with each lazy stroke. No one had ever touched me like this—with so much care and so much patience.

I whimpered, helpless against it, helpless against him.

“Fuck,” I panted, my hips moving of their own accord, chasing his touch. My skin felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive and singing. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You gonna come for me like this? Gonna let me milk it out of you nice and easy?”

I nodded, unable to speak, the words stuck somewhere between my chest and throat. My thighs tensed as pleasure built at the base of my spine, coiling tighter with each stroke.

Bell chuckled, low and dirty, the vibration of it transferring from his chest to my back. His strokes grew a little faster, a little rougher, his grip tightening just enough to make my breath catch.

He sucked the pulse racing in my neck into his mouth, his teeth scraping over my jugular, and I gasped, my hips jerking helplessly into his fist. As my thighs began to shake, a stray thought flickered through my mind—I hoped he didn’t leave a mark above my collar where the whole damn team could see.

I didnotwant to have to explain that.

“Don’t worry,” he said, pressing one last open-mouthed kiss to my neck. “It won’t bruise.”

And there he went again, somehow instinctively knowing what I was thinking without me having to say a single word. Like he could read the panic in my pulse, feel the fear vibrating just beneath my skin.

He rolled me gently onto my back, his hands soothing over my thighs to coax them open. He kept his touch light, mindful of my lingering soreness.

I lifted my head just enough to watch him settle his broad shoulders between my legs. He caught my gaze, blue eyes dark with heat and promise, his pupils blown wide. He held my stare for one electric second—asking, offering,waiting—and when I nodded, his mouth closed around me.

I sucked in a breath as wet warm heat engulfed me. Bell hummed around me, his gaze staying locked on mine as he sank even deeper.

And in that moment, I knew I was irrevocably fucked. There was no coming back from this. After just one night in his bed, Stryker Bell owned my body completely.

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