Eden stared at her reflection in the locker room mirror, hands braced against the cold ceramic sink. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips still slightly parted, and her thighs…
Still trembling.
She hadn't touched herself. Not even once. Even though she'd wanted to. Even though her body was screaming for it.
Because it wasn't just lust anymore.
It was him.
It was always him.
She looked down at the faint red marks on her neck, the ghost of Hunter's mouth—and her stomach twisted with both shame and something dangerously close to longing.
And still… he wasn't hers.
Not really.
Because he didn't know her secret.
No one did.
Not the girls in class who gossiped about him. Not the coaches who watched him skate like a god. Not even her closest friend.
Eden had been in love with Hunter Grayson since she was fifteen years old.
She'd hidden it like a sin, buried it under years of silence. But when he offered to "train" her—when he'd whispered promises of touch and fire and power—she thought, maybe this was her chance. Maybe this was how she'd finally earn him.
Maybe, if she became what he wanted... he'd want her back.
---
Hunter sat on the empty bleachers of the rink, watching the ice with hollow eyes.
His gloves were off. His stick forgot.
What the hell was he doing?
She was too innocent. Too sweet. And now… too far gone.
He could still hear the sounds she'd made last night. Still see the way she looked at him when she begged. Like he was the only man she could ever need.
But she didn't know.
She didn't know it was him she wanted. She thought she was training for some mystery man. Some untouchable boy who didn't even see her.
She had no clue the man she was desperate to please was already standing in front of her.
He clenched his fists.
He was losing control.
That night, her phone buzzed again.
Hunter: Library. Back room. 9 p.m. Be silent. Wear a skirt.
Her heart stuttered.
She typed one word:
Eden: Yes.
The library was nearly empty when she slipped in. Her pulse thumped with every step as she made her way past shelves and dark corners until she reached the quiet back room where Hunter was already waiting—leaning against a wall, hoodie low over his brow, like sin disguised as silence.
She walked in without a word, her black skirt brushing her bare thighs.
"You followed instructions," he said without looking at her.
"I always do."
He turned slowly. His eyes dragged over her body, and something in his gaze darkened.
"Do you trust me?"
Her breath caught. "Yes."
"Even if I hurt you?"
"Yes."
His jaw flexed.
"Good girl."
He stepped forward, one hand sliding around her waist. She melted into it like gravity had pulled her there.
"Lesson four," he whispered, lips brushing her ear, "the art of patience."
She whimpered as his fingers trailed up her thigh, brushing where she was already wet.
He groaned. "You're soaked."
She nodded shakily. "I can't stop thinking about you."
That made him freeze.
Just for a second.
"What did you say?"
"I think about you… after the lessons. At night. When I'm alone."
His fingers tightened.
"And the man you love," he asked, voice suddenly harder, "do you think about him, too?"
She hesitated. "Always."
He stepped back.
"Then say his name."
Her lips parted.
Her silence said everything.
"You won't say it," he growled.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because… I'm afraid."
He stepped back in, his body pressed against hers.
"Afraid he doesn't feel the same?"
She nodded.
Hunter gritted his teeth.
She didn't know she was talking about him.
He needed to break her open. To hear her beg for the one thing he could never give gently.
"I'm going to teach you what he'll want," he said roughly, "and if he doesn't take you after that, then he's a fucking idiot."
Her eyes filled with tears. "What if he just wants my virginity?"
"Then I'll make sure it ruins him."
He spun her around, pressing her face-first to the library wall. The shelves behind them stood silent, witnesses to something forbidden.
His hands lifted her skirt slowly, reverently.
"You trust me?"
"Yes."
He slid his fingers along her slick folds, then between them. She whimpered.
"I'm not going to take it tonight," he whispered, "but I am going to teach you how to use it."
Her knees buckled.
One hand held her up. The other worked between her legs, coaxing, teasing, circling. Her breath came in broken, whimpering sounds.
"Don't move."
She obeyed.
He used just two fingers and her own wetness, building her slowly toward the edge. Then stopping. Then starting again.
She bit her knuckle to stay quiet.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let him hear the way your body sings."
She moaned, body convulsing.
But again, just before she broke—
He stopped.
She sobbed into her hand.
"Why do you keep stopping?"
"Because I want your first orgasm to be when you scream my name."
She turned, eyes wide.
And for the first time, she almost said it.
Almost.
He kissed her then, raw and hard, and everything they hadn't said poured into that kiss. His hunger. Her heartbreak. Their secret.
And when they pulled apart, she whispered, "I don't want him anymore."
Hunter froze.
"What?"
"I want you."
His world split in half.
And just like that, all control shattered.