Roxy POV
The shocking, scorching heat of a possessive mouth crashing down on mine while a hundred camera shutters clicked simultaneously shattered the last thread of control I had left.
A sharp, breathless gasp tore from my throat, immediately swallowed by his lips.
There was no warning.
No hesitation.
No soft, polite ask.
Jaxon reached up with his free hand, his large, calloused fingers threading through the tangled hair at the nape of my neck and gripping me tight, locking me in place.
Before my lungs could draw in another breath of the freezing arena air, before my panicked brain could process what was happening, he tilted my head back and brought his mouth down onto mine with a fierce claim.
My mind reeled in shock.
This is an act, my brain screamed quickly over the deafening noise.
It’s for the cameras!
He’s doing this to shut down his father!
Remind yourself this isn’t real!
But my body traitorously refused to listen.
A soft, helpless whimper escaped my lips against his, my entire body shuddering against his broad, padded chest.
It wasn’t a cautious, polite touch designed to fool Dean Cooper.
It was a dominant, breathless, deeply passionate claim that swept through my body like a high-voltage electric current.
He kissed me like a starving man who had finally reached water, his mouth moving over mine with a fierce intensity that demanded everything I had.
The copper taste of his fresh blood, the sting of cold ice, and the overwhelming heat of raw desire flooded my mouth, making my head spin wildly out of control.
A sharp, collective gasp echoed off the concrete walls of the arena as the camera shutters exploded into a frenzied, endless wall of clicking noise. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
My independent, guarded walls—the iron defense mechanisms that kept me safe in Ashenvale—were screaming at me to push him away, to remember that boys like Jaxon Montgomery didn’t fall for scholarship tutors.
But I couldn’t move.
My hands didn’t push his chest.
Instead, my fingers clawed desperately into the thick black fabric of his armored jersey, pulling myself even tighter against his broad chest just to keep my trembling legs from collapsing on the slick ice.
Jaxon groaned low in his throat—a dark, rough sound that vibrated straight down through my collarbone and into my spine.
His iron grip on my waist tightened until it almost hurt, lifting me half an inch higher off the frozen ground so there wasn’t a single millimeter of empty space left between us.
His lips parted mine, deepening the kiss with a possessive hunger that made my knees go entirely numb.
I was drowning.
I was caught in the impossible crossfire between the lie we had built and the terrifying heat radiating off his skin.
Every single doubt, every lingering fear about my scholarship, every cruel word Richard Montgomery had spat at me in the luxury box blurred into a hazy background noise under the touch of Jaxon’s mouth.
He’s just selling the performance, I tried to tell myself, my heart racing like the seconds of a clock.
He has to make them believe it.
When Jaxon finally broke the kiss, he didn’t pull far away.
His mouth lingering against mine as his chest heaved wildly, fighting for oxygen.
His breath was hot, harsh, and uneven against my swollen, tingling lips.
The arena around us was in wild chaos.
News reporters were screaming into their handheld microphones, photographers were shoving each other against the boards, and the student section was stomping so hard the concrete structure beneath our feet was trembling.
I opened my eyes slowly, my vision blurry, my lungs gasping for air.
“Jaxon…” I breathed, my voice barely a broken whisper against his lips, my mind still spinning from the shock of it.
“What… what did you just do?” This story is hosted at g.com.
Jaxon slowly opened his stormy grey eyes.
The wild rage that had consumed him during the game was gone, replaced by a dark, consuming gaze that made my breath catch in my throat.
He lifted his glove, his bare thumb gently tracing the curve of my lower lip.
The dark, fresh blood from the jagged cut on his cheek smeared across my skin, marking me in front of the national press, the student body, and his family.
“Nobody touches you, Roxy,” Jaxon rasped, his voice rough, gravelly, and laced with so much tension that made me wonder if he was still acting or if the lines had become blurred for him, too.
“Not my father. Not the Dean. Not Cassandra. Nobody.”
A sudden, sharp sound rang out from somewhere around the arena floor, cutting right through the roaring noise of the crowd.
“Crash!”
My head snapped up toward the red carpet area not far from the ice.
Richard Montgomery had completely lost his terrifying, polished composure.
His billionaire mask had shattered into fury.
He stood in the center of the carpet, his broad fists clenched at his sides, his face twisted in rage as the glass he had been holding shattered into a hundred pieces against the ice floor.
Dean Cooper shrank back, his face as pale as paper.
Cassandra Belmont stood frozen beside him, her mouth slightly open, her icy composure ruined, her eyes wide with shock and utter humiliation as she stared down at the two of us broadcast on the giant arena screen.
Richard turned his back on us, his broad shoulders stiff with tension, and marched out of the red carpet space, his three private security guards scrambling to clear a path through the crowd.
Jaxon didn’t flinch.
He didn’t even blink as his father disappeared into the crowd.
Instead, Jaxon brought his thumb back to my chin, gently lifting my face so I was looking directly into his dark grey eyes.
His grip on my waist didn’t loosen for a single second, keeping me firmly against him as the world explode around us.
“Let him be pissed,” Jaxon whispered, a small, dangerous smile touching the bloody corner of his lips.
“We just started a game, Tutor. And we’re going to win it.”