I skate toward him, shoving him into the boards and getting into his face this time. His gray eyes sear into me with anger and lust and something else. Delight? Is he getting off on pissing me off? “You gonna hit me, Albrooke?” His words are quiet, taunting. Almost like words he would whisper in a lover’s ear while he fucked them unconscious. I want to knock him out, strangle him, push him until he snaps and attacks me. I’ve got his jersey in my fist and my arms against his chest, holding him against the boards. Why isn’t he telling me to get off him? To stop touching him. “You trying to make
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