Page 73 of Shattered Ice
The crowd explodes. Phones flash. Zoë shrieks with laughter. “Holy shit, Clara! You’re in SO much trouble tomorrow!”
Genny’s voice cuts through, low and amused. “Forget tomorrow. She’s already ruined.”
And Talia—quiet, almost resigned. “Everyone saw that.”
When Adrian finally pulls back, his breath is rough against my lips, which are swollen from the force of the kiss. That predator’s satisfaction glints in his eyes.Claimed. Sealed. Mine.
The crowd is still screaming when he tears his mouth from mine, his eyes black with triumph. “Locker room,” he mutters, a low growl no one else can hear. “Twenty minutes.” Then he’s gone, swallowed by teammates and cameras.
Zoë fans herself with both hands. “Okay, I know he’s terrifying, but that? That was cinematic.”
“Obsessive is more like it,” Genny says dryly. “He just branded you in front of half the school.”
I wipe my mouth, still breathless, lips tingling. “Good,” I whisper.
Talia watches me, unreadable, but then she nods once. “Then own it.”
I give her a sharp, determined nod and slip away from the group.Twenty minutes,he said. I navigate the maze of echoing corridors, every step pulling me deeper into his world until I find the door. The locker room air is a heavy concoction of sweat, damp gear, and disinfectant. Showers hiss in the distance. I find the secluded, empty row, my heart hammering against my ribs as I wait.
A forceful grip encircles my wrist, yanking me deeper into the shadows. A small gasp is all I manage before Adrian has me pinned, his body a formidable cage against the cool metal. His mouth descends with a raw, violent hunger, a kiss that is less embrace and more primal declaration, his tongue delving deep as if to reclaim the very essence of me.
He pulls back just enough for his voice to rumble against my lips. “You think I can kiss you like that in front of everyone,” he rasps, “and not fuck you after?”
A tide of heat surges through me. My fingers fist in his jersey, pulling him closer. “Then do it,” I breathe, the words a desperate plea and a defiant challenge.
A low, dark chuckle vibrates against me. He spins me, pressing me chest-first against the cold locker. His body pins mine, the cold steel biting into my cheek as his hand tangles in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my throat. His other hand slides between us, the rasp of my zipper shockingly loud in the quiet.
“You wore my name,” he rasps, his voice thick with possessive satisfaction as he drags the denim down my thighs. “You let them all see. Good girl. Now let me show you what it means.”
My jeans pool at my ankles. A single tug and my panties follow, leaving me bare before I can catch my breath. Hiscalloused fingers trail over me, a teasing exploration, before pressing inside to test my readiness.
A choked gasp escapes my lips as I arch into his touch. “Adrian—”
“Already wet for me,” he snarls, a triumphant, feral sound. He withdraws his hand only to shove down his own gear, the blunt head of his cock sliding against me, hot and heavy. “Fuck, Clara. You’re mine.”
“Always,” I whisper, a heartfelt vow.
He thrusts in one brutal stroke, filling me so suddenly I cry out, the sound muffled as his hand clamps over my mouth. The stretch burns in the best way, the cold metal of the locker pressing against my cheek, his body hot and relentless at my back. My fingers claw at the steel, seeking a grounding point in the tempest.
“Shh,” he hisses, grinding into me. “You want the whole team to know I’m splitting you open in here?” My muffled moan betrays me. His chuckle is sharp, pleased. “Yeah. You do.”
His hips slam into me, each thrust a powerful beat that drives me harder into the locker, the clang reverberating through my chest. My nails scrape helplessly against the steel as he pounds into me, driving me to the brink.
“You like this?” he growls in my ear. “Being taken where anyone could walk in? Being ruined in my jersey?”
“Yes,” I gasp, the word torn from my throat the moment he lets my mouth go. “God, yes.”
“Say it,” he demands, fucking me deeper. “Say you love being mine where they can hear it.”
“I love it,” I choke out. “I love being yours.” The words are a vow, a confession.
His hand slides between my thighs, fingers circling my clit in a ruthless counterpoint to his thrusts. The dual sensationsare overwhelming. “Good girl. Come for me. Come so loud they know who you belong to.”
The orgasm rips through me, sharp and unstoppable. My cry bounces off the cold metal, echoing down the empty row. He slams into me twice more, then shudders, a guttural groan escaping as he comes hard, his teeth sinking into my shoulder to muffle his own release.
For a long moment, we just breathe, sweat cooling on our skin, the scent of sex and adrenaline thick in the air. He presses a kiss over the bite mark, softer now, reverent. “Perfect,” he murmurs against my neck, sealing our illicit moment.
Later, back in my dorm, my phone buzzes. It's Zoë.
