“Fuck!” I cry, head slamming forward.
“Yeah,” he snarls, burying himself to the hilt. “That’s it. Mine.”
The water rocks violently as he pounds into me. Hard, fast, merciless. His chest presses to my back, his teeth scrape my ear, his hand around my throat, pulling me upright.
“You feel that?” he growls, thrusts sharp and punishing. “That’s me, deep in you. No one else gets this. No one.”
I can’t answer. I’m choking on my own moans, on the wet slap of our bodies, on the steam fogging everything around us. He’s unhinged, fucking me like he wants to brand me from the inside out.
“Say it,” he demands, yanking my head back. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m—Shit, Nix—I’m yours!”
His growl vibrates through me. He thrusts harder, deeper, almost cruel in his need. My hands slip against the wet wood, nails breaking as I claw for purchase. My cock drags against the ledge, leaking, throbbing, every nerve ending burning.
“Phoenix—gonna?—”
“Come for me.” His voice is raw, ragged. “Make a mess.”
And I do. Violently. My vision whites out as I spill against the ledge, muscles clenching around him.
He groans, shoving deep one last time before he follows, filling me with a heat that makes me shudder. We collapse against the side, panting, steam curling around us, snow still falling soft and innocent in the night. The hot tub water sloshes, filthy with us, but I don’t care.
“Yeah, our house needs a hot tub.” Phoenix presses his face to my neck, still holding me so tight I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.
17
PHOENIX
Bliss doesn’t last forever. The championship game is coming fast over the horizon, and it’s my job to lead us to victory.
The chill of the rink feels cleaner today. Colder, sharper, like it’s rinsing the last of my old chaos out of me. For the first time in months, I’m not running off adrenaline or rage—I’m steady. Calm. My skates slice the ice in smooth strokes as I circle the team, watching how they move, how the lines connect, how our energy holds together.
I’ve been different these last few weeks, and I know they feel it. The guys used to tense up when I barked orders, waiting for me to snap or blow a fuse. Now, they actually meet my eyes. They listen. Not out of fear, but because they trust me. And damn if that doesn’t feel better than the temporary high of screaming until my throat burns.
Leander’s at center, locked in, his stick fast and confident. He has that spark in his stride, the one I’ve learned to read, the one that tells me he’s happy. He’s loose, laughing with Jax between drills, and I can’t stop watching him even though I should be paying attention to the whole line. He’s why I’ve changed, why I’ve slowed down. Why my fire finally has direction.
We close out the drill with a clean breakout, Eric tapping the puck into the net at the last second. He throws his arms up like he just scored in overtime of the championship, skating backward to grin at me.
“Tell me you’re not loving this new Captain Sunshine vibe,” he calls, his helmet tilted back on his head. “I’m just saying, man, I’ve seen you a lot grumpier. Must be something in the air.” His eyes slide toward Leander, and that grin sharpens. “Or someone.”
The guys laugh. Leander’s cheeks pink, but he rolls his eyes and skates off toward the bench, ignoring him.
I don’t ignore him. I cut across the ice, hard enough that my blades screech, stopping inches from Eric. “Careful,” I warn. My tone’s even, but the look I pin him with isn’t.
Eric lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m all for it. Hell, half our fanbase is, too. You’ve seen the edits, right?”
I blink. “The what?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb. TikTok. Instagram. Phoenix-and-Leander fan pages. The ship edits. ‘Phander.’ Or was it ‘Leonix’? Shit, I can’t keep up, but they’re everywhere. The girls are going feral for you two.”
He smirks like it’s the funniest thing in the world. My jaw tightens.
Leander, though—he hears it. He skates right back, planting himself between us. His shoulders square like he’s ready to throw down, and his voice cuts through the rink, sharp as a slap.
“Lay off, Eric.”
Eric’s grin falters. He tries to laugh it off, but his eyes dart away. Everyone remembers the fight. The way Leander dropped a guy twice his size on the ice and didn’t blink. He’s not the rookie they thought he was at the start of the season.
