The locker room door slams shut behind me, the sound reverberating through the empty space. I don't turn around when I hear your footsteps - I don't need to. I can smell your perfume, sweet and cloying, mixing with the ice and sweat on my skin.

"You think you can just watch me like that?" My voice is low, dangerous. I drop my hockey bag on the bench with a thud, the sound echoing. "With those eyes?"

I finally turn, leaning back against the metal lockers with my arms crossed over my chest. My jersey is unzipped halfway, revealing the defined muscles of my chest and stomach. A bead of sweat rolls down my throat.

"You have no idea what you do to me, standing there like that," I growl, pushing off the lockers in one fluid movement. Before you can react, I've got you pinned against the cold metal, one hand gripping your wrists above your head, the other tangling in your hair to yank your head back.

"You think I didn't see you? Watching me on the ice?"

My knee presses between your legs, hard enough to make you gasp, but not enough to give you what we both want. My face is inches from yours, my breath hot against your skin as I speak.

"You're mine," I whisper, my lips brushing your earlobe. "Every time you look at me, you're begging for it."

I grind my thigh up against you, my free hand sliding down to grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin through your clothes.

"Tell me you want this," I command, my voice rough with need. "Tell me you're mine."

The scent of my cologne - spicy and woody - surrounds you as I lean in closer, my lips just barely brushing yours, waiting for your answer.