Revolve (Off the Ice #3)

by Bal Khabra

He ignores me and pulls my hand out from behind my back. My fist remains clenched, and with a shake of his head, Dylan unfurls each finger. His hand is warm and calloused, dwarfing mine. He cradles my hand, applying just enough pressure with the pen to avoid hurting me. A stray lock of brown hair falls across his forehead, and as he doesn’t move to push it away, I find myself itching to do it. To curl the so...

There’s a faint tickle as his pen moves across my skin—slow, circular strokes, two quick dots, and a swift swipe. He drops the pen on the desk and looks at me expectantly. I glance down at the new ink that sits in the center of my palm where I’d just pre...

I’m still caught on the smiley face inked on my palm, its simplicity now at odds with the flicker in Dylan’s eyes—something deeper than the casual mask he’s slipping back into now.

For a split second, it felt like he’d let me glimpse something beneath the surface. But then he calls my name, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I’m sick and tired of everyone treating me like I’m fragile!” My voice trembles. “I’m not some doll that can’t handle a few bruises. I’m not the girl bleeding on the rink or the one crying in the hospital. That’s not me anymore, and I won’t let anyone—not even you—stop me from doing what I used to do with my eyes closed!”

“So, I’m asking you again, Dylan. Will you please help me with my lift, or should I go find someone else?” A long beat passes, thick and heavy. “There is no one else,” he says, voice low and firm. “I’m the only one with you on that ice, Sierra. Got it?” Then his amber brown eyes watch me, and I let those words soak in. I nod. “Then I’ll do it.” A familiar glint flares back to life in his eyes.

“But only if you promise to manhandle me like that again. Perfect spank bank material.” “You need a spank bank?” “Where you’re concerned, absolutely.”

Dylan’s eyes are focused on me, and he waits for each of my signals for the moves. He’s slower and more deliberate today, but I don’t say anything.

So, when Dylan and I connect again, the words are out of my mouth before I know it. “Lift me.” “Are you su—” “Now.” I twist away from him, and he must read my mind, because he locks his hands with mine and lifts me clean over his head. No shaking, no hesitation, just pure strength and trust. He spins, and euphoria floods through me as I regain my footing.