Chapter 49 Mine
Hayes
The arena in Brooklyn was a roaring, electric beast, vibrating with the blood-thirst of two rival fanbases. The ice was a pristine, glaring white under the punishing lights.
I led the warm-up with my team, cutting sharp, powerful arcs with my skates, the sound a satisfying shush-shush of intent. My body was loose, a coiled spring in pads in my jersey.
As I glided past center ice, my gaze swept the far end where the Rogues were stretching. There, among the red and black, were three familiar figures. Hector Caldwell, catching my eye, offered a grin that was all teeth and promised violence. Fucking psycho.
Beside him, El gave a slow, deliberate nod, his expression as icy as the surface they stood on.
And leaning casually against the boards, looking utterly bored by the plebeian spectacle, was Alistair Reed.
I met his gaze. Reed didn't smile. He simply raised his chin a fraction, a silent, aristocratic acknowledgment of the game within the game. My lips curled into a faint, sadistic smirk of his own.
Crazy fuckers.
I’ll have time for them soon, not now because my true target wasn't on the ice. My eyes lifted, scanning the VIP section behind my team’s bench.
I'd checked several times already, to see if she’d arrived. But the brat wasn't here yet. It's still early and the game doesn't start till an hour. She's definitely going to come. She owes me after all.
I went over to the team and barked more orders, they better get ready to crush those devils in red and black. The air in the atmosphere suddenly shifted as I felt that familiar presence. I could feel her gaze burning the back of my neck. I looked over and there she was.
A punch of pure, hot possession slammed into my chest. My koala was a vision, and she was wearing my number. Fuck if that didn't make my cock twitch in my pants. The oversized jersey, number 13, swallowed her slight frame, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips. Beneath it, the barest flash of tiny black shorts peeked out, showcasing miles of creamy, fair thigh that gleamed under the arena lights.
Her knee-high black boots hugged her calves, giving her a look that was both innocent and devastatingly sexy. Her hair, usually wild, was tamed into two high pigtails that swung with every nervous shift of her weight.
And her face… Something was different today, seemed like she did a little makeup, that darkened her lashes and made her lips look even fuller, pinker. She'd dressed up for me. She looked breathtaking. And utterly, completely mine in that jersey.
Her weird friend was chattering beside her, oblivious to the fact that Tegan’s eyes were wide, she was shocked I caught her staring.
I saw the way her breath hitched and she looked terrified? Good, she better be.
Without breaking my stride, I changed course. I glided with lethal grace directly to the boards beneath her section. The crowd nearby buzzed, cameras lifting.
I ignored them all. My eyes still locked on hers. I didn't shout, didn't wave. Simply lifted a hand, crooking a single finger. ‘Come here’
I saw the war on her face, embarrassment, defiance, fear, and that flicker of helpless attraction she could never fully hide.
She glanced at Charlie, who looked like she might faint from the whole scene, then back at me. Swallowing hard, she made her way down through the VIP rows to the barrier.
She leaned over, her face flushed. "Hayes, what are you doing? Everyone is watching! You can't just—"
I didn't let her finish. She yapped too much.
In one swift, powerful motion, I reached up, my gloved hand sliding behind her neck, and pulled her down to meet me. Her words died in a startled gasp against my mouth.
I didn't kiss her gently. I claimed her. My lips were hard, demanding, and the second her lips parted on that gasp, I slid my tongue inside, tasting the faint sweetness of her lip gloss and the unique, addictive flavor that was just her.
For a heart-stopping second, she froze. Then, with a soft, desperate sound in the back of her throat, she kissed me back. Her hands came up, tangling in the mesh of the boards for balance, her body arching towards mine over the barrier.
It was chaos and fire. The roar of the crowd faded to a distant hum. All I could feel was the frantic beat of her pulse under his fingers, the soft give of her lips, the tiny tremble that ran through her as she surrendered to the kiss right there in front of ten thousand people. Not like I gave a fuck about them.
I pulled back just enough to see her dazed, kiss-swollen lips and glazed eyes. She froze against my lips as she heard the shutter sound from my phone.
You can't blame me for wanting to capture the moment: her bent over the boards, his hand in her hair, our lips a breath apart, her eyes heavy with lust and confusion.
Before she could process it, she looked like she was about to utter another rubbish from her lips but before she could speak, I ducked my head.
My mouth found the delicate, pale column of her throat, right above the collar of my jersey. I sucked hard, my tongue and teeth working over the sensitive skin.
"Hayes—" she choked out, but it melted into a sharp gasp.
I bit down, not enough to break the skin, but enough to make her jolt. Then soothed it with my tongue, sucking relentlessly, marking her with a brutal, possessive intensity.
A low, animalistic moan escaped her, a sound of pure, helpless pleasure that vibrated against his mouth. She shuddered, her fingers tightening in the mesh. I worked her skin until I knew it would bloom into a spectacular, dark purple bruise, a brand everyone would see. Along with my jersey, and know that she's fucking mine.
Finally, I released her throat, placing one last, shockingly soft kiss over the throbbing mark. I leaned back on my skates, looking up at her wrecked expression, lips parted, breathing ragged, eyes wide and drunk with sensation.
I smirked, a cruel, beautiful curve of my lips. "There," my voice a low rasp meant only for her.
"Now the outfit's complete."
With one last burning look,I turned, and pushed off with a powerful stride, skating back to my waiting team without a backward glance. The game was about to start anyways. The crowd was in an uproar, cameras flashing, but all I felt was the savage satisfaction thrumming in my veins.
Staring at her for one last time, I saw as she slowly raised a trembling hand to her throat, to the burning, possessive mark I’d left on her skin.
Her face was a masterpiece of confusion, arousal, and stunned disbelief, all under the blinding lights for the world to see. She looked exactly how I wanted her, claimed, marked, and utterly mine.