Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  January’s fingers trembled with anticipation as she reached up to unbutton her blouse.

  Only Finn got there first.

  “No.” The word pinned her into place, every last part of her aching to be touched. Licked. Taken. Slowly, his hands moved over the buttons, freeing them one by one from their moorings in the pale pink fabric of her top. He let the material hang loosely from her shoulders, but only for a second before sliding it free, then repeating his motions with her skirt.

  A sound of approval rode past Finn’s lips, primal and hot. “So pretty. Christ, you’re so fucking perfect.”

  January was tempted to laugh at the overstatement. But as his eyes took in every inch of her, from her pale pink bra and panties to the darker pink flush of want on her skin, all she could do was believe him.

  “Finnegan.”

  The whisper seemed to hone his focus. With a few economical moves, her bra and panties found the bath mat beneath her feet, and Finn’s arms circled around her rib cage as he kissed her again. January tightened her grasp on his shoulders, her fingers moving over the slippery nylon of his workout gear to create friction with the sexy, corded muscles beneath, and oh God, she couldn’t wait. Reaching down low, she gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

  “Oh.” Desire shot through her belly, arrowing a path to her clit. How ironic that he’d been the one to call her perfect when he stood in front of her looking so utterly flawless. His chiseled shoulders led to the flat plane of his chest, his small, flat nipples standing out in relief against smooth skin. The trail of dark hair leading between the sharp, muscular V of his hips made January’s breath jump in her throat.

  The sight of his cock, fully erect and pressing against the fabric of his shorts? That turned her desire into full-blown need.

  In as few movements as possible, she removed the rest of Finn’s clothes and led him into the shower spray. The water slid over them in a hot, steady stream that heightened her arousal. Curling her fingers over his biceps, January swung him around until his shoulder blades met the tiled side wall of the shower.

  “January,” he started, his muscles flexing under her fingertips as she reached for the soap and began to slide it over his skin.

  “Shh.” An odd, empowering rush pulsed through her veins, and she gave up a naughty smile to match it. To her surprise, Finn acquiesced, his stare glinting through the steam as it followed her fingers over his body.

  January dropped her chin, watching too. The bubbles built to a quick lather as she washed his body, her hands coasting over first his arms, then his shoulders and chest. Finn let go of a moan when she got to his hips, then another when her fingers spread over his powerfully muscled thighs, but the sound in his throat became a huff of surprise when she wrapped her hands around his waist and turned him to face the shower-slicked tiles.

  “Back too,” she murmured. Spreading the soap across his shoulders, she worked her way over the back of his body, selfishly cupping the strong, solid curve of his ass before slipping her hands around to the front of his hips.

  “Oh, fuck.” The words fell past Finn’s lips with all the reverence of a prayer. “God, baby. Please.”

  “Just tell me what you want, Finn. Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

  His entire body tensed under her touch. January willed her fingers to stillness on the points of his hip bones, waiting, wanting, until he did what she’d asked.

  “I want your hands on my cock. Just like this, so I can watch.”

  Wetness that had nothing to do with the steam or the shower bloomed between her legs, and she complied in an instant. Pressing her chest against his back, she circled her fingers around his cock, moving them in a slow glide. Finn sucked in a breath, releasing it on a harsh exhale before thrusting his hips in time with the rhythm of her hand. He dipped his chin toward his chest, and even though January couldn’t see him watching, the thought of it made her sex clench with need.

  “Ah,” he grunted, his voice thick with lust. “Like that, yeah. Slow and hard.”

  She kept to her promise, touching him exactly the way he asked her to, stroking and gripping and pumping until his fingers curled into the shower tiles and he bit out a curse, dark and dangerous.

  “Christ, you make me crazy and sane all at once.”

  At her gasp in reply, Finn’s body shifted. “Does that turn you on?” he asked, his back still to her. “Knowing how fucking hot I am for you right now?”

  “Yes,” January whispered.

  “You’re wet just thinking about it, aren’t you.”

  It was all statement, but she answered anyway. “Yes.”

  “Then touch yourself.”

  The command knocked the breath directly from her lungs. Her shock must have translated, because Finn reached down to grasp the fingers on her free hand, pressing them between her trembling thighs.

  “Do it,” he said. “Touch that perfect, wet pussy while you stroke my cock. And don’t stop until you come.”

  Pleasure unfolded in January’s belly, forbidden and scorching hot, and she didn’t hesitate. Parting her feet on the porcelain, she curled her fingers, letting them brush lightly over her sex. Her heart slammed at the barely there contact, her throbbing clit begging for more. But Finn had said not to stop, and oh God, oh God, she couldn’t deny the truth.

  She didn’t want to stop. Ever.

  “Finn.”

  Under the circumstances, the single syllable was all she could muster. But it seemed to be everything he wanted, because his cock jerked against the hot press of her hand.

  “Yes. Fuck, yes, baby. Let me hear you. Tell me how good it feels.”

  January did. Unabashedly, she moved her fingers deeper, circling them over her clit in fast, hard sweeps, moaning at every sensation. Pleasure burst through her body, persistent and greedy, but she didn’t stop. With one hand working his cock and the other buried where she needed it most, she stroked and rocked and thrust, until finally—finally—the edge of release reared up from the sweet spot between her legs.

  “Finn. Oh God, I—”

  Her orgasm took hold of everything, crashing into her in breath-grabbing waves. Finn turned, breaking her hold on his body and pressing his hand over hers, holding her close as her release sharpened her moans into cries. The spray of the shower rained down around them both, and finally, after a long, hazy minute, January came back to her mind. Finn let her go, but only to open the shower door and silently guide her out of the water. She didn’t argue—didn’t care that the water was still running or that they were drenched.

  The only thing she cared about was having Finn inside her.

  Hard and fast and right this minute.

  Finn led her into her room and over to the bed, which was still unmade from this morning. He’d been staying with her for weeks—the expense of the Plaza had seemed dumb when they’d been spending every minute together anyway—and his things mingled in with hers, a T-shirt here, a pair of running shoes there. He stretched over the bed, bringing January with him, and God, his tan skin and sculpted muscles looked so provocatively sexy against her snowy white bedsheets.

  “Come here.” The demand was soft, but she was helpless against it anyway. She slid beneath Finn’s body, his hands bracketing her shoulders and her legs falling open so he could settle himself between them. But rather than grabbing a condom and fucking her senseless like she so desperately wanted him to, he leaned in to kiss her. The brush of his mouth was shockingly gentle, and January’s heart tripped in her chest.

  Finn kissed her slowly, as if he had all the time in the universe to do nothing else, coaxing her lips apart, laving attention everywhere. His mouth lowered to her neck, to her collarbone and the tops of her breasts, tasting everything. Her nipples hardened, aching for his focus, and oh, he didn’t disappoint. January gasped as he drew one beaded tip past his lips, swirling and sucking until she was certain she’d die or scream or come right there on the spot. She reached between them, closing her f
ingers over his cock, her desire spiking at the way his body tightened in response.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his gaze full of intensity as he shifted his body up to look at her. “I should’ve told you seven years ago. I should’ve been telling you every day between then and now how fucking gorgeous you are.”

  January’s heart thrummed in time with the heat in her blood. “Show me, Finn. Show me now.”

  He didn’t wait—didn’t even seem to think. The briefest of movements had a condom out of her bedside table drawer and in his hand, one more had it in place. Sliding his cock over her folds, he tested her body just once before filling her pussy in one slow, deep stroke.

  “Oh God.” Her voice twined around Finn’s, who had uttered the same exact words. Her breath stood still in her throat, her brain racing to keep up with the sensations in her body—the full, sweet pressure between her legs, the involuntary clench of her inner muscles, the slam of her pulse at her throat. Finn withdrew slightly, thrusting back into her with intention, then repeating the motion again and again. January lifted her hips to meet each of his thrusts, rocking against him in return, and together they created a rhythm both carnal and intimate.

  Release built at the base of her spine, and when Finn slipped his hand into the slight space between them to bury his thumb against her clit, she was lost. She broke apart beneath him, trembling and thrusting and crying out. Levering his hips against hers until no space remained, he shifted to his knees, wrapping his fingers around her hips and holding her wide as he filled her without remorse. The change in angle drew her orgasm out farther, and with one final, balls-deep thrust, Finn joined her in release.

  They lay together for a minute, chests heaving and bodies loose. Eventually, Finn slipped to the bathroom, then came back with a towel for her wet hair. They went through the normal motions of drying off, getting dressed, and padding to the living room to settle in on the couch together. But January didn’t feel normal in any way, because she was falling in love with Finn.

  And in eight days, he was leaving the place she’d always called home.

  10

  Finn sat back on his bar stool, looking out at the Crooked Angel’s dining room with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. Although he’d spent most of the day helping with preparations for the fundraiser, seeing the place not just decked out according to theme, but jammed to the rafters with guests, firefighters, and the teammates he hadn’t seen for over a month was pretty freaking cool.

  Seeing January’s face, all lit up and glowing with happiness at the smash-hit success of the event? Now that was priceless.

  No, check that. It was everything.

  Finn’s heart sucker punched his sternum before settling into a solid thump-thump-thump against his red and black Rage jersey. He might not have come back to Remington with the intention of doing anything other than tying up loose ends and leaving the place behind, but over the course of the last month, the exact opposite had happened. With each day he’d spent here, he’d grown more and more attached to the city he’d left. To the firefighters and paramedics at Station Seventeen, who had not only been Asher’s friends, but his family. To his buddies on the Rogues, who he’d fallen back into step with ease that had bordered on the ridiculous.

  To the gorgeous blonde currently wearing his jersey and chatting up some guests across the bar, who had snuck up on him in the mother of all blindsides and stolen his goddamn heart.

  “Hey, there’s the man of the night! We need to buy you a drink.”

  The sound of Kellan’s voice yanked Finn right back to the bustle of the Crooked Angel, and he turned just in time to hear the guy’s lieutenant, Ian Gamble, add a gruff, “Yeah we do. This round’s on us.”

  “You do know it’s an open bar, right?” Finn cracked a smile, which the two firefighters returned with ease as they settled over the bar stools. “Anyway, I’m definitely not the man of the night,” he added. “If you want to celebrate anyone for pulling this thing together, January’s your girl.”

  Gamble lifted a black brow, grabbing three beers from a passing server who was doling them out from a concessions tray, just like teams did in the stands at their home games. “No, dude. January’s your girl. And she says this kickass party is all your fault. I’m not inclined to fuck with her.”

  Coming from the six foot five tattoo-covered former Marine, that was definitely saying something. “Probably smart,” Finn agreed. “But she’s the one who made all of this happen.”

  “I’ve gotta be honest,” Kellan said, spinning a gaze over the popcorn stand, the autograph signing booths, and the selfie stations where guests could put on assorted team jerseys or other hockey gear and pose for pictures. “January’s always been amazing at stuff like this, but she really outdid herself on this one. Cap just said the RFD is halfway to meeting its fundraising goal, and the event only started an hour ago. Between the rest of the night and the silent auction…”

  “Looks like we’ll all be in safer gear this year,” Gamble finished, and Kellan lifted his beer in salute.

  “Seriously. I don’t know what we’d do without that woman keeping our sorry asses in line at Seventeen.”

  “Sorry, am I interrupting some weird manversation over here?” The wry question belonged to a pretty, dark-haired woman in jeans and a Rogues jersey, who didn’t make any bones about invading Kellan’s personal space for a more-than-friendly kiss.

  “Hey, Isabella,” Finn said, thankful for the distraction from the sudden pang in his gut. “How’s it going? Are you having a good time?”

  The detective nodded with enthusiasm. “I’m having a great time. I brought everyone from the Thirty-Third with me, including the sergeant—who, by the way, took a raft of crap from the entire intelligence unit for wearing the Rage jersey January sent over. Not that we don’t like you, Donnelly.” She paused for an apologetic grin. “But we’re pretty big on our hometown team.”

  “Clearly,” Gamble added, gesturing to Isabella’s blue and white jersey.

  Unable to help it, Finn laughed. “No worries. And sending over a Rage jersey for her old man sounds like something January would do.”

  “Yeah, well proudly wearing it despite getting ribbed into next week is definitely something the sarge would do. He’s nothing if not devoted to his daughter’s happiness. Those two have always been thick as thieves,” Isabella joked, and just like that, the pang in Finn’s gut went for a double. The sensation went for broke when January made her way over to their group with a bunch of other firefighters and some of the detectives from the Thirty-Third, her ice-blue eyes bright with excitement and her cheeks flushed to match.

  “Hey!” She broke into a smile as she looked at him, and Christ, with her blond hair tied into a ponytail on the crown of her head and his jersey and a pair of jeans shaping her dangerous curves, she was the single most exquisite thing Finn had ever seen.

  “Hey,” he said, grateful for the length of his own jersey, because living down a public hard-on would be as fun as the fourth circle of hell—especially if any of his teammates happened to walk by. “This place is packed. You’ve got to have nearly everyone on the invite list in here.”

  January nodded in agreement. “Ninety-two percent, according to Kennedy. Who’s keeping very close track at the door because—”

  “Fire code,” Kellan and Gamble interrupted simultaneously.

  “Exactly,” January finished with a laugh. Grabbing a beer and a huge soft pretzel from a passing server, she looked around the crowded dining room-slash-game day arena. “Everyone seems to be loving the more laid-back vibe. The new mayor even came over to tell me how much fun she’s having, and her press team tweeted the picture of the two of us with the fundraiser hashtag.”

  “That’s pretty cool,” Gamble said. “You’re like a local celebrity.”

  Finn tended to agree, but the assessment only made January laugh louder this time. “Hardly. It’s these hockey guys who are the huge draw. The silent auction is doing rea
lly well so far, too. There have been a ton of bids on the items donated by both the Rage and the Rogues.”

  Finn nodded, following her gaze to the display of items set up hall-of-fame style, complete with plaques to describe each piece of memorabilia up for auction. “Good. I know Ford Callaghan was disappointed he couldn’t make it, but he’s got a lot of stuff going on in Chicago, where he’s from.” Finn definitely wasn’t the only guy on the Rage whose roots hadn’t started in New Orleans. “And of course, our left winger Cooper Banks isn’t here because he has the Cup right now. But I’m glad the sticks and jerseys he and Ford signed made it in time for the auction.”

  Addison Hale, one of Isabella’s fellow detectives, arched a dark blond brow over her mischievous stare. “Speaking of your teammates, why don’t you give us the rundown, Finn? Some of them look yummy enough to eat with a spoon.”

  Finn nearly choked on the sip of beer he’d just taken, especially when Shae and Quinn and—Jesus—every female in the group including January nodded in agreement.

  “Deal,” Finn agreed slowly, after his beer and his windpipe had decided to play nicely together. After all, most of his teammates were single. While they’d probably way rather be called a bunch of big, brawling badasses, if any of them had a kink for being considered ‘yummy’, who was Finn to judge?

  “Well, you guys have already met Flynn Kazakov and DC Washington,” he said, gesturing to the booths where the Rage’s goalie and their dark-haired defenseman—also Finn’s two closest friends on the team—sat signing autographs. “And the guy over there talking to January’s dad is our new head coach, Mason Courage.”

  “The woman your coach is chatting up is pretty hot,” observed Dempsey from a few bar stools over. “Is she part of the organization too? Because I could get down with an introduction.”