The Hockey’s Plaything
The rain hammered against the windows, the only sound in the room.
Then, slowly, he reached down. His fingers brushed against the hem of my skirt, lifting it just slightly, a whisper of a touch that made my breath hitch.
I froze, every nerve in my body on fire.
“Alexander…” My voice was barely audible. A plea. A warning. A question.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned down, his lips near my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
“Remember the rules, Isla,” he murmured, his tone a dark promise. “Especially rule three.”