Page 54

No, no we’re not.

Royal and Eamon help Noor back up to the bench, and it takes everything inside of me not to yell at them not to touch her. She ignores Alastair, Draven and I at every turn, and it’s pissing me off. I want her to cower and beg me to leave her alone. Instead, she just fights me.

Well, there won’t be any fighting us later. I wonder what she sounds like when she comes. I wonder if she’ll beg for more.

Fuck. My dick is rock hard as I hit the ice again, and I know I only have one person to blame.

Noor Agassi.

NOOR

The Devils ended up winning in a shoot out, but it was insanely close. They don’t look happy as I sit on the bench away from them in the locker room, and I’m not sure why until the Coach slams through the door to give them a piece of his mind.

Holy fuck. This is a very different person than the one who was so nice to me earlier tonight.

“Rivers got a puck through our defensive line? He can’t fucking shoot for shit!” he roars.

Draven winces as he begins to strip his clothes off, and mumbles an apology to the coach.

“It’s not just you. Where the fuck were you, Ciaran? That’s not how you get the attention of scouts.”

Coach Helm eviscerates the team with his words, his voice climbing as naked hockey players shower and change. I try to avert my eyes from the taunt thighs and asses, even though it feels like they’re everywhere. I’m so glad I don’t have to ever speak to these guys in school, because I doubt I’d be able to without blushing profusely.

Everyone is hurrying to escape his diatribe until he finally runs out of steam. Damn, that was kind of impressive.

“Get home safely,” he finally says. “We’ll keep getting better. Prepare for more intense drills on Monday.”

“Yes, Coach!” the room yells, including one that is in the shower. I’m too busy trying not to pay attention to all the dicks that are bouncing past me to notice who is speaking.

A huge group of people follow him out of the room fully dressed. I realize I’m left with only Alastair, Draven, and Ciaran, who is drying off as he leaves the shower area.

“You can take that ridiculous thing off now, Nope,” Ciaran grunts.

Pulling off the costume head, I sigh as I stand.

“I’ll be out of your hair soon,” I mutter, walking toward my lone locker on the far side of the room.

“In a hurry?” Alastair asks, turning to face me in his boxers. It’s hard to breathe when it feels as if the oxygen has been pulled from the room. He rubs the bulge of his erection, looking smug, while I attempt to walk around him.

“It’s just us,” Draven chuckles, taking the devil head from my hands to shove it into his open locker. He’s wearing nothing other than his boxers.

“I’d rather it wasn’t,” I mutter. “Seriously, just let me go!”

The last words are squealed as Ciaran yanks me over the bench and presses the front of my body against the lockers. His hand holds my wrists tightly, and I attempt to kick at him.

“Fuck, those boots are fucking brutal. Get them off,” he says.

Hands roughly hold onto my boot, unzipping and yanking each one off.

“Why do you have on such tight socks?” Alastair asks.

“They’re compression, dickweed. They help keep me from passing out,” I growl, my cheek shoved against the door. I can fucking feel the metal digging into my skin. Another bruise, another mark.

It’s the story of my life.

My shorts are pulled off as well, and now I’m standing there in my panties, knee high compression socks, and my blue jersey.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I scream, a hand slamming over my mouth.