Page 12 of Their Obsession

Shit.

“That’s my friend,” I whisper, terrified of being caught andhaving to explain why I let a masked stranger shove his hand down my pants.

I try to push him away but he’s too big, too strong, and too determined. He forces a moan from me as he adds a second finger, rubbing circles desperately against my clit.Holy hell, it feels so good. Way better than the few times I’ve touched myself there awkwardly.

“You better come quickly then, unless you want to get caught,” he growls against the shell of my ear.

“Please… Please,” I beg him, but I’m not even sure what for.

I’m completely lost to the sensations. His scent, his touch, the feeling of being wrapped entirely in him, the fear of being caught—it’s all too much, but also not enough.

“Let go,” he demands.

And I do.

Pleasure crashes through me with such fury that I fall against the door. Wave after wave of white hot ecstasy pulses through my being. My vision goes blank and my mouth hangs out in a silent scream.

“Fuck,Moy Klubnika. You’re a vision,” my masked stranger whispers lovingly into my ear as he strokes me through each crest of my release. “Such a pretty little killer.”

His words send a chill down my spine.

“Lilly? Are you up here?” Emily’s voice calls out again from beyond the door, snapping me out of the pleasure induced haze.

“Get off of me!” I shove the man away. He chuckles but releases me, holding his hands up in submission.

The door crashes against the wall as I throw it open and rush into the hallway.

“There you are!” Emily sounds relieved as she catches sight of me.

“We need to leave,” I tell her as I grab her hand and drag her down the hallway.

“What? Why?” she asks but I don’t answer. I can’t answer.

When we reach the end of the hallway, I turn to look back. There, standing among the shadows, is his lurking figure. The dark eyes of the mask are focused entirely on me. I can feel his heated gaze like a brand on my skin. A shiver runs down my spine. Then I turn and leave.

SEVEN

NOAH

All lined up at center. The fresh ice beneath my skates. The noise, the commotion, the pandemonium around us completely blocked out from my awareness. I let out a long breath as I assess the opponents. The Northeastern Kings are the best in the league. Better than us. They’re ruthless, determined, unstoppable. We’re fucked.

Mindset of a winner. Right? We got this.

My eyes collide with a pair of dark irises from across the centerline. Dmitri Volkkon, the Raging Russian, center for the Kings, and scary as hell. He’s glaring at me. Like right fucking at me. Not at the team. At me. His cold gaze cuts through me like ice. What’s his issue?

My eyes flit to the spot behind our bench—the spot Lilly usually sits in. Most staff don’t sit in the stands, preferring to stay in the back or even on the bench with us, like Karmine. Not my girl. She’s always in the crowd, screaming and cheering along withthe fans. She wears a blank jersey, no name stitched in teal along the back. One day it’ll be my name in teal and black along her back. One day she’ll wear my name proudly. Just the thought has me swelling with pride.

But tonight, her seat is noticeably empty.

And when I look back at Volkkon, he looks downright murderous.

The lights go down. The rink rumbles with deep excited energy as the captains square off at center ice. I take my position in the back, the last defender standing between the goal and our opponents. I shift my weight back and forth between my feet, leaning forward with my stick across my thighs. I try to calm my nerves. We need this win.

The whistle blows. All hell breaks loose.

Immediately, there’s a scuffle. Their right wing shoves our wing. Everyone rushes to center ice, pushing and hitting anyone they can get their hands on. Everyone except Volkkon that is. His empty stare is fixed squarely on me. A scowl is spread across his face.

The whistle blows. The scrum ended and the lineups reset. I bend at the waist again, my stick tapping lightly against the slick surface of the ice. I’m ready. The Kings win the face off, and the puck is passed to their left wing who skates slickly through our players. He makes us look like amateurs.

---