Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Way He Looked at Me: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

Luca Moretti povDetroit ice. Third period. Deadlocked at two–two.The Blackbirds are monsters this season fast, brutal, merciless. They were monsters last season too. Even if Bennett and I could summon whatever magic ignited between us in practice yesterday and we haven’t there’s no guarantee it would be enough. This game has been a grind from the opening faceoff. Stop. Start. Reset. Again. And far too much of it has been played in our end.The only reason we’re still breathing is our goalie. Bennett’s been unreal. An iron wall. A slab of reinforced glass. He’s moving like the universe bends for him, seeing pucks before they exist, stopping shots that should have torn the net apart. Without him, we’d already be buried.The pressure never lets up. Their Jaces crash into ours in a violent, grinding war along the boards. Every second stretches, every minute drags and in hockey, a minute is an eternity when you’re hanging on by your teeth.I’m on the bench, chugging water, pulse hammeri

“Show me your dick.”And I know whatever he’s about to do next will finish what he started.I don’t say a word as I hook my thumbs into my waistband and push my boxer briefs down.I’m painfully hard. So much it burns. I hiss, teeth clenched, when the elastic drags over the swollen head too slow, too rough. Every nerve screams.Moretti leans in.He’s so close his eyes swallow everything else dark, endless, inescapable.“You’re a mess, Princess,” he says softly. Almost gentle.I nod. Unsteady.He smiles.He lifts his hand, studies it, then drags his tongue across his palm slow, deliberate from wrist to fingertips. Then he reaches between my legs and closes his hand around me without warning.The world detonates.Every nerve ignites. Pleasure slams through me so violently I don’t even have time to breathe before it tears me apart. I come instantly so hard it folds me in half. I crash forward onto my hands and elbows, choking on the sound that rips out of me as my body convulses.I’m wre

Luca Moretti povShort story: I owe Tyler Bennett ten thousand dollars. And I hate it.Not to shame anyone, but when you insist on parading around hotel rooms in nothing but tight boxer briefs and the sluttiest, most distracting socks known to man…this is the exact shit that happens.It wasn’t just the socks though, yeah, they were a problem. White knit. Snug. Two perfect blue lines circling the cuff like they were made to draw your eyes upward. The way they hugged his calves, an inch below the curve of muscle. Shadows dipping and disappearing as he moved. Shadows that tempted, tormented, branded my mind. Shadows that spelled my name across every wall, every corner, every inch of this room.Now he’s on his knees, cheerful, wiping long streaks of me off the floor with balled-up toilet paper. And I’m collapsed in the armchair, utterly spent, legs splayed, twice failing miserably to sit upright.“I take cash or check,” he says, almost teasing. “PayPal, Venmo, Zelle…honestly, any cash app

Luca Moretti POVI’ve lost control.I see it happening in real time. I know exactly how bad this is, and still still I keep going back to Tyler Bennett like I’m addicted to the damage. I tell myself to stop. I don’t. I never do.There’s something broken in me. It’s not like life hasn’t already beaten this lesson into my skull. I’ve learned it before. Repeatedly. I was paying attention. I took notes. I underlined the warnings.Men like Bennett ruin me.They burn bright, then leave me hollow. They are beautiful trouble, and they always cost more than I can afford.I should get my shit together. I should walk away.Yes, he’s pretty. Yes, his body is unfair. But he’s not irreplaceable. Not even close. There are hotter men everywhere actors, porn stars, gym gods with perfect smiles and zero complications. I could list them. I would list them… if my mind didn’t keep short-circuiting every time Bennett steps onto the ice.He pushes off, smooth and lethal, and glides like the ice was made for

Tyler Bennett pov I’ve never been this wired to travel in my life. Not for the flight. Not for the landing. Not for the bus, the hotel, any of it. Every mile closer feels like a countdown.Ever since Moretti told me what happens to boys like me, the words have lived under my skin.I haven’t gone a full minute without thinking about it.Jace keeps giving me those sideways looks, asking if I’m okay. I am. Better than okay. I’m lit up from the inside. Excited. Terrified. So much of both that they’ve twisted together into one constant pulse I can’t separate anymore.My palms won’t stay dry. My stomach won’t stay still.At night, something low and restless wakes me a tight, humming nerves-deep feeling that rolls through my body until fear blurs into heat. My skin feels too sensitive, like it doesn’t fit right. I hear my own breathing. My heartbeat. Always.I know this feeling.I felt it the first time I knew I was going to have sex back when Dana and I had talked and planned and circl