Page 57 of Shattered Ice
When she comes again, she doesn’t make a sound, her eyes squeezing shut, her body clinging to me in a series of violent, silent shudders. Her inner muscles contract around me, a sweet, hot torture that finally shatters my control. Her body is screaming a truth her mouth won’t admit. The sight of her, completely undone beneath me, is what pushes me over the edge. A raw, guttural roar is torn from my throat as I drive into her one last time, my release a blinding, shattering wave. I empty myself into the condom, my body shuddering as I collapse onto her.
We’re two broken things, crashing together, and I never want it to stop. This isn’t out of my system. It’s the only thing in it.
She collapses under me, her breathing ragged, her body slick with our sweat. After every other battle, she’s been the first to pull away, to retreat behind her armor. But not this time. She stays. In the quiet of her room, with her weight on my chest and her scent in my lungs, the noise in my head finally goes silent. It focuses into a single, sharp point: her. The storm is over. Or maybe, it’s just found its center. Her staying is a confession, an act of trust so profound it feels more intimate than anything we just did. A surrender. Proof that this is real.
My phone buzzes on the floor, a harsh, unwelcome sound. I ignore it. Nothing outside this room matters.
Chapter 33
Adrian
TheTitans’off-campushousesmells of stale beer, old pizza, and the ghosts of a hundred bad decisions. It’s a sprawling, run-down colonial the alumni donors keep paying for, a designated clubhouse for the team’s particular brand of chaos. It’s not my home—my dorm is a sterile, controlled silence—but this is my territory.
I find Dante and Cole on the back porch, away from the early arrivals. Cole is scrolling through his phone, a tense line to his jaw. Dante leans against the railing, watching him.
“She still coming?” Dante asks, his voice low.
Cole sighs, not looking up. “Said she was. As a ‘friend of the program’.”
“There’s no such thing,” Dante scoffs. “Tell her to stay home. It’s a team party, not a press conference.”
“You tell her,” Cole mutters. “She might actually listen to you.”
The corner of Dante’s mouth quirks. “That’s because I’m not afraid to be an asshole about it.” He pushes off the railing as I move inside, joining the main buzz of the party.
The pre-party buzz is a familiar rhythm of loud music and endless, circular shit-talking. We’re supposed to be celebrating the end of midterms, but I’m just waiting for the signal. My phone is a dead weight in my hand. The noise of the party is an irritant, a dull roar under the high-pitched frequency of my own anticipation. The bass vibrates up through the soles of my shoes, a crude heartbeat I wish I could ignore. I’m hunting for the vibration of my phone like a junkie.
“So, is the tutor actually gracing us with her presence tonight, Cap?” Calder asks, a lazy grin on his face. “Or are you just gonna stare at your phone all night waiting for her to text you about quadratic equations?”
“Fuck off, Calder,” I say without heat.
“I’m just saying,” Gio chimes in. “It’s weird seeing you this… distracted. The girl’s got you on a leash.”
Dante, who followed me in, just smirks. “It’s not the leash that’s surprising,” he says, his voice dry. “It’s that he’s the one who handed it to her.”
Cole claps me on the shoulder, his grin a little too wide. “Hey, man, at least it’s a nice leash. Probably color-coded and everything.”
The old version of me would have put him through a wall for that. But the teasing is different now. The malicious edge is gone, replaced by a grudging, almost impressed cadence. They’re not making fun of her; they’re making fun of me for being so completely gone on her.
“It’s a fucking strong leash,” I say, my voice a low rumble. The admission shuts them up. Declan, silent in the corner, just watches me over the rim of his cup, his gaze sharp and analytical.
My phone buzzes. It’s her.
Clara: Zoë is forcing me into a skirt. We’re on our way.
An image flashes through my mind, hot and immediate: Clara in a skirt, the pale, smooth skin of her thighs. A slow, predatory smile spreads across my face, but a spike of pure, possessive rage drives through my gut like a blade.Other guys will see her. They’ll look. They’ll want.My thumb moves before I can think, typing a response that’s more command than text.
Me: Good. Makes it easier for me to get my hand up it later.
I hit send, the message a brand, a promise. I stand, the decision made, and shove my phone in my pocket. I watch Gio lose at beer pong, listen to Calder tell a story I’ve already heard, but none of it registers. My entire focus is on the front door, waiting. The hunt is on.
It feels like an hour, but it’s probably only ten minutes before the doorbell rings. A freshman opens it, and the atmosphere of the room shifts.
Clara walks in, flanked by Zoë, Genny, and Talia—a four-woman wrecking crew walking directly into the heart of my territory. Her eyes scan the room, and when they land on me, there’s no surprise, no fear. Just a cool, analytical assessment, as if she’s measuring a predator to see if it’s worth her time. Her chin lifts a fraction of an inch. A challenge.
Before I can move, Maya slips in behind them, an annoyance buzzing at the edge of my focus. Dante sees her too and pushes off the wall, intercepting her.
“This is a private party, Maddox,” he says, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Press passes aren’t valid here.”
