Page 29 of Monstrous Serpent

My eyes shoot open, every muscle locking up. My breathing is so fast, so shallow that my vision darkens around the edges.

“Easy.”

“Let go.” My voice is raspy. And I can’t get air. But I don’t have to ask again because the asshole’s arm and legs come off me.

I scramble to my feet and run, not looking back.

Again. It happened again.

The second he touched me, I went off as if I had never been with anyone before.

My eyes burn, and my vision blurs. I swipe at my face with the back of my hand without slowing down. The cum in my boxers cools against my skin, every step reminding me it's there.

Reminding me that the one thing outside of hockey that I was supposed to be good at just failed me too.

Chapter 9

Atlas

Three flights of stairs and I'm still half hard. Fan-fucking-tastic. My body doesn’t care that we're back at the dorm or that the night is over because my dick is acting like what happened earlier is still happening, and honestly, it's pissing me off.

I flop onto the couch, drop my helmet on the cushion beside me, and pull off my vest. Tonight was supposed to be playing Call of Duty after taking another edible, not chasing Jenkins around his own campus. But here I am, adjusting myself on my own couch at midnight, still worked up.

Hunter walks over to the mini fridge in the corner, grabs water, and drinks half of it. Then he nods at my helmet. “Clean that before you go to bed.”

“Damn.” I hold it up, turning it in the light. There’s a smear of blood on the visor, but a lot more on the right side. “Jenkins really lost it.”

“You pushed a button.”

“I was just talking shit. Same as always.” I drag my finger through the tacky streak on the side.

Jenkins never looked at me that way before. If I wasn’t wearing my helmet, he might have bashed my skull in. And I didn’t even say anything that bad. Hell, last year I chirped some shit about his mom on her knees, and he didn’t look half as murderous as he did tonight.

Hunter finishes the rest of his water. After tossing the empty bottle into the trash, he looks from me to the helmet, then back to me.

I quirk a brow. “What?”

He pulls off his motorcycle gloves, eyes never leaving mine. “You want him.”

The helmet almost slips from my grip, my pulse suddenly hammering so hard it’s pounding in my ears. I put the helmet down and slip my gloves off, focusing on anything other than those dark brown eyes.

“Atlas.”

I dig my heel into the floor. My leg is trying to bounce, sweat beading on my brow like I just sprinted across the length of the ice. I swallow hard and look up, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Then he's ours.”

Before I can even respond, Hunter walks to his room and closes the door.

I stare at his door like he's going to come back out and say something else. But he doesn’t.

My chest tightens, and I rub it with my palm. Sometimes he’s such a fucking asshole. How do you say that and walk away?

He didn’t shut me down, though. Not like last time. But that night I’d been drunk, passed my feelings off as a joke.

Nope.

Absolutely not dwelling on that right now.