Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  It might have been minutes or months later when Dahlia spoke. “Anders?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you want me to go?” Her unsure voice shocked him. From the moment they’d met, she’d been almost cocky in a way that he’d found so appealing. He liked this vulnerable soft side she’d been showing him since she’d walked through the door, but he didn’t want to be the reason she was so unsure.

  “Why would I want that?”

  “Well, you came, I came twice. You’ve been deflowered.”

  He looked down into her wide, dark eyes. He searched her face for a hint of the sarcasm she’d given him when they’d first met—it was absent. She couldn’t leave now, not when they’d just discovered this hot and tender thing between them.

  He brushed the purple strands stuck to her flushed skin away from her face. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

  “For how long?”

  The immediate answer that appeared in his head was: Never. But that was nuts. He was probably only this attached because she was the first. Because they couldn’t be together long term. She was getting her life back together up here. And he was headed back to New Orleans soon. Wasn’t he?

  It wasn’t the first time he’d questioned his desire to go back to hockey since his injury. But it was the first time something outside of himself had made him question his commitment to the game.

  He had to think about this when he wasn’t still inside her, but he wasn’t ready to let her go. So, he froze the puck the best way he knew how. “I want you to stay for as long as you want to be here.”

  “So, I’ll at least stay the night.”

  Anders couldn’t tell her the truth, that a night wouldn’t be nearly enough, so he kissed her instead.

  6

  Dahlia woke up on the floor in the middle of the living room, tangled up in blankets pulled from the closet and Anders. There was a perfectly good bed up in the loft, but walking upstairs would have been a waste of time.

  After the first time, she’d gotten cleaned up. She’d been about to get Anders a snack, but he hadn’t been about putting food in his mouth. The only thing he’d been interested in tasting was her.

  The sky over the trees and lake was starting to lighten. She loosened her body from his, and turned to watch the sunrise—something she hadn’t done in years.

  Her hometown really was beautiful. She’d been so lost in finding a way to leave town as soon as possible that she hadn’t allowed herself to take in the good parts of where she’d grown up. Since high school, she’d been so absorbed in the negatives—the backward people, the isolation, the cold—that she hadn’t seen the positives.

  Maybe that was why she couldn’t seem to see eye-to-eye with her mom? She shouldn’t be thinking about her mom while her skin smelled of sex with the man wrapped around her. When she’d rolled over, he’d wrapped his arm around her waist. He was asleep; his breath was even as it puffed across the skin of her neck, but he gripped her tight.

  She felt safe, comfortable in his arms. And it scared the hell out of her. She shouldn’t be getting attached to this guy, of all the guys she should allow herself to get attached to. But the sunrise would keep her secrets.

  Anders shifted against her body, and she could feel his erection in her lower back. If Dylan had pressed his stiffy into her body in his sleep, she would have been annoyed. The sex between them had been fine, but it was something that needed to be confined to a box. She hadn’t thought about having sex with him while she was outfitting the kitchen or testing recipes.

  Dahlia couldn’t seem to stop thinking about sex with Anders. That, combined with the fact that she felt safe with him, should terrify her more than it did. But, if she were completely honest with herself, she wasn’t nearly as afraid of caring about him as she should be.

  She ran her fingers over the back of his hand, and he stirred. His hand creeped up until it took down the blanket the currently covered her boobs. If he was a boob man, she didn’t know what he saw in her.

  “Not much to see there,” she said as he plucked one nipple.

  “I disagree.” His voice was filled with just the right amount of gravel and too much humor for this early in the morning. “You have seventies tits.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” She tried to turn toward him, but he pinned her body face down to the floor, trapping his hand against her breast.

  “You know, in the eighties there were a lot of fake boobs. In the seventies, they were free agents.” He kissed the back of her neck. Instead of bucking him off and stomping out, she pressed her forehead into the floor so he could kiss more of the back of her neck. Her followed her silent instruction before he said, “My parents actually had Internet porn blockers that worked. The only boobs I ever got to see as an adolescent were in very old Playboy magazines in my grandparents’ attic.”

  The idea of Anders furtively masturbating surrounded by yellowed skin mags and dusty doilies made her laugh. He bit into the skin between her neck and shoulder, and it sent sparks straight through to her clit. She pushed her ass up into his pelvis and he growled, kissing the spot where he’d sunk his teeth.

  This was dangerous. He’d been inside her a couple of hours ago, and still she wanted him so badly that her core ached. He slid his hand free and grasped her hair into his palm at the back of her head.

  How did he know that was the secret key, knowing how to pull hair like a fucking boss? He slid his lips over her shoulder blades and down her spine, keeping his control over her movements.

  He made her feel both helpless and vulnerable her feminine power flowed through his worshipping lips into her skin. It settled and confused her at the same time.

  When the hand that wasn’t holding her hair dipped between her legs, she stopped thinking about it and let herself feel how good it was to have a man get lost in her. A man who could have anyone else loved her little boobs, tattoos, and wild hair.

  “Your skin is soft.” He sounded like that fact surprised him. “You come off all hard and badass, but that’s only until someone touches you.” He dipped a finger inside her, and she thrust back into him. He might be content to take his time now that he’d finally gotten inside a woman, but she wanted more. Now. “But you don’t let anyone touch you, do you?”

  What was he talking about? She certainly wasn’t as untouched as he’d been until a few hours ago.

  “Do you?”

  It was hard to be pissed off when he was fingering her like she was a miracle to him, slow and careful. He was exploring her from the inside. When he slid one finger across her clit, she felt her chest flush and her thighs tingle with an approaching orgasm.

  And then he stopped.

  “You don’t let anyone get close.”

  Now that he’d stopped on the road to making her come, she was over his probing questions. She wanted to get back to probing fingers and maybe graduate to a probing cock. “I was letting you get really close a second ago.”

  “Do you want my fingers back?” The laughter on his voice, which had made her so hot before was going to make her kick his ass…if he took his hand out of her hair. She was pissed off because he was right. She didn’t let anyone get close, and the fact that he could see that made her want to push him away.

  But her body? Her body wanted him closer. “Yes.”

  “Then answer my question.”

  What was the question? “Yes.”

  “Yes, you want my fingers back?” His fingers tightened in her hair, and she flipped her ass up closer to his cock.

  “No one touches me, not like you.” She hadn’t wanted to say so much. Not so soon. Not ever. But Anders aroused emotions in her she hadn’t been sure she was capable of feeling. He was so unexpected, her Virgin Viking sex god.

  He released her hair, and she was afraid she’d said too much. Maybe he’d wanted to keep it to just sex.

  “That’s a good girl.” Dahlia hadn’t thought she was the kind of girl who would like being called someone’s �
�good girl,” but it worked coming out of Anders’s mouth. Especially when he followed up by replacing his fingers with his dick.

  “Yes. Yes.”

  She turned her head to one side and watched his forearms flex as he pushed inside her. She put her hands over his, and he entwined her fingers with his own.

  The first and second times she’d loved looking at him; his body was built for hockey, but perfect for sex. In her mind’s eye, she could see his abs flexing as he fucked her so deep, she struggled to take in air.

  They were intertwined, and she wasn’t freaking out. The orgasm that had slipped away a few moments ago came roaring back. He took care with her, he didn’t hurt her. But fucking her was going to make her break. This had to be the last time. She couldn’t let him see more of her, because him walking away would rip her apart.

  When she finally came—finally let go—she pretended that the tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes were sweat.

  As soon as he left her body, she swore she’d get up in a minute. She wouldn’t let him hold her, wouldn’t fall asleep across his body.

  But promises, especially ones made to her, were meant to be broken.

  Anders didn’t think sleeping on the floor was part of his physical therapy protocol. But, after his early morning wake-up call, he hadn’t wanted to disturb Dahlia. He wasn’t sure if she would have stayed if he’d woken her up and suggested they adjourn to the bedroom. And—the stab of pain in his knee told him—he wouldn’t have been able to walk up the stairs with her in his arms.

  He didn’t know if he was being overly sentimental about his first or if something really powerful was brewing between the two of them. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready to see Dahlia walk away from him for good.

  Either way, he knew it couldn’t be permanent. Knowing didn’t keep him from thinking about the “what ifs.” If she was on board, maybe they could try long-distance. The ordinary things that interfered with long distance relationships, other people and lack of time, might not be a problem for them. Lord knew, he could keep it in his pants. And they both had goals and aspirations that prevented them from having unlimited amounts of time. He was probably bullshitting himself, but the thought of never seeing Dahlia again after he left in a couple of days hurt more than he’d ever admit out loud.

  But thinking wasn’t going to get her any closer to being his. He wanted to wake her up and remind her with his body that she didn’t want him leaving to be goodbye, but he’d already done that once. Instead, he tried to imprint the feeling of her limbs against his body and listened to the water.

  He didn’t hear anyone knock. But one moment he was listening to the water and Dahlia’s soft breathing, and the next, he was staring at Edwin Motz and the Cup.

  Motz was the person who got to transport the Cup from player to player the summer after they won. Each player got it for one day, and this was his day to commune with a symbol of the pinnacle of the game.

  And of course, someone connected to the game of hockey had to find him like this.

  “It wasn’t locked.” For his part, Motz appeared unsurprised and unruffled by finding Anders naked on the floor with a girl. He’d probably walked in on something similar countless times this summer. But Motz most certainly knew about the bounty, and Anders wasn’t certain the man could be trusted.

  Anders put up one finger, signaling the other guy to stay quiet. “You still could have knocked.” Dahlia was still sleeping, her body weighing down his arm. “Leave the Cup.”

  “Do you want me to call first before I pick it up?” Fuck. Dahlia stirred when Motz’s voice squeaked on the word “up.”

  Anders didn’t have enough time to warn her before she sat up and screamed. All he could do was throw the blanket over her shoulders so that Edwin didn’t get a glimpse of her perfect seventies tits. Motz was probably too much of a dweeb to appreciate them anyway.

  “Who the fuck is that?”

  Motz tipped an invisible fedora—guys like him always wore fedoras—and said, “Edwin Motz. I’m here to deliver the Cup to Anders for his day.”

  Dahlia’s gaze snapped to Anders, then wandered around the scene of the crime. She opened and closed her mouth multiple times, and made to move away from him.

  Not gonna happen. No matter how bad it made him look, he wasn’t about to give up touching her for a minute. And Motz certainly wasn’t going to see any more of Dahlia’s fine ass. No one else.

  “Motz, you going to keep your mouth shut?” Anders never barked at anyone, but barking seemed to be in order in this one instance.

  The other man nodded his head, but Anders was going to need something verbal. “Need you to tell me that you never saw this happening.” He felt Dahlia stiffen next to him, but he was trying to protect her. Motz didn’t need to get a hint of how he was starting to feel about Dahlia. He didn’t need names, and he didn’t need to know that Anders was ass over teakettle for his vacation fling.

  “But the bounty—” Social graces certainly weren’t the man’s strong point.

  “I don’t want it.” Dahlia’s clear, strong words were a balm over the raw fear that his personal business would be the focus of the next hockey season—should he even decide to go back. Worse, if he retired, the press could find Dahlia and make her into a distraction that stole his career with her vagina. Then, some rabid fans of the game better described as trolls would start making memes of Dahlia, painting her as the whore of Babylon for no reason. Anders didn’t know if she wanted to see him again.

  “It’s one hundred and fifty—”

  “I know how much money it is.” She sounded frustrated, and he could feel her body heat up next to him. “I’m not here for the money. I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you heard Anders. As far as you’re concerned, I’m not here at all.”

  Motz reddened and backed away as though Dahlia had slapped him. She was probably defending herself from bad publicity, but she was magnificent when she got mad. He hoped he would have the chance to make her mad someday—but when the stakes were much, much lower.

  “I see.” Motz had backed into the doorway.

  “Make sure the door’s latched.”

  When he left the room, Anders finally turned to Dahlia. When she gave him her eyes, her gaze was ice cold.

  “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

  The kind of hot anger that spiked before he threw down on the ice lanced through his system. He stood up, none too carefully, tweaking his knee. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Dahlia crawled around the room, gathering her clothes. He leaned down and grabbed a corner of blanket so she wouldn’t have the advantage of knowing that her ass turned him into a horny goat even when she was pissing him off.

  “You wanted the whole world to know that you weren’t a virgin anymore, so you made sure we didn’t get to the bed last night.” She found her panties and shimmied them on. Then, she grabbed his t-shirt, and put it on. As the cotton fabric slithered over her breasts, he wished them a silent goodbye. This conversation was likely putting an end to his acquaintance with the finest set of boobs in the state of Minnesota.

  “You sound fucking crazy.”

  The way her eyes widened told him he’d said the wrong thing. He should have known from witnessing a couple of his teammates argue with girlfriends that he’d said the wrong thing.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that so that I don’t knife you.” She looked down at where he held the blanket over his balls, and his skin went cold.

  “Wait. I didn’t mean that. I just—I didn’t do that on purpose.” Hadn’t he? Maybe, in some remote, subconscious part of his brain he’d wanted Motz to find him with a girl? Because no matter what he said, this was not going to stay a secret. Motz wasn’t a troll, but he was definitely the kind of extreme hockey fan who would realize that finding the league’s only virgin player with a naked girl was big news. “I wanted you so much.”

  Dahlia blew air through her lips while she p
ulled off her jeans. “I find it hard to believe that you wanted me more than any girl you’ve ever met on the road.”

  As she laced her boots, he realized he was running out of time to rectify this shitastic situation. What he’d said was true. He wanted Dahlia more than he’d ever wanted anything. He could already feel the ache of her absence.

  She stood up from the couch, and he stalked over to her, dropping the blanket. Naked in front of her, he was powerless. But that was merely a metaphor for how he felt about her right now. She didn’t slap him when he gripped her face in both palms.

  “Believe me because it’s true.” This close, he could see the shiny coating of tears in her eyes. “I didn’t mean for anyone to find us.” Not intentionally anyway. “I value my privacy, but I should have been more careful with you.”

  “I believe you.” A tear slipped out of her right eye and he kissed it away. “I don’t want to be a laughingstock again.”

  “You won’t be.” He couldn’t guarantee that, but he would do whatever he had to do to keep her safe.

  “I should go.”

  If he wanted to take the day to figure his life out with the Cup, she was right. She should get going. But everything in him wanted to keep her in his space.

  “I don’t want you to go when you’re angry at me.”

  “I’m not angry at you, Anders.” She looked down and he dipped his knees so he could still look her in the face. “I’m just confused.”

  He was confused, too. But he was starting to feel like the confusion she aroused in him was a good thing. She’d tipped him off his axis—something nothing and no one had ever done for him. “You’re crying.”

  “I know.” Those two words were agonizing, for him to hear and definitely for her to say.

  He didn’t know what to say to make it stop, to make her feel okay about this, so he didn’t try. Instead, he tipped up her chin and kissed her on the mouth. He would have stopped if she had pushed him away, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her body flush with his.