SEVEN

MASON

I slipped in through the side entrance of the locker room building. The place was quiet. No echoes, no footsteps, just the distant hum of electricity in the walls. My skates hung over my shoulder, clinking softly against the zipper of my bag as I walked.

I didn’t need to check my phone. I knew she’d be there.

I rested my hand on the doorknob, holding still for a second. I could already feel it—heat, tension, that pull between wanting her and knowing I shouldn’t.

But I was already in too deep.

I pushed the door open slowly, quietly.

And there she was.

Samantha.

Naked.

Standing in the far corner of the room like some kind of twisted dream. Her coat was folded neatly on the chair beside her, her clothes stacked on top, untouched. She wasn’t hiding. She wasn’t covering herself. She was standing there like she belonged to me.

And hell, maybe she did.

Her eyes found mine. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. She just looked at me like she’d been waiting all her life for this exact second. Her skin was glowing under the flickering light, soft curves and flushed cheeks, chest rising and falling like she was trying hard not to breathe too loud.

I closed the door behind me with a soft click and leaned against it for a second. Took her in. Every inch of her.

God, she was beautiful.

Vulnerable, exposed, but not afraid. No—she wanted this. She wanted me. And I could feel the tension building between us like a wire pulled tight, ready to snap.

My voice came out lower than I intended. “You listened.”

She gave me a small nod. Didn’t speak.

I stepped closer, slow and controlled. I didn’t want to rush. This moment—it mattered. More than I let on. More than I should admit.

Every inch of her skin seemed to respond to my gaze. Her nipples peaked. Her breath hitched. I saw it all.

I didn’t touch her. Not yet. I wanted her to feel the wait. I wanted her to squirm just a little more. But even I could feel my control slipping. My fingers itched. My jaw clenched.

She was just standing there, waiting—for me, for my hands, my voice, my everything.

I reached out, finally, letting my fingers trace a soft line along her shoulder. She shivered under my touch, like she’d been holding herself still this whole time and finally let go.

“Cold?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

But her voice broke a little when she said it. She was lying. Not about the cold. About being okay. She was nervous. And brave. So damn brave.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I told her, even though I knew I wanted her to. Even though I told her to.

“I know,” she whispered.

And that was enough.

I stepped in, pressing my body against hers. Skin-to-skin. Her breath caught as I cupped her waist and pulled her closer. She melted into me, soft and warm and perfect.

My lips hovered over hers, not kissing, not yet. Just feeling the tremble of her breath.

“You waited,” I murmured.

“I always do,” she said.

That hit me harder than I expected. I didn’t know what to do with that truth. I wasn’t good at soft things. I wasn’t good at caring.

But with her, I wanted to be.

I kissed her then. Deep. Possessive. Like I needed to claim every inch of her. Because I did. And she let me.

Her hands tangled in my hoodie, her fingers desperate, tugging, needing me just as badly. Her chest pressed against mine, and every thought I had—about Macey, about rules, about why this was all wrong—burned away.

I lifted her up without warning. Her legs wrapped around me like second nature. She gasped against my mouth, and I swallowed that sound, needing more of her. All of her.

*****

I laid her down gently on the folded coat when I was done, her back arching as I hovered over her. She looked up at me like I was the only thing in her world.

And right then, maybe I was.

My thumb brushed along her cheek. “You know I’ll ruin you, right?”

She nodded. “I’m already ruined.”

And that was all I needed to hear.

She moved quietly, just like she always did after. No small talk. No looking back. She walked to the chair, picked up her clothes, and dressed like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.

It was part of the deal. I didn’t expect anything else.

But today… something felt off. Something stirred in my chest and I hated it.

Her coat slid over her shoulders. She adjusted the buttons, straightening up, clean and calm like nothing happened between us. Not five minutes ago, she was begging with her body, biting her bottom lip to stop the sounds from slipping out.

And now she was just… walking away.

I reached into my hoodie pocket and pulled out the envelope. Thick. Twice what I usually gave her. I didn’t count it again—I already knew the number. She earned it. Hell, she always did.

I was the one who broke the rule this time. I told her to come. Told her to be naked. Told her to disobey the one thing I made clear from the beginning—we don’t talk, not on campus.

But she came anyway.

For the money? Maybe.

Or maybe she was just as fucked up as I was.

She reached for the door handle like she didn’t care. 

But before her fingers could close around the knob, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

She gasped, barely caught off balance, and I spun her into me before she could think, before I could think.

I kissed her. Hard. Rough.

Her hands stayed limp at her sides, but she didn’t stop me. She never did.

Her lips parted, and I took what I wanted. I tasted her again, even though I’d just had her. It still wasn’t enough. It never was.

I pulled away, breath hitting hard between us. Her chest rose and fell fast, and for a second, her eyes flicked up to mine.

That’s all I needed. Just that look. Just that tiny moment where she wasn’t pretending I was a stranger.

I shoved the envelope into her coat pocket.

“Here,” I said, my voice lower than I meant. “Like I promised.”

She glanced down, fingers brushing the edge of the envelope.

Still no words.

Good. Talking would ruin it.

She turned again, and this time I let her go.

The door clicked behind her.

I dragged my hand down my face and sat on the edge of the table. My legs were still tense. My hands were still shaking.

What the hell was I doing?

I stayed still for another minute, just breathing, just trying to shake her scent off my skin. It lingered in the room, sweet and haunting. Too soft for the kind of guy I was trying to be.

I finally stood, grabbed the paper towels from the shelf, and wiped down the table.

I tossed the used towels into the bin, pulled my shirt back over my head, and rolled my shoulders. My muscles were still tight, twitching. Not from exertion—but from everything I wouldn’t let myself feel.

I locked the storage room and pocketed the key.

Then I walked toward the rink.

I could already hear the faint sound of skates on ice. The guys must’ve started warm-ups early. Good. That meant less talk, less questions. I wasn’t in the mood to fake a smile.

The hallway lights buzzed overhead as I passed through the locker corridor. My bag was already in the team room. I changed quickly—jersey, pads, and skates.

No one said much when I stepped onto the ice. A few nodded. One of the freshmen tossed me a puck.

“Yo, Cap,” one of the defensemen called, “are we running lines or what?”

I nodded once. “Start with defensive rotations. Ten laps first.”

They groaned. I didn’t care.

I skated to the far end, dragging my stick behind me. The cold air bit at my cheeks. It felt good. Sharp. Clean.

I took the puck and lined it up against the boards. Slammed it once, twice, three times until the echo bounced across the empty bleachers.

One of the coaches entered from the bench, scribbling notes on a clipboard. “You’re late.”

“I’m here,” I said.

He gave me a look but didn’t argue.

I wasn’t just here—I owned this ice. Captain for two years. MVP last season. The only place I actually felt in control.

And yet…

Her face kept flashing in my mind.

I skated faster. Harder. Burned it all into the ice.

Because that’s what I had to do.

Burn her out of me.