BEGGING FOR MY HOCKEY RIVAL のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 71 - チャプター 80

JULIANRowan's breathing was soft... heavy... steady against my chest.He was completely out. For the first time since I met him, his jaw wasn't clenched in his sleep... his shoulders weren't locked up... his mind finally quiet in the middle of this shitty motel bed.I waited until three in the morning.I slid my arm out from under his neck real slow... easing his head down onto the cheap pillow... pulling the thick quilt right up to his chin. He let out a low, soft sigh in his sleep, turning his face straight into the space where I'd just been lying.Nobody touches what's mine, my brain snarled, my split knuckles throbbing.I slipped out the motel door, locked it tight from the outside, and stepped into the freezing rain.---The Ashcroft estate was dead quiet when I cut my truck engine down the road.I cleared the fence in one smooth jump, moving through the rain-soaked shadows like a rabid hound. Security was lax... the gala was over... the old bastards were sleeping off their scot

JULIAN.I didn't go to my class across campus.Fuck that seminar. Fuck the credits. Fuck the professor.I stood in the cold, dim stairwell right outside the lecture hall doors for an hour and fifty minutes... my back slammed against the dirty brick wall... My head was pounding like a sledgehammer hitting tile. Pupils blown out... jaw clamped shut so tight my back teeth were aching. Through the small square of glass on the heavy fire doors, I watched every single fucking second.I saw that rich, clean-cut transfer student... Christian... leaning his broad chest right into Rowan’s desk space. I saw his smooth, stupid face... his slick blonde hair... his neat leather notebook... his expensive cologne practically leaking through the glass.I saw him slide a coffee cup across the wood. I saw him look at Rowan’s mouth. I saw him talk to my captain like Rowan was some weak, bruised piece of meat that needed a knight in a gray cashmere sweater to save him.I will rip his fucking face off,

JULIAN.Past eleven p.m. The main varsity facility was pitch fucking black... completely dead... every doctor, trainer,and janitor cleared out hours ago.I hauled Rowan down the back service corridor... his heavy, six-foot-two frame leaning hard into my side... his breath coming out in ragged, raspy gasps against my ear every time his bad leg dragged across the freezing concrete floor. He was burning up... skin slick with cold sweat... his jaw clamped shut so tight I could hear his back teeth grinding together like stones.I swiped Doc Miller’s stolen black keycard across the sensor.The heavy steel door of the private hydrotherapy room unlatched with a loud, violent hydraulic HISS.I kicked the door open with the toe of my boot... dragging my captain through the dark threshold.The room was hot as fucking hell... blinding, thick white steam rolling off the deep hot-tubs... fogging up the glass panels, the mirror walls, the wet tile floor... leaving every surface dripping in slick, he

JULIANWe weren't done.Rowan cleaned himself up slow, wincing every time the towel touched his raw skin. His ass was still pink and swollen, still leaking my cum down his thigh every time he shifted. His bad leg was dragging behind him as he moved, the torn hip flexor screaming with every step.I didn't help him. I just watched.He dropped the towel in the bin and turned to face me. His jaw was locked, his eyes burning, his chest still heaving."Your turn," he said."Excuse me?""You heard me." Rowan stepped forward, favoring his good leg, and grabbed the front of my jacket. "You think I'm just gonna lie there and take it? You think I'm not gonna fuck you right back?"He shoved me backward.I hit the wall hard, the tile cold against my back. Rowan crowded me, his body pressed against mine, his breath hot against my mouth. He was shorter than me, lighter, hurt…but the look in his eyes was pure captain, pure fucking alpha, and my dick twitched against my thigh."Turn around," he said.

ROWAN.Six days. Six fucking days sitting on my ass while Julian dragged me into that steam-blinded room every night,breaking down my muscle just to stitch it back together his own way.I couldn't take another second of it.The scout showcase was forty-eight hours away. Every top NHL scout in the country was flying in, sitting in the stands with their clipboards and contracts, and my name was at the top of every draft sheet in the league—if I could actually skate without my right leg snapping out from under me.Mid-afternoon in the main varsity locker room. Smelled like stale sweat, damp rubber, and cold liniment oil. Out on the primary ice sheet, the rest of the team was running drills, their sticks banging against the glass, the sound echoing down the concrete hallway like a reminder of everything I was losing.I sat on the wooden bench in front of my locker, my broad chest heaving, cold sweat dripping off my chin. I had just managed to yank my heavy black hockey pants up over my hi