Page 97 of Pucking Forbidden

Every time I turn or cross the blue line, I catch him watching me. Julian is supposed to be practicing his stick-handling, but he’s moving in slow motion. His eyes are trained on me as I glide through the center circle. All of a sudden, I’m not just practicing.

I'm skating for him.

I extend my lines, letting my movements become more fluid and expressive. I’m so aware of the heavy, burning gaze of the man on the other side of the red line as he watches me. Julian stops moving. He leans his forearms against the top of his stick and rests his chin on his gloved hands.

The air in the rink feels like it’s vibrating.

I finish a spin near the center line, panting. My chest rises and falls as I look at him. Julian lifts his head from his stick. There is something predatory in his posture now. A sudden, dark shift in his energy that makes my breath catch in my throat.

He drops his stick onto the ice, and it clatters against the surface. He takes a slow, deliberate stride toward the center line.

Before I even realize what I'm doing, a wild, electric spark of panic and thrill explodes in my chest. I don't wait for him to cross the red line. I dig the toe pick of my skate into the ice and take off in the opposite direction.

The adrenaline of a chase has my heart pounding against my ribs. The sheer exhilaration of wanting him to catch me turns my blood to fire.

“Sweetheart,” Julian’s voice echoes behind me and is laced with hunger. “You think you can run from me?”

I sprint, cutting hard around the net. My figure skates allow me to make tighter, sharper turns than him. But his sheer stride length closes the distance between us. We skate in circles around the rink. The sound of our breathing and the slicing of blades fills the air.

“Come here, Hadley,” he commands. His voice is closer now. He’s catching up, which makes my stomach flutter with excitement.

I let out a breathless laugh. My eyes land on the open gate near the benches, and I throw myself toward it, stepping off the ice onto the rubber mats.

I try to run in my skates. My ankles wobble on the thick rubber floor. I race down the dimly lit hallway toward the locker rooms. The heavy clack-clack-clack of his skates is right behind me. I burst through the door of the ladies' locker room, thinking I can hide. I don't even make it past the entryway. A huge, heavy hand grips my waist from behind, making me squeal.

“Gotcha,” Julian growls against the shell of my ear.

I gasp, my back hitting his massive chest as his arms wrap around me like iron bands. He steers me out of the locker room and into the empty Physical Therapy office next door. He shoves the door shut behind us. The lock clicks into place with a sharp, definitive sound that seals us in the dark.

Julian doesn't say a word. The primal, intense need radiating off him is suffocating in the best way possible. He spins me around, pinning my back against the edge of the heavy wooden treatment table. He strips me fast, dragging my sweatshirt over my head and tugging my leggings and panties off in one swift tug. Then, he reaches between my thighs, his rough fingers finding my hot folds. I let out a sharp cry, arching my back against the table. I’m soaked. Completely ready for him. My body reacting to the thrill of the chase and the sheer, overwhelming presence of him.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. His voice is raw. His thumb sweeps over my clit. “Fucking perfect.”

With his other hand, he unbuttons his hockey pants, freeing his hard cock. He’s already leaking precum.

He pauses, his teeth clenching as he grits out, “No condom.”

I swallow. “I’m on the pill… it helps regulate my periods.”

His eyes flash with a wild, almost feral hunger. With one heavy, possessive surge of his hips, he slams into me.

“Julian!” I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders.

He’s so long and thick. There’s a sharp ache at his invasion, but it’s quickly taken over by pleasure. He grips my thighs, lifting my legs to wrap around his waist, using his incredible strength to hold me balanced on the table as he begins to move. He is relentless. Every drive of his hips makes me fall deeper and deeper into the sensations radiating from my pussy. It’s so all-consuming; for a moment, I forget where we are.

We are lost in the rhythm. The wet, slapping sound of our bodies and our ragged breathing fills the small office. Pushing us closer and closer to the edge.

Then, a sound cuts through the dark.

Thud.

It’s the heavy, distinct sound of the facility’s outer glass doors opening down the hall. Then, the rhythmic, heavy echo of footsteps walking on the concrete corridor.

We both freeze. My heart jumps straight into my throat, a violent spike of ice-cold dread crashing straight through the heat of the moment. Reality hits me with the force of a freight train.

Holy fuck…what are we doing? Anyone could walk in on us. What if the person coming down the hall opens the door to this room?

What if it’s my grandpa?