Cold As Puck: A Cold Love Series Novel

by Paige, Violet

  His teeth moved over my ear. “You know what my apartment has?”

  “A lot of buttons I can’t figure out.”

  He laughed. “No, I was going to say privacy.”

  I twirled in his arms. “Oh?” I taunted. “No one listening? Not sure what we should do with that kind of freedom.”

  He unfastened the button on my shorts and pushed them down my thighs. “I have plenty of ideas for you, Soph. But I want to be clear. Sex,” he whispered. “Lots of spontaneous sex.”

  He lifted me and placed me on the kitchen counter. It was the only area without a box in the way.

  “You drive me fucking insane,” he growled against my throat. My knees widened on the counter as his palm rubbed over my heat. The surge of electricity began low in my core and started to emanate in my veins, firing in my blood. The friction heated as he grazed my panties, making sure they were fully soaked before sliding them to the floor.

  I gulped for air when his fingers circled my center, now bare and exposed. He pulled the tank top over my head, and his lust-filled gaze landed on my tits.

  “Like this,” he groaned. “When you don’t wear a bra.” His tongue flicked once over my nipple before his mouth covered it.

  “Shit,” I hissed, leaning back on the counter. How had he undressed me completely while still being fully dressed himself? He lowered my back to the cool granite. I needed the coolness to ease the burn coursing through me.

  He strummed and stroked my body. His hands everywhere. My breasts. My clit. My throat. I slapped my palms on the granite.

  “Come,” he growled, pushing his fingers deep inside me.

  I panted through the orgasm. Coming on his fingers. Spiraling on his kitchen counter. Our kitchen counter.

  I heard the rustle of clothes as he quickly tossed his shirt and shorts near the oven. I was in awe of him. His gorgeous body. Those sexy, smoldering eyes. And his cock. A true gift.

  He rubbed it between my lips, coating it in the juices from my climax.

  “I love fucking my wife,” he whispered.

  I smiled coyly. “Then what are you waiting for?” I cooed.

  His hands moved to either side of my waist. His eyes narrowed with concentration. He sank into me with a long breath.

  “Oh, shit,” I whimpered. I felt every inch of him pulsing and throbbing inside me. Spreading me with pressure and heat. Testing every limit my body had. He always did. He moved me in every way.

  He grinned, withdrawing before slicing inside me with more power and authority than the first thrust. My breath seized at the intensity.

  I didn’t know if it was the new surroundings. The realization that is was finally only us. That all the horrors and the darkness of the past were over. But I’d never felt more connected to Roman. More loved, more his.

  His hips rocked upward, hilting himself inside me.

  “Fuck, it feels good when I’m this deep.” His eyes closed. He was reveling in it, too. The way our bodies fit together. How he could hit places that seared us together.

  I began to rock slowly, taking his shaft farther, riding him, creating more friction. Roman lifted my cheeks from the counter, assisting my intentional rhythm. His thumbs crept closer to my rosebud. He stretched me, teased me, promised I could feel more pleasure if I opened up to him.

  My ankles hooked over his muscled shoulders. His eyes flared with appreciation for what my body could do. The way I could contort and move it to accommodate his size. As his cock plunged deeper, his thumbs began to stroke the muscles at my ass, prying, rubbing until I was a breathless mess. I wanted them inside me, too.

  I whimpered. “God, Roman, please.”

  He chuckled that sinfully beautiful and sexy laugh. “My wife is so damn incredible. And dirty.”

  I nodded. “I am. Just please let me come,” I begged.

  His thumbs breached the rosebud one at a time, drawing out the exquisite agony. Kneading, exploring, indulging my fantasies. I groaned at the pleasure, and then he was double fucking me. His cock, his thumbs. I was full. Being exposed, filled, plucked, and satisfied. I loved every moment. Every touch. Every ripple of sinful beauty he pumped into my body.

  I rubbed my nipples harder and faster, listening to Roman’s breath cracking in short, erratic gasps. He was as close to coming as I was.

  His eyes landed on me, and I had never thought he looked more gorgeous or powerful. The masculinity dripped off him. So did the love. His eyes so blue and wild. Layers of hidden secrets and beautiful stories buried in cobalt and turquoise. Things he had shared only with me. We shared this. The unraveling. The unleashing. The power that surged between us.

  “Come,” he commanded.

  With a final thrust, we both exploded, coming together in urgent jolts.

  His release spilled inside me, soaking my pussy as I sucked and clenched against him.

  “Oh, shit.” I sat straight up, tossing my legs off his shoulders and next to his thighs.

  “Fucking amazing.” He tried to kiss me, but I turned from his lips.

  “I didn’t put in my diaphragm this morning.” My eyes widened.

  Roman cleared his throat. “Okay. Okay. What do we do? What do you want to do?” His eyes darted back and forth.

  I bit my lip and looked into his eyes. The fear slowly faded.

  I took a huge breath. “I think I’m okay to wait and see what happens,” I whispered.

  He tilted his head. “We can go get that morning-after pill. I’m up for what makes you comfortable. I didn’t know your diaphragm wasn’t in. Sorry, I should have asked.”

  I shook my head. “I’m okay with this.” I smiled.

  “You are? You kind of freaked out the last time we talked about babies.”

  “Not because I don’t want to have a baby with you someday.” I paused, knowing this wasn’t the way to have this conversation, but here we were, unprotected sex on the kitchen counter. There was a slight possibility parenthood was staring us in the face.

  “Last time you brought it up, I didn’t know that we’d be married and be living together and that this was actually going to happen.” I twined his fingers through mine, marveling at how much larger his hand was against my slender fingers.

  “Does that mean you want to have a baby?” His eyes lit.

  “It means I think I want to talk about having a baby.” I smiled.

  He pulled me to his chest. His heart pounded. “I love talking,” he teased.

  I laughed. “Okay. You’re a new man since therapy, I get it.” My nails ran along his back.

  He turned my head so my lips met his. “I love you, Soph.”

  The fiery kiss only meant one thing…we weren’t leaving this kitchen for the rest of the day.

  34

  Roman

  I stared at the notepad. Stared at it as if the words were going to start to pop, stretch, and eventually slither or crawl off the page. It was almost 2 am.. I shouldn’t be awake at this hour. Not with training camp tomorrow. Not with my new wife in my bed.

  I clicked the end of the pen back and forth.

  Click-click.

  Click-click.

  I was staring at the truth. Maybe that’s what made it so hard to read. The lamplight illuminated the page but nothing else in the room. I was surrounded by darkness, yet the words were in the light. I exhaled. There was light.

  I flipped the page to read to the end. I had read it five times.

  “Hey.” Her voice was sleepy and quiet.

  “Did I wake you up?” I turned as Sophie padded into the living room in her bare feet, weaving between a few boxes still unpacked.

  She nodded. “You weren’t in bed. I waited a few minutes and thought I'd better see what was going on. So what is going on?” Her neck craned to see the notepad.

  “Tell me what you think.” I handed it to her.

  She took the seat next to me, gliding against the cushion, curling her feet under her, and began reading.

  It was the longest three minu
tes of my life. I wondered if I had chosen the wrong words. I wondered if my thoughts were too jumbled to make sense. I was scared. It was too raw. Too transparent. I shook my head, close to yanking the notebook back to safety. I could rip up the pages or burn them. Lock them in a drawer and forget I had ever written them.

  But Sophie’s eyes softened. “This is amazing.”

  “Really?” I took in a gulp of air.

  “How long have you been working on it?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep. I started writing, and that’s what came out.”

  “What do you want to do with it?”

  “I know what you want me to do with it.” I sat back in the chair.

  Sophie sighed. “That’s not what I asked.” She handed the pages back to me. “They are your words, not mine. It’s your decision, Roman.”

  “I need to go public with it.” My voice was quiet. “It could help someone else. Right? That’s what this is about?”

  She pushed off the couch and crawled into my lap. “It’s about you. It’s about your story.” She ran her fingers through the hair just above my ears. “Part of your story could be breaking down this stigma. You’re strong. Imagine all the little boys in the world looking up to a strong man who can share his feelings.”

  I blinked. “Imagine if I'd had that as a kid. A dad who didn’t shame me for my feelings.”

  She kissed my temple, her lips warm and soft. “You amaze me. What you’ve done. How hard you fought. What you survived. Despite everything, you’re here, and I think a lot of men could use your story. Even if they never admit it.”

  “You fought, too, Soph.”

  “Not in the same way. We made different sacrifices under different circumstances.” Her fingers continued to feather against my scalp. “What do you want to do with the essay?”

  “I was hoping you could help me with that part.”

  She sat in my lap for a minute, running through possible options.

  “What if you post it to your Insta?” she suggested. “You have a million followers. Just imagine how authentic and genuine it will look. Not saying you can’t go through a sports magazine, but that’s going to take time. This would go straight to your fans. The people who follow you. The ones who care about your career. What do you think?”

  I didn’t know why the idea made me feel more vulnerable. There was no shield. No layer of protection if I published it myself. There was a straight conduit to my followers.

  “I think that’s what I should do.”

  She grinned. “I’m really proud of you, Roman.”

  I kissed the tip of her nose. “Me, too.”

  She laughed. “Want some help finding a picture to go along with it?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. That would be great.”

  We spent the next two hours working on my feed and editing a few sections of the essay. By the time we finished, it was nearly dawn.

  We looked at each other when I hit the post button. Sophie gave me a hug. It was the right thing to do, but I was fucking terrified.

  * * *

  Luca was the first person I ran into on my way through the team tunnel leading to the locker room. He lumbered ahead of me a few feet but turned around when he heard someone was behind him. His equipment bag barely clipped me.

  “Hey, man.” He grinned.

  “Hey.” I nodded.

  “These camp practices are kicking my ass,” he complained.

  None of us were in the kind of condition we would be in a few weeks. The first days back were the toughest. The training and conditioning were grueling. Guys took more water breaks than usual. Some even started discarding layers of gear. They couldn’t take the extra weight. Everyone’s endurance was in the trash.

  “Yeah. It’s rough coming back after the summer.”

  We trudged forward, closer to the locker room. Luca had taken a hard hit into the wall yesterday. I noticed he had a limp.

  “No one had a summer like you did.” We stopped in the hallway. He could have been talking about how I'd had to cancel my trip to Belize. How I spent the summer in my hometown under my mom’s roof with no car. Or how I had married the woman who fit inside my soul like a whisper of ice and fire. But we both knew that wasn’t what he was talking about. He’d seen my post.

  I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t prepared any one-liners, or even an explanation.

  “I read the post, Roman. I’m sorry. Really sorry all that shit happened to you.” His hand landed on my shoulder. “I’m glad you said something. I hate that I didn’t know.”

  “Thanks, man.” I was glad he had been brought on to the Dires. Glad that a good part of my past was still hanging around. “I thought I needed to be honest. I can’t be the only one struggling with shit. You know?”

  He nodded. “Everyone has some demons.” His eyes darkened. “Everyone.” I wouldn’t pry. I wouldn’t ask what his expression meant.

  The mural of a pack of dire wolves stretched above his head. Our jersey numbers were blended into the background.

  “Have you met the new backup goalie?” I asked him.

  He laughed. “I don’t think he’s going to last past the week.”

  I slapped him on the back as we walked into the locker room to get our pads on.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so either.”

  Epilogue

  Sophie

  June

  Stanley Cup Finals

  Game Seven

  I hated the finals. I hated hockey. I hated everything about this moment. As I balled my fingers into my fists, my nails cut into my skin. Ouch. I hated that I did that, too.

  How was I supposed to watch this? How was I supposed to look away?

  It didn’t help that I was stuck between two other wives. One, Felicia, was eight months pregnant. I felt horrible she was experiencing this level of stress while also trying to grow a human. I had given her the aisle so she could escape to the bathroom. Her hand kept smoothing over her belly. There was an embroidered arrow that pointed to the baby under on her shirt, which read Future Dire Wolves Player.

  On the other side of me was Bonnie. Everyone called her the wife mom. Wife mom? I exhaled at some of the silly team traditions. She earned the title because she was married to the team captain, also the longest-running Dire in team history. She patted my knee absently. It wasn’t comforting. She didn’t know what would happen just because she organized all the wives’ social events.

  The referee blew his whistle, and the play on the ice stopped. I exhaled and leaned back in my seat. My eyes traveled to the jumbotron overhead. There were two minutes left in regulation.

  Roman was in the goal, shifting between one skate and the other. He squirted water into his mouth, dropping splashes of it around the goal and sliding his stick over the swaths of new ice.

  From the box, he looked cool and comfortable. But I knew the truth. I knew what he had told me in bed last night. I knew the weight of this game was crushing him.

  I also knew he had put in the work he needed. He had elevated his training. Committed to the team in a new way. He was dedicated to staying in Richmond and playing for the Dires until he retired. It was what we both wanted if we were going to raise our family here.

  No family yet. It made sense to wait and try to get pregnant in the off-season. Roman said it was going to be an epic three months of making sure I was having his baby before next fall rolled around. I laughed at him, but every time he said it, my skin heated and my body ached for it to be true. I wanted his baby. Lots of Roman Sorrow’s babies.

  Felicia grabbed my wrist. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “This is torture. They can’t lose.”

  “I know. I know,” I tried to reassure her, but we were all just spouting empty promises to each other. I knew somewhere on the other side of the ice the Blue Whales’ wives were swearing the same thing. The difference was they had won last year. They didn’t know the crippling sadness that came with losing game seven of the Stanley Cup.

>   Two minutes.

  Bonnie squeezed me and then the wife butted up against her shoulder. The whistle blew, and the play began.

  I swore I had seen this before. We all had. Luca, the team’s sniper, took a shot but the puck ricocheted off the goal. The entire arena erupted and then groaned when we realized it didn’t go in. Our defenders fell back quickly, flanking the Whales’ forwards as they charged the goal.

  I gripped the edge of my seat. They were headed straight for Roman. Skating with blazing speed. The front-row fans banged on the glass. It all happened so fast.

  Yekhov Alexi took a shot. Anton Seibel rebounded it for another shot. It looked as if he had come off the end of his stick like a bolt of lightning. It was fierce and accurate. An incredible shot.

  I held my breath.

  Roman folded in half. His entire body crumpled on the ice. There was almost complete silence other than the echoes still bouncing around the glass.

  Slowly, he lifted his arm in the air.

  The crowd chanted his name. He was holding the puck.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered. Bonnie jumped next to me.

  “We just need one goal,” she shouted, holding her index finger in the air. She had already moved on to the next play, but I hadn’t. I watched Roman. I studied my husband. What he had just done. What he had accomplished. No one knew his journey through this year.

  Sure, they knew he was going to be MVP of the Cup. They had read his Insta post. They had seen his many interviews on men’s mental health. Listened to the podcasts and the radio shows he was invited on to speak about the topic of therapy and counseling.

  They knew we were newlyweds and captured our newlywed life in his feed. Simple things like cooking dinner together or being silly on the ice. They knew he supported me when I opened a chapter of the literacy project in Richmond. They knew a lot about Roman, but they didn’t know how much he deserved this. How deeply I wanted it for him.

  Could we score in thirty seconds? I didn’t know. My eyes were on Roman when Luca raced to the Whales’ goal and ripped one in the net.