Marked by the Obsessed Centre: A Steamy Hockey Rut and Claiming Romance

I spent my childhood bouncing between homes that never wanted to keep me. Now the rut twists that old hunger into something sharper, focused on Tabitha Remington in the narrow hallway where practice ends and everything dangerous begins. She pushes back every time, and it only sharpens the need to mark her as mine.

She represents everything I cannot have without destroying us both: control, ruin, the fragile alliance we need for my niece's custody. Her body curves in defiance, but her eyes hold the same terror and want that has me aching to mark her throat, to make her mine where the league can never separate us.

The sound of sharpening blades echoes. I should let go. I cannot.