Page 21 of Reckless On Ice

“What if I like talking about it with you?” He gets a devious look on his face when I glance over, so I quickly avert my gaze back to the shake, setting it in the blender base. His voice is low, rough, and close as he moves into my space, one hand on the counter next to me, his mouth right at my ear, and his body pressed against my side so I can feel every hard ridge and muscle of him as he boxes me in before he continues. “She let me bend her over and fuck her ass like I had something to prov—”

I cut him off when I turn on the blender and let itcover his salacious words that are stirring up shit in me that I do not want to confront right now. If I can’t hear him, he can’t tell me more details of how he fucked the woman. And hopefully, I’ll stop picturing him bending someone over, gripping their hips, and driving his cock into them in a punishing rhythm. I bet he split that poor girl in half. Her ass has got to be sore after taking his fat cock that likes to swing around in his sweats, showing off his size when he’s not even aroused. What’s he like, fully hard? Ugh. This isn’t what I need in my head now or ever.

He slaps my back like he knows where my thoughts have strayed, but instead of leaving me alone as the blender whirs, his hand smooths up to the back of my neck and squeezes.

Oh, fuck, no. I have an embarrassingly visceral reaction to the small touch, my body shivering under his palm and goosebumps racing down my arms to my hands that grip the blender like a lifeline. I can’t move, not to push him off or get away. I’m frozen, stuck here like I’ve been electrocuted, and he’s the live wire that is rewiring my neurons and frying my circuits until my brain is no longer capable of rational thought. It must be the lack of sleep and his proximity. I can smell him, his slept-in woodsy cologne mingling with a hint of sweat and musky sex invading my nose and wrapping around my brain, making me salivate for the sinful scent and the feel of his hot skin that burns even through the layers of my suit.

“Stop,” I beg, the word guttural despite keeping my tone low. I have no idea if he can even hear me over the blender, which has more than crushed the ice and done its job at thispoint, but I can't shut it off or he’ll hear my heartbeat galloping in my chest and my breaths coming out in labored pants from one stupid, errant touch he didn’t even mean. He’s fucking with me, and I can't let him know it feels too good even though I know it’s stupid and reckless, and everything about this—him—is so wrong for me.

His mouth is close again, speaking directly against the shell of my ear so I feel each word down to my toes. “I don't think you actually want me to stop doing any of this.” The hand on my neck slides down slowly to my waist and squeezes, pulling me tighter against his body. Is he…hard? Fuck, he is, and he’s not hiding that he’s turned on, he’s subtly grinding his cock against my hip so I’m surenotto miss it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” My voice breaks with confusion on the question. I don't want Ryder, no matter how attractive he is, or how often he wears his slutty sweats and shows off his muscles and tattoos, I’ve known him too long. I’ve been on the receiving end of his cruelty and seen how he likes to mess with people. This is all to prove a point, not because hewantsme.Right?

“This is…interesting. I guess my cock just likes the way you feel. And you smell so damn good. What the fuck is that cologne? Or maybe my dick thinks you’re going to feed me again with that shake and he got excited,” he says, confusion and curiosity coloring his gravelly voice.

Is he amused by this? Does he find it funny that I’m dying inside, knowing he’s turned on by teasing me? Is he turned on because he knows it will fuck with me? I don't knowwhat caused the other, but I do know none of this should be happening.

With more self-restraint than I realized I was capable of, I stop the blender and take a few unsteady steps away from Ryder and his savage humor. “You’re just horny. Go fuck your puck bunny once more before her ride gets here and get it out of your system. Fix this.” I can't look at him. I turn my back and scrub my hands across my face, my chest heaving with my jagged breaths as my mind races.

“I don't know how.”

I look up at the vulnerable confession and catch the confusion on Ryder’s face, quickly infused with disgust. He narrows his eyes at me, and I know whatever just happened is going to be an enormous boulder in our path to getting to the end of this forced roommate situation. Great, just what I need, him to be disgusted by his reaction to me, and to turn it into another reason to make my life a living hell. Because the one thing I do know for sure is Ryder will use this against me later, and he’s going to be vicious and brutal with his words and actions because he’s uncomfortable with what just happened.

The sound of heels on the hardwood has me straightening up and moving further away from Ryder like my ass is on fire. I don’t want to have any accidental touches or meaningful looks caught by anyone, especially some random woman Ryder spent the night with. I look at my phone and see the notification for the Lyft arriving shortly.

“Your ride will be here by the time you get downstairs. White Nissan Altima, the driver is named Marissa,” I tell thewoman who is now dressed, if you can call it that, in a tiny skirt, cropped top, and tall heels. Her smudged eye makeup has been fixed, and her hair is up in a bun on top of her head, so she looks more presentable than she did when I walked in and got a good look at her full frontal.

She smiles at me as she approaches Ryder. “You didn't tell me you had such a nice roommate. If you like to share, I’m into that, too.”

Ryder’s eyes shoot to mine, and he gets a dirty grin, but I stop him before he can say a word. “I’m not into him, and I don't like sharing. You should go before the driver leaves.”

Ryder pouts, but he remains remarkably silent. The woman puts her hand on his chest and leans in. Instead of the full-on makeout session like earlier, he only gives her a perfunctory kiss before he straightens up and guides her toward the exit. I hear him speaking to her in a low voice at the door, but I make a point not to listen. I rescue my shake from the blender, putting everything away and cleaning up any mess I’ve made quickly so I can escape to my room and fall into a deep sleep. Hopefully, I’ll wake up and realize this has all been one long, horrible nightmare.

Twelve

Ryder

I’m a dick. Well, I think with my dick, but I’m an asshole, a big old jerk. I liked antagonizing Knox, teasing him, and making him uncomfortable because I knew I could. That reaction to him was purely physical and not at all because ofhim. I could rub myself wrong in my sweaty, smelly hockey pads and get an erection, so it’s not like Knox caused my cock to get hard, it was just from being pressed against his muscular thigh and getting a little friction. Whatever my sleep-deprived brain decided to come up with after that, about the way he smelled, was simply putting my mouth on autopilot and letting the first thing that popped into my head come out. Maybe Knox is right, I should think first before I speak.

Knox’s cologne is pretty amazing, though. I’ve caught a whiff of it several times as he’s come and gone through the house and always stopped to breathe in a little deeper to see if I could place it. His scent lingers on the couch and in the kitchen and floats in the air down the hallway. It’s woodsy with a softer underlying scent like vanilla or maybe coconut. I don’t know, but it smells amazing, and I think it might be custom because I haven’t come across a cologne that smells even remotely like his. I might have to go sniff some candles to find one that smells like him so I can burn it when he’s gone to get my fix. It’s probably called sandalwood and vanilla or something frou-frou like that.

Why I’m even thinking about Knox’s cologne is pointless. We both went to our separate bedrooms after that thing in the kitchen, but I couldn’t sleep for long. I decide to shower off my night of casual sex when lying in bed proves fruitless. I should be dead tired after a game and going out with the boys, then bringing Veronica home and fucking her until the early morning, only to get a few hours of sleep before getting up early and catching Knox’s arrival. Instead, I'm wired.

He was pissed seeing her in the kitchen, half naked, and from what I heard, asking him to join in on the fun. From his quick negative answer, I can take bisexual off the table and know for sure he’s gay because she was hot and nothing stirred below the belt for him. He didn’t react until Veronica grabbed my dick and I got hard, then Knox was flustered and rushed to the kitchen to make himself busy. I saw the bulge in hisslacks when I followed and teased him with a recounting of my night, getting into his space a bit to see if he’d react to me more. Again, I’m a shithead and know that was stupid, and he didn't deserve to be taunted or touched or have me in his space, trying to get him to admit I’m his type and he finds me attractive. But my ego needs to know I do it for him, and well, I could tell enough.

When I finish getting dressed in casual shorts and a navy button-down short-sleeve shirt, I hear movement in the hallway and know Knox is up again, even though it’s only been a few hours. He must not want to sleep his day away, either. I open my door and lean on the doorframe as he walks past, looking extra sharp in a fitted white shirt and gray pants that hug his thighs and ass like they know the joy of their job or something. They have to be Lululemon ABC slacks. I have a drawer full of them myself because they’re the only thing that fit my thighs and butt off the rack. Knox is taller, broader, and just as round in the ass region as I am, so I know what he’d wear.

“Going somewhere already?” I ask, keeping my tone even as I let my eyes roam the length of him. No curiosity or confusion this time. I just want to know what he’s up to.Right.

He pauses at the living room entrance and turns. “I’m going to brunch with a friend. It’s what people do on Saturday mornings.”

A shot of jealousy streaks through me, and my fear of missing out kicks in. “Is brunch an exclusive club you andyourfriendare only allowed to attend?” I ask, emphasizing the word friend. Who’s he going with? Does Knox have friends? I haven't paid much attention, but he’s probably friends with his teammates, and he likely knows more people in Atlanta. He did say Harlowe was one of his best friends, so maybe he’s going to brunch with her. That would be acceptable. Would he go out with a guy? He’s not technically out, but maybe he’s testing the waters with brunch to see about dating. Why does that make my insides churn violently? Not unpacking that thought right now.

Knox smiles slowly, his full lips parting and showing off even, white teeth as he studies me. “Are you trying to get an invitation to brunch, Reckless?”

That fucking nickname. But I am being reckless because I’m willing to do dangerous things without the slightest impulse control. No wonder it’s stuck. “I love brunch. Breakfast at lunchtime is the best.”

“I don't think you’d like this brunch. Not your style,” Knox says, turning away from me and heading into the living room. I follow him, intent on knowing his meaning now.

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