CHAPTER 2

Soren’s breath caught in his throat as he said ‘everything’

The single word hung between them like a loaded gun. JR’s gray eyes bored into his, daring him to run, to fight, to finally break.

The voices in the hallway grew louder: teammates, staff, people who could walk in at any second and see their captain cornered by the enemy.

“Fine,” Soren hissed, the word tasting like defeat and something far more volatile. “One night. We start with one night and we’ll talk about the rest tomorrow.”

JR’s smirk returned, slow and victorious. “Smart choice, Captain. But we both know it won’t stop at one night.” He stepped back just enough to give Soren breathing room, but his hand stayed on Soren’s hip and his fingers pressing into bare skin like a brand. “Get dressed, we’re leaving now!”

Soren shoved past him,his jaw tight, and yanked on a hoodie and sweats.

Every movement pulled at his bruised ribs, a sharp reminder of how they’d gotten here. JR watched him the entire time with crossed arms, leaning against the locker like he had all the time in the world.

They slipped out a side exit used by staff, avoiding the main tunnel where reporters and remaining players lingered. JR’s black SUV waited in the private lot, engine already purring. Soren climbed into the passenger seat, his muscles coiled tight. The door shut with a heavy click that felt final.

The silence in the car was deafening as JR pulled out into the rainy Vancouver night. Streetlights cast shifting shadows across his sharp features. One hand rested on the wheel, the other on the gear shift dangerously close to Soren’s thigh.

“You’re quiet,” JR observed after five minutes. “That’s new. Usually you’ve got plenty to say when you’re trying to knock my teeth out.”

Soren stared out the window, watching rain streak across the glass. “What do you want me to say? Congratulations on your shitty win? That I’m thrilled to be your whore for the next thirty days?”

JR chuckled in a low and dark tone. “Whore? Don’t flatter yourself, Calder. I don’t pay for what I take.” He reached over and squeezed Soren’s thigh, hard enough to make him tense. “I want you pissed off. I want you fighting me every step of the way until you can’t anymore. That’s the part that gets me hard.”

Soren grabbed JR’s wrist again, but this time he didn’t immediately shove it away. “You’re sick. You know that, right? This whole deal is fucked up.”

“Yeah?” JR’s voice dropped, turning rough. “Tell me you don’t get hard thinking about it. Tell me you haven’t jerked off imagining what I’d do to you after all those years of beating the shit out of each other on the ice.” He glanced over, eyes gleaming. “Go on. Lie to me, Captain.”

Soren’s face burned. He released JR’s wrist but the heat of that touch lingered. “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that,” JR murmured. “But your body’s saying something else.”

The rest of the drive passed in charged silence. JR lived in a sleek high-rise overlooking the water, the kind of place only a top-earning player could afford. They rode the elevator up in silence, their shoulders keep brushing and the air was thick enough to choke on.

The moment the apartment door closed behind them, JR spun Soren around and shoved him against it. Not hard enough to hurt the fresh bruises, but firm enough to remind him who was in control.

“Thirty days,” JR said, caging Soren in with his arms. “No running, no hiding behind your captain bullshit. When you’re here, you’re mine. Say it.”

Soren’s chest heaved. Up close like this, JR smelled like victory and expensive cologne and raw male sweat. His dark hair was still messy from the game, and that scar through his eyebrow made him look dangerously beautiful.

“I’m not saying shit until you tell me why,” Soren challenged, lifting his chin. “Why me? You could have anyone. Why go through all this just to fuck your rival?”

JR’s expression flickered something raw and almost vulnerable flashing behind the arrogance before it vanished. He gripped Soren’s jaw, tilting his head up.

“Because you’re the only one who’s ever matched me,” he growled. “Three seasons of you coming at me like you wanted to kill me or kiss me. I’m tired of wondering which one it is.” His thumb brushed Soren’s lower lip. “Tonight we find out.”

Then JR kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It was three years of pent-up aggression and frustration exploding at once, teeth and tongue and bruising pressure. Soren froze for half a second before his hands fisted in JR’s jersey, yanking him closer. A groan tore from his throat as JR deepened the kiss, claiming his mouth like he owned it.

“Fuck,” Soren gasped when they broke apart for air.

“Yeah,” JR rasped, his forehead pressed to Soren’s. “That’s what I thought.” His hands slid under Soren’s hoodie, mapping the hard planes of his abdomen and the sensitive bruises along his ribs. “Strip. I want to see what I won.”

Soren hesitated, pride warring with the fire racing through his veins. Then he pulled the hoodie over his head in one rough motion, revealing his torso: toned, athletic, and marked with fresh battle wounds. JR’s eyes darkened with hunger.

“Beautiful,” JR muttered, almost to himself. He shrugged off his own shirt, revealing miles of tattooed muscle and the powerful build that made him a nightmare on the ice. “Bedroom. Now.”

Soren let himself be guided down the hall, JR’s hand burning at the small of his back. The bedroom was massive, dominated by a king-sized bed with black sheets. JR pushed him down onto it, crawling over him with predatory grace.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” JR said, even as his mouth latched onto Soren’s neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “But we both know you won’t.”

Soren arched beneath him, a broken sound escaping as JR’s hand palmed him through his sweats. “This doesn’t mean anything,” he panted, even as his hips rolled up seeking more friction.

JR laughed against his skin. “Keep telling yourself that, Captain.” He hooked his fingers in Soren’s waistband and dragged the fabric down, freeing him. “Look at you. Already leaking for me. So fucking stubborn… and so fucking mine.”

Soren cursed, reaching for JR’s shoulders, his nails digging in as the other man wrapped a large, calloused hand around him and stroked with devastating confidence. The contrast between their usual violence on the ice and this raw intimacy made Soren’s head spin.

“JR…” he gasped, the nickname slipping out unbidden.

JR’s eyes flashed with triumph. “Say it again.”

“Fuck you.”

“Wrong answer.” JR’s strokes slowed to a torturous pace. “Try again.”

Soren’s head fell back against the pillow, his hips chasing JR’s hand despite himself. The pleasure built fast and sharp, years of tension finally snapping. “Jeremy,” he bit out.

“Closer.” JR leaned down, capturing Soren’s mouth in another fierce kiss while his hand worked him relentlessly. “I want to hear you beg before the night’s over. I want you to remember exactly who owns this body for the next thirty days.”

Soren was close when JR suddenly stopped, pulling his hand away.

“What the…?” Soren growled, eyes flying open in frustration.

JR hovered above him, breathing hard and a wicked smile on his face. “Not yet. You don’t come until I say so.” He sat back on his heels, drinking in the sight of Soren sprawled beneath him, flushed and furious and painfully aroused. “We’ve got all night, Captain. And I’m just getting started.”

Soren glared up at him. “You bastard.”

JR’s grin widened as he reached for the lube on the nightstand. “You have no idea.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Now turn over. I want to see how long that famous Calder pride lasts when I’m buried inside you.”

Soren’s heart slammed against his ribs as he slowly obeyed, his muscles trembling with a mixture of rage, anticipation, and terrifying want.

He was screwed and the worst part, he wasn’t sure he wanted JR to stop.