Chapter 53 Are you ready princess?
Tegan
The silence in the sleek interior of my ruined Audi was heavy, thick with the kind of tension that felt like a physical weight on my chest.
Ever since I saw the picture Hayes had hit 'post' on, the one of us tangled together at the rink, breathless and ruined just minutes before his game, my world had descended into a digital hall of mirrors.
The caption alone was a territorial claim, a flag planted in soil he didn’t yet own.
My phone was a vibrating brick in my lap. I didn't need to look at it to know the contents.
Charlie’s voice messages would be a frantic, rhythmic lecture on the dangers of playing with fire, specifically the kind of fire Hayes Ashford breathed.
Sophie, ever the romantic, had sent a flurry of heart emojis and "it's so cute!" texts that made me want to scream. Then there were the others. Noah Brookes, asked if we were dating with a heartbreak emoji, and the vultures of the Student Union begging for the "tea."
But the worst were the puck bunnies. The fan girls. The faceless women who treated Hayes like a god and me like a blasphemer.
One had even threatened my car. Trash my Audi? Over a hockey player? People were truly unhinged.
Beside me, Hayes drove with a relaxed, predatory grace. I stayed silent. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even when we pulled up to the beach house after a ride in his chopper and he muttered something about ordering fries.
I didn't answer. I didn't even look at him. I let the silence be my armor, even as a guard, one of his silent, shadow-like shadows, led me up to the master suite.
Usually, I’d fight. I’d claw. Tonight, I was too hollowed out by the sheer chaos of his public stunt to resist.
I'd been directed to the master suite, not as if I didn't know where it was already because of our last…. activities.
The master suite was a cathedral of glass and cold stone. Outside, the night and the Baltic Sea roared in a dark, rhythmic symphony, but inside, the only sound was the sharp, crystalline clink of ice hitting glass.
Hayes sat in a charcoal velvet armchair, his legs splayed wide, looking every bit like a king presiding over a stolen throne.
He was shirtless. The harsh, recessed lighting of the room caught every jagged line of the scars on his shoulders, marks from games won through sheer, unadulterated brutality.
On the small marble table beside him sat a silver bowl piled high with ice. Condensation was already weeping down the sides of the metal, dripping like cold sweat onto the table.
“Come here,” he groaned, the sound vibrating from deep in his chest.
“No,” I said. My voice was soft, but it was the only thing I had left to hold onto.
I couldn’t let him touch me. I can't risk him finding out but my body was already betraying me, pulse jumping in the hollow of my throat, begging to be thrown at his feet just so he could finally do what his eyes promised.
His gaze was literal fire, boring into my soul, looking for the cracks in my resolve.
He cocked a brow, a flash of genuine amusement dancing in his winter-cold eyes.
“I don’t want to do anything with you, Ashford,” I tried to say firmly, folding my arms over the jersey that still smelled like his sweat and the ice.
“Does it look like I care what you want?” He smirked. He was enjoying this—the hunt, the resistance, the slow breaking of a will.
“Should we check your panties and find out if they agree with your mouth, koala? I have a feeling they’re much more honest than you are.”
“Please,” I forced the word out. It felt like swallowing glass.
“You can do anything you want with me. Just… not that. Not tonight.”
“Anything I want?” He drew the words, tasting them. I realized my mistake the second the air left my lungs.
“As much as I’d love to be between your legs right now,” he said, his grin widening into something sharp and dangerous, “seeing you in my jersey with my mark still darkening your neck… it’s giving me a much better idea.”
He looked like a beautiful, manic villain. A monster carved out of marble and bad intentions. My heart began to race, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of ribs.
My mind screamed at me to run, but that sick, treacherous part of my soul was leaning into the danger, anticipating the fall.
“Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to the velvet ottoman at his feet.
I didn't move. I squeezed my arms tighter around my middle.
“I’m not playing your games, Hayes."
"It wasn't a request, Tegan." He reached into the silver bowl, his large, calloused fingers plucking out a single, jagged shard of ice.
He rolled it between his palms, the sub-zero temperature seemingly irrelevant to his skin. "
Sit. Before I come over there, rip those clothes off you, and take you over that desk like the filthy little thing you are."
"That's if you can get your hands on me," I challenged, though my legs felt like water.
Hayes let out a dark, low chuckle that sent a violent shiver down my spine. "What'll you do? Run? On an island? I'd catch you before you hit the sand, and the punishment for the chase would be much, much worse."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and moved. I sat on the ottoman, my knees brushing his denim-clad thighs. The heat radiating from him was a physical force, making the air in the room feel thin and starved of oxygen.
He leaned forward, the bowl of ice between us now. He picked up another cube, watching the way the light refracted through the frozen water.
"You said I could do anything," he reminded me, his voice a lethal caress. "So, we're going to play a game. A test of your honesty and your endurance."
He reached out, his hand hovering just inches from the hem of the jersey I wore.
"I'm going to ask you questions. About us. About the lies you tell yourself. And for every second you hesitate, for every lie I catch... a piece of this ice goes somewhere very, very private. You’ll have to answer me before they melt, Tegan. If the ice disappears before I get the truth... well, then I guess I'll just have to replace it with something much colder."
He leaned in until his lips brushed my ear, his breath hot against the chill of the room.
“Are you ready princess?”