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The Anniversary
SLOAN
It’s our three-year anniversary.
Three years since I walked into that shower and my entire life changed.
Elias has been acting mysterious all week. Secretive. Smiling when he thinks I’m not looking.
“Where are we going?” I ask for the third time as we pull into the arena parking garage.
“You’ll see.”
“Elias. It’s 10 PM. The arena is closed.”
“Not to me.” He parks in his usual spot and comes around to open my door. “Trust me?”
“Always.”
He leads me through the empty building, his hand warm in mine. We pass the locker rooms, the offices, the press box.
And then we’re on the ice.
The actual ice. The rink where he plays. Where I’ve watched him countless times.
Except now it’s transformed.
There are candles everywhere—battery-operated, because fire code—casting soft light across the ice. Rose petals scattered. A blanket spread in the center of the rink.
“Elias,” I breathe. “What is this?”
“Three years ago, you walked into a shower and saw me. Really saw me. And I’ve been yours ever since.” He pulls me onto the ice, steadying me when I slip slightly. “I wanted to give you something private. Something just for us. No cameras. No internet. No one else.”
“You rented out the entire arena?”
“I know the owner.” He grins. “Owen owed me a favor.”
We reach the center of the rink, and he pulls me down onto the blanket.
“This is insane,” I say.
“This is us.” He kisses me, soft and sweet. “Private. Secret. Ours.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. And I’m going to show you exactly how much.”
His hands slide under my coat, and I shiver—not from cold, but from anticipation.
“Here?” I ask. “On the ice?”
“Where better? This is where I became yours. Where you watched me play. Where we built our life.” His mouth finds my neck. “And now I’m going to make love to you right here. In the middle of the rink. Where anyone could walk in. Where we could get caught.”
“Elias—”
“Do you like the risk, Velvet?”
The nickname. The callback to that first time.
My breath catches. “Yes.”
“Good.” He’s already pulling off my coat, my sweater. “Because I’m going to take my time. I’m going to taste every inch of you. And you’re going to try very hard to stay quiet. Because we may have rented the building, but there are still security cameras.”
“You’re going to get us arrested.”
“Worth it.”
He strips me slowly, methodically, until I’m lying on the blanket in just my underwear. The ice beneath is cold, but his body above is warm.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands skating across my skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“I’m freezing—”
“I’ll warm you up.”
His mouth moves down my body, leaving a trail of heat. He takes his time removing my bra, kissing each breast, sucking my nipples until I’m arching into him.
“Elias, please—”
“Shh. Patience. We have all night.”
“We don’t—security—”
“I paid them very well to stay in the office.” His fingers hook into my underwear. “Now stop thinking and let me worship you.”
He pulls my underwear off and spreads my legs, and I realize: we’re doing this. We’re really doing this.
On the ice. Where he plays. Where hundreds of people sit and watch games.
“I’ve thought about this,” he says, settling between my thighs. “About having you here. In my space. Claiming you where I work.”
“That’s very possessive—”
“You love it.”
He’s right. I do.
His mouth finds me, and I gasp. The contrast of the cold air and his hot mouth is overwhelming.
“Oh god—”
“Stay quiet, remember? The cameras don’t have audio, but security might hear you.”
The thought of being watched—of someone seeing us on the security feed—makes me clench.
“You like that,” he observes, his voice dark. “You like knowing someone might see.”
“Yes—”
“My dirty girl.” He adds two fingers, curling them perfectly. “Always so honest. Always so brave.”
I’m biting my lip to stay quiet, my hands fisted in the blanket. He’s methodical, thorough, taking me apart piece by piece.
When I come, I have to press my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.
He crawls up my body, already removing his clothes.
“That was one,” he says. “I want at least three before we’re done.”
“Three? Elias, I can’t—”
“You can. And you will.” He’s positioned at my entrance now, the tip of him pressing against me. “Because you’re mine. And I’m going to spend the next hour proving it.”
He pushes inside, and we both groan.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—”
“So do you.”
He starts moving. Slow at first, then faster. Deeper. Harder.
“This is my ice,” he says, his voice rough. “My space. And now it’s ours. Every time I skate here, I’m going to remember this. Remember you. Remember how perfectly you take me.”
“Elias—”
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours—”
“Again.”
“I’m yours. Always yours.”
“Good girl.”
The praise, combined with the deep thrusts and the forbidden location, sends me over the edge again.
This time I can’t hold back the moan.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Let them hear. Let everyone know who you belong to.”
“You’re insane—”
“About you? Yes.”
He flips us suddenly, so I’m on top, straddling him.
“Ride me,” he commands. “Take what you need.”
I do, finding a rhythm that has us both gasping. His hands are on my hips, guiding me, his eyes locked on mine.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says. “Taking your pleasure. Using me. Perfect.”
“Elias, I’m—”
“I know. Come for me. Give me number three.”
I do, my whole body shaking, his name a prayer on my lips.
He follows immediately, his hips bucking up, a rough groan torn from his throat.
We collapse together on the blanket, both breathing hard.
“That was—” I start.
“Perfect. I know.”
“So arrogant.”
“So accurate.” He pulls the blanket around us, holding me close. “Happy anniversary, baby.”
“This is the most insane anniversary gift ever.”
“But you loved it.”
“I really did.”
We lie there for a while, wrapped in blankets on the ice, and I think: this is us. Private moments in public spaces. Risk and reward. Love and lust all tangled together.
“We should probably go before security actually comes looking,” I say eventually.
“Probably.” But he doesn’t move. “Five more minutes.”
“We’re lying naked on hockey ice.”
“Best decision I ever made.”
“The second best. The first was reading my blog.”
“No. The first was walking out of that shower and deciding not to be angry that you’d seen me. The second was reading your blog. The third was falling in love with you.”
“That’s very romantic for someone who just fucked me on ice.”
“I contain multitudes.”
I laugh, and he kisses me.
“Come on,” he finally says. “Let’s get dressed before we actually do get in trouble.”
We gather our clothes, both of us laughing at the absurdity of getting dressed on a hockey rink.
As we’re leaving, I look back at the ice—now empty except for the candles and rose petals.
“We just christened your workplace,” I say.
“Our workplace. You’re a consultant, remember?”
“Still. This is wildly inappropriate.”
“The best things always are.” He pulls me close. “And I’d do it again. Every anniversary. New location. Same result.”
“You’re going to run out of private spaces.”
“Then I’ll just have to get creative.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
We drive home, both of us still giddy from the adrenaline and the intimacy.
“Thank you,” I say as we pull into our driveway. “That was… perfect.”
“You’re perfect.” He kisses me one more time. “And you’re mine. On every surface. In every space. Forever.”
“Forever,” I agree.
And as we walk into our house, I’m already imagining what next year’s anniversary will bring.
Whatever it is, I know it will be:
- Wildly inappropriate
- Slightly dangerous
- Absolutely perfect
Just like us.
ELIAS
Later that night, we’re in bed—our bed, in our house—and Sloan is asleep against my chest.
I’m awake, thinking about the ice. About how right it felt to have her there. In my space. Making memories.
My phone buzzes. It’s Marcus.
Marcus: Security footage very interesting tonight
Me: You didn’t
Marcus: Owen sent to me. Asked if I knew what you were doing
Me: And?
Marcus: I said you were probably doing something stupid and romantic. Was I right?
Me: Both
Marcus: Good. Katya wants copy of footage. Says is very romantic
Me: Absolutely not
Marcus: Fine. But you are trending again. Someone leaked story about arena being closed for “private event”
Me: Fuck
Marcus: Is fine. People think is marriage proposal redo. Let them think that
Me: Thanks
Marcus: Welcome. Also, you are disgusting. Is hockey ice. Sacred space
Me: You’re just jealous
Marcus: Maybe little bit. Goodnight, my friend
I set my phone down and pull Sloan closer.
She stirs. “Everything okay?”
“Perfect. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She drifts off again, and I lie there thinking: this is my life now. Breaking into arenas. Making love on ice. Trending on Twitter. Being disgustingly happy.
Three years ago, I was empty. Just going through motions. Playing hockey because it was all I knew.
And then she walked into that shower and saw me. Really saw me.
And everything changed.
I wouldn’t change a single thing. Not the scandal. Not the vote. Not the pain. Because it brought us here.
To this moment. This life. This love.
Tomorrow, people will speculate about the “private event” at the arena. They’ll make up stories. They’ll have opinions.
And I won’t care.
Because tonight, I had her exactly where I wanted her. In my space. Making memories.
Claiming each other. Again.
Like we always will.
Every day. On purpose. Forever.
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