Page 200 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

At the SJU hockey game… second period just started.

Keep your eyes peeled.

The game of cat and mouse is one of my favorites.

I leave Penn and Oliver in their seats with five minutes left in the second period. They have strict instructions to come find me if I’m gone for more than ten because of what happened last time.

When I said that, though, guilt flashed over Oliver’s face. He tried to get up and come with me, but I waved him off.

“Faster for me to jog up the stairs alone,” I told him.

And now I’m in the women’s bathroom—albeit a different one from the taping incident. I think. They all look mostly alike, but this one is smaller. Only four stalls, as we’re on the backside of the arena. Carter apparently didn’t want us sitting with the SJU crowd when he gave us tickets. We’re far from the student section, which suits us just fine.

I don’t need to see people I used to go to school with and drag up all those memories.

L.’s last words are imprinted in my mind, though. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s here, watching me or planning something nefarious. I finish my business in the empty bathroom and wash my hands.

Something catches my attention, and I frown.

The water isn’t draining.

I turn off the tap and move to the next one down. There are only four sinks, and each one fills with water without draining. The last tap, on the sink all the way to the left, doesn’t shut off. I step back and bump into something.

Someone.

My head snaps up, but I only catch a glimpse of the hooded figure behind me before his hand grips the back of my neck and shoves.

My face goes into the water.

His other hand grasps at my leggings, yanking them down. I grip the edge of the sink and try to propel myself up. I need air. My lungs scream. He gets my leggings to my knees and finally lessens his hold on my neck.

I jerk up and gasp a quick breath. “L.?”

His fingers squeeze once on my neck. I’m still too low to see in the mirror. My gaze is trapped on the sink, which is quickly filling with even more water. It sloshes up and over the edges, spilling across my hands and to the floor.

He slips his other hand between my legs, dragging two fingers down my center. Collecting my arousal. When I try to twist back and look at him, he shoves my head back into the water.

I managed to take a better breath, at least.

But then something else distracts me—something hard between my legs. When he thrusts into me, I groan. Bubbles escape my mouth and nose. He pulls me up again, and I focus on taking a breath and not looking at him.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe I like that I have no fucking idea who he is.

His grip changes, slipping from the back of my neck to fist my hair. I go back under. The cold water pushes at my face. I’m horrified by how turned on I am, as he rocks his hips into me. His cock hits something inside me that makes my legs shake.

And suddenly I’m not just gripping the sink to try and lift myself, but to hold myself up, as well.

His movements are fast and jerky. His other hand reaches around me and strums my clit, rubbing harsh, almost painful circles.

I can’t come while I’m underwater. I make a noise, something unintelligible, and water goes up my nose. My whole body heaves, trying to get rid of it.

He yanks me up and I cough, but he doesn’t stop fucking me.

Who are you?

I cough and sputter. He keeps my face hovering just over the water, and my eyes roll back when my orgasm sneaks up on me.