“Who?”
I take the coffee cup from her hand and set it on the bench behind me. “Does it matter?”
“Not really.” Her eyes drop to my chest, tracking the bruises that are still healing, the tape around my ribs that’s more psychological than functional at this point. “You’re going to hurt yourself playing like that.”
Instead of replying, I kiss her. She tastes like coffee and something sweet underneath, and when she opens her mouth for me I feel that hunger spike—the same one that makes me dangerous on the ice.
Her hands come up to my chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle and the edges of bruises. I hiss when she presses on a particularly sore spot and she pulls back.
“Sorry—”
“Don’t be.” I grab her wrist, guide her hand back to the spot. “I like it.”
She presses harder and I groan, the pain mixing with pleasure in a way that’s fucked up and perfect.
I walk her backward until she hits the lockers with a metallic clang. My hands find the hem of her hoodie and I pull it up, over her head, leaving her in just a tank top. Her skin is cool from being outside, and I press my overheated body against hers, chasing that contrast.
“Someone could come in,” she says, but she’s already pulling at my compression shorts.
“You think I give a fuck if someone watches?”
We’re frantic, desperate, all hands and mouths and need. I get her jeans open and shove them down her hips. She’s already wet when I touch her, and the knowledge makes something possessive roar in my chest.
“Tiger,” I growl against her neck. “I don’t know if you need me to be soft or if I can just––”
“You made me like it rough.” Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Don’t be nice.”
I don’t have a condom. I should stop, should be responsible, but fuck—I need this too much. Need to feel her, claim her, remind both of us that we’re alive.
“Are you—”
“The pill,” she gasps. “Now fuck me.”
That’s all I need. I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist, and push inside her in one smooth thrust. We both groan at the sensation—no barrier, nothing between us, just skin and heat and desperation.
I set a brutal pace, each thrust driving her back against the lockers. The metal rattles with the force but I can’t bring myself to care. All that exists is her wrapped around me, the sound of her gasping my name, the perfect friction that’s building toward something explosive.
“Fuck,” she moans, her head falling back. “Koa—”
“Look at me.” I grab her jaw, forcing her eyes to mine. “I want to see you.”
She does, and the vulnerability in her gaze does something to me. Makes this more than just sex, more than just release.
Makes it mean something.
I adjust the angle, and she cries out, clenching around me. “There—right there—”
I hit that spot again and again, watching her fall apart in my arms. When she comes it’s with a scream she tries to muffle against my shoulder, her whole body shaking.
The sensation of her tightening around me sends me over the edge. I bury myself deep and come with a groan that’s more growl than human, everything in me emptying into her.
We stay like that for a moment, both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. Her legs are still wrapped around my waist, my hands supporting her ass, and I never want to move.
“We should probably—” she starts.
“Not yet.”
I press into her, staying locked together. Her pussy’s beautiful, tight, and satisfying.
