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“Have a small sip,” I say quietly, bringing the drink to her lips, she licks them, the tip of her pink tongue just catching on the rim of the bottle. “That's it, Treasure, you're safe.” I smile, a small thing, but it feels safe, gifting it to her, reassurance.
And then her lips are parting, the water gently streaming into her mouth as I feed it to her slowly.
All the while, her eyes remain on mine, and words I've never uttered before unconsciously whisper between my lips, “Good Girl.”
She trembles, making a little drop of water race down her chin. I think I might want to lick it, but instead, my thumb catches it before it can leave her face. Drawing the bottle away from her mouth, I pop the digit between my lips and suck.
Breath shudders out of her, lilac-blue-gray eyes dropping to my mouth as I hollow my cheeks, slowly dragging out my thumb, teeth grazing over the pad of it. I cup her face, smooth the wet digit beneath her left eye, marking her with me, saliva glistening on her pale skin.
“You want me to slide in behind you?” I ask softly, grateful for the sun beyond the glass to be hidden behind snow clouds, the room in a dull winter gloom.
She keeps staring at my mouth, like she can hear my words by following my lips, “Treasure?”
She lifts her gaze, wide eyes flicking between my own. Clumsily reaching a hand out to me, fingers hooking into the waistband of my sweats as she slaps against my hip. The back of her cool fingers brush over a sliver of my skin exposed between shirt and sweats making my abs tense and roll. She nods, tugging at the elastic of my pants.
Gently, circling my fingers around her hand, clammy palm, long, thin fingers. I smooth my thumb over the inside of her wrist, bringing her hand down from my waist. Trying to keepher from touching me, despite the fact her soft skin sends a chill racing up my spine.
There's a loud pounding inside my head, thumping in my skull, and my pulse ticks like a bomb about to go off as I kick off my sneakers.
She's relaxed, boneless and floppy, but heavy, as I maneuver her forwards, slide in behind her, rest one leg on either side of her thighs, my feet beside her lower calves.
I wonder what she would think of this if she knew the real me. I’m just a frowning, moody, hockey player with a quiet, somber demeanor.
Her thin frame relaxes back against my chest, heavy with her short breaths, my arms fold across her chest, hands wrapping around either side of her ribs. Her heart thuds through her back, ricocheting into my chest, like fingers rhythmically plucking at my heart strings. My body is stiff, arms tense across her chest.
Anxiety kicking in, ratcheting up and up and up.
I'm nervous. I don't want her waking up in a couple of hours and freaking the fuck out on me. Wondering why there's a strange man fucking cuddling her in bed.
“Lynx?” she breathes out, drowsy and slow, and if it weren't for her heart thudding so steadily against mine, I'd wonder if she was about to die.
I open my mouth to answer, her name on the tip of my tongue, but she beats me to it.
My lips slamming shut as she murmurs, “Be here when I wake up.”
A statement, rather than a question. Something of a quiet demand. Something that would usually have my skin prickling, an automatic refusal on the tip of my tongue, at being told what to do.
Instead, I melt into the wall at my back, feel the muscles in my arms across her chest relaxing. And as her breaths slow,deep and even, I let my eyes slide closed with something like contentment.
Chapter 3
RAIDEN
Hands splayed against the white tiles, water scalds down my spine as the shower spray hammers against my back. Drilling into my tense muscles, burning my goosebump pricked skin, in an attempt at washing the day off.
Hudson Cooper, our hockey team Captain, is loud. His laughter booms, echoing throughout the locker room and showers. I get it, he's happy, we had a good practice, and I like the guy. But fuck me, I'd like to be able to decompress in here, even if it's only for a moment.
Anger flows thick and fast then, reinfecting my core as it flows through my veins. My pulse pounds in my temples, my neck muscles straining and despite the whooshing in my eardrums, I can still fucking hear him.
“Yo! Hud!” the words tear out of my throat, gruffness biting its way up my vocal cords.
“King?” he bellows back, and I can hear the smile on his lips, imagine that cocksure, sly grin.
“Think you could shut the fuck up?” I shout back, pressing my forehead to the wet tiles, my black braids sticking to my face as the hot water continues lashing my light brown skin.
Without responding, I hear his voice drop an octave, ushering the rest of the team out. Leaving me alone. We did bag skates today, partly due to half the team turning up hungover, partly because the rest were still drunk. Coach wasn't too impressed, especially considering we're currently undefeated and it's the first time that's happened in years.
College hockey is a blood sport. That's the only reason I even play. It's the only thing that keeps me out of jail most days, since I'm banned from wrestling now. It hasn't been the same though, not since Lynx left.
