I knew better than to let my gaze linger on him during drills. That sidelined powerhouse, fists clenched against the bench, radiating frustration like heat off fresh ice. He was rotting there, seething over every missed shift, every coach's call that left him irrelevant. And me? The steady hand keeping our line tight, pretending his ache didn't mirror the one gnawing at my gut. One stolen glance too long, and that pining ignited something reckless between us.

Our worlds collided first in tense huddles, breaths fogging the glass like unsaid promises. Then the equipment room after practice - sweat-slicked haze, pads strewn like fallen soldiers. His body slammed into mine, not by accident, raw hunger finally shattering the silence. Tangled limbs on the cold concrete floor, hearts thundering louder than any arena crowd. I pinned him down, felt him surrender that defiant edge, and for the first time, he felt alive under my hands. Forbidden as hell in this macho grind, where one whisper of truth benches you for life.

He's desperate for relevance, for a connection that strips him bare. And I crave anchoring him through the chaos, even if it means defying every code we've sworn to. Team loyalty hangs by the thinnest skate lace; exposure torches his comeback, scatters my hard-won place. Pulling away? That kills me more than the risk. Every touch battles the fallout, every night replaying his gasps in my head. But this pull - it's inevitable, devouring us both.

What breaks first: our careers in the crossfire, or the fragile trust we're forging in the dark?

A full-length sports romance pining erotica featuring a frustrated benched enforcer and his team's steady anchor.