Heated Rivalry Part 1

Aiden's POV

The crowd’s roar was still ringing in my ears when I slammed the locker room door shut behind me. My lip was split and throbbing, blood mixing with the sweat running down my neck. Another ugly win against the Toronto Thunder. Another night where I’d spent half the game wanting to kill Kane fucking Rivera.

I hated him. I hated the way he skated like the ice belonged to him. I hated his cocky grin, the tattoos that covered his chest and arms, and the way his body slammed into mine like he was trying to fuck me right there on the boards instead of checking me. Most of all, I hated how my cock reacted every single time he touched me.

The locker room was almost empty. Good. I didn’t want anyone around. I ripped my jersey over my head, letting it drop to the floor, then stripped off the rest of my pads. My ribs were bruised, my thigh burned from where Rivera’s stick had caught me. Every mark on my body felt like his signature.

I stepped into the shower stall and cranked the water as hot as it would go. The spray pounded against my shoulders, but it didn’t wash away the anger—or the heat pooling low in my gut. I closed my eyes, trying to push the memory of Rivera’s hips grinding against mine during that second-period check out of my head. It didn’t work. My dick was already half-hard just thinking about it.

The door to the locker room banged open.

Heavy footsteps echoed across the tiles. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Only one person walked like he owned the entire fucking building.

“Still here, Captain?” Kane’s voice was low, mocking, that rough Boston accent sliding under my skin like a blade. “Thought you’d be out celebrating another lucky win.”

I kept my back to him, jaw locked tight. “Get the fuck out, Rivera. This is our arena.”

He laughed, dark and close. I heard the rustle of gear hitting the bench, the clink of a belt. “Last I checked, the ice doesn’t care whose name is on the jersey. And neither do I.”

My pulse spiked. I turned just as he stepped into the shower area, already shirtless. Water from my stall misted the air between us. His chest and arms were covered in black ink, muscles flexing as he moved. His hockey pants hung low on his hips, and a fresh bruise darkened his jaw—my elbow, third period. Seeing it sent a sick thrill through me.

Our eyes locked. The hate between us was alive, crackling like electricity.

“You played dirty tonight,” I growled.

Kane’s lips curled into that infuriating smirk. “You started it when you cross-checked me. Or did you forget?” He took a step closer, then another, until only the thin partition separated our showers. “Or maybe you just like putting your hands on me.”

My cock twitched visibly. Fuck. I hated how my body betrayed me every time he was near. “Touch me again and I’ll break your fucking jaw.”

His gaze dropped slowly down my naked, wet body, stopping at my now fully hard cock. “Looks like part of you wants me to touch you right now, Hale.”

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t. He stepped straight into my shower, water immediately soaking his dark hair and running down the hard planes of his chest. The stall was too small. Our bodies were inches apart. Heat poured off him, mixing with the steam and making my head spin.

“You’ve been hard for me since warm-ups,” he murmured, voice dropping dangerously low. “Every time I check you into the boards, you grind back like a desperate little slut. Think I don’t notice?”

Rage and lust slammed into me at the same time. I shoved him hard against the tiled wall. His head snapped back, but instead of anger, his eyes lit up with dark hunger.

“Do it,” he taunted, breathing fast. “Hit me. Or are you finally going to do what we both know you’ve wanted since the first time we faced off?”

My hand shot to his throat, slamming him harder against the tiles. His lips parted, and I could feel his pulse hammering under my palm. His own cock was straining against his open pants, thick and leaking.

“You think you can take me?” I snarled, inches from his mouth.

Kane’s hand moved fast, wrapping around my aching cock in a firm, possessive grip. “I know I can.”

The touch sent fire shooting up my spine. My hips bucked into his fist before I could stop them. A broken sound tore from my throat. I crushed my mouth against his in a violent kiss—teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance. He bit me back, the taste of blood and pure hatred exploding between us.

I ripped his pants down, freeing his thick, veined cock. We were both rock hard, grinding together under the hot spray. I wrapped my hand around both of us, stroking roughly, angrily, the friction making my head spin.

Kane moaned into my mouth, the sound filthy and desperate. “Finally. Thought you’d keep pretending you hate me forever.”

“I do hate you,” I growled against his lips, squeezing us tighter. “I hate how much I want to fuck you until you can’t skate straight.”

He laughed breathlessly, then spun himself around in my grip, pressing his palms flat against the wet tiles. He pushed his ass back against my cock, shameless and demanding. “Then do it, Hale. Ruin me. Or are you all talk?”

I grabbed the shower gel, squeezing a thick stream over my fingers. No gentleness. I shoved two fingers inside him roughly, scissoring hard, searching for the spot that would make him fall apart. Kane cursed, hips jerking, but he pushed back, taking more.

“Harder,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare go easy on me, you fucking prick.”

I added a third finger, stretching him open while I stroked my own leaking cock with the leftover slick. The sounds were obscene—wet, filthy, echoing off the walls. Kane was panting, forehead pressed to the tile, his cock dripping steadily onto the floor.

When I finally lined up and thrust inside him in one brutal stroke, we both groaned loud enough to wake the dead. He was scorching hot and tight, clenching around me like he wanted to break me. I gripped his hips hard enough to bruise and started fucking him with all the rage I’d been carrying for two seasons.

Every thrust slammed him into the wall. Skin slapped against skin. Water streamed over our joined bodies. I fisted one hand in his wet hair and yanked his head back, biting down on his shoulder hard enough to leave marks.

“You’re mine to hate,” I snarled against his ear. “Mine to break.”

Kane’s only answer was a broken moan as his cock pulsed untouched, shooting thick ropes of cum across the tiles. His ass clenched rhythmically around me, pulling me deeper. I kept pounding through his orgasm, chasing my own release.

I came with a guttural shout, burying myself to the hilt and flooding his ass with hot, pulsing cum. We stayed locked together, panting, trembling as the water slowly turned cold.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Kane laughed—low, shaky, dangerous.

“Round two in my hotel room, Hale? Or are you going to run away and pretend this never happened again?”

I pulled out slowly, watching my cum leak down his thigh with dark satisfaction. My heart was still hammering. My body already wanted more.

I hated Kane Rivera.

And I was nowhere near done with him.