Fire & Ice

by A. M. Hartnett

  She’d never been involved with anyone remotely like Mick before. Her boyfriends, while not cardigan-wearing accountants, had all been on the tame side compared to her defenceman. She’d never wrapped her legs around someone who came to her with a black eye. She’d never ridden on top of someone whose knee was wrapped in an ice-pack behind her.

  Seeing photos on her computer screen or phone was one thing. So was sitting on the edge of the bed, cringing as he showed off whatever injury he had sustained or cooing to him when they manoeuvred into a position that would cause his injury the least amount of stress.

  It was one thing to see the aftermath once she knew he was safe. It was another thing to see the violence explode before her eyes.

  She didn’t want to admit that she was squeamish, that this hockey girlfriend would probably watch the game with her mittens over her eyes.

  ‘I will get you tickets,’ he said. Behind her he played with the hem of her T-shirt, and this, combined with the pink filling his cheeks, suggested that he was nervous about asking. ‘And I will give you beer money.’

  ‘That makes me sound like the cheapest trophy girlfriend ever,’ she said, and when he scowled had to explain what a trophy girlfriend was.

  Mick raised a brow. ‘I can afford to buy you used car with all the Bandits stickers you want.’

  ‘I don’t see how I could say no to that,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Good. Tomorrow is home game. I will bring you tickets.’

  ‘Let me see if I can get a date. Kris! You want to go to a hockey game tomorrow night?’

  ‘Do I get beer and a used car?’

  ‘No, and stop listening!’

  Kris stepped into the hall, travel mug in hand. ‘I’m leaving anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow night, I suppose?’

  Her roommate was barely out the door before Julia pushed up on to her knees and pinned him against the sofa back.

  ‘You know, my time is very valuable,’ she murmured, rocking against him as she went back to work on his buttons. ‘You’re not my only student, and you’re not even my best student. You don’t even tip me. You are not worthy of perks.’

  He gave himself over completely to her, the rest of his body becoming restful as he became harder and harder through two layers of denim.

  ‘So, back to numbers.’ Julia freed the last button, then parted the shirt. ‘I want you to count to one hundred and fifty. Once you get to sixty you start to struggle. I’m going to give you a bit of motivation to go better.’

  Though doing so robbed her of that delicious friction between them, she slipped from his lap and sank to her knees before him.

  ‘Start counting,’ she said, and carefully worked his fly open.

  ‘Zero…un…deux…trois…’ he began breathlessly and lifted his hips for her. The rhythm of his recitation matched the drumming of her heart as she dragged his jeans down his hairy legs to his ankles.

  ‘Slower,’ she urged as she wrapped her hand around him. ‘It’s going to get a lot more challenging and I want you to think about what you say before you say it.’

  ‘This is not a good lesson,’ he muttered, resting his head back and closing his eyes. ‘I will get hard every time I have to count. What will I do when I have to go to bank?’

  ‘I can stop if you want.’

  He grunted and shook his head, then went on counting. His words stuttered as Julia flattened her tongue against the smooth underbelly of his cock and licked upward, and skipped over dix-huit completely once she sucked the head into her mouth.

  She didn’t correct him, not then and not when he groaned right through trente-quatre and trente-neuf. The more he flubbed, the more delirious she became and the more determined she was to throw him off his groove completely.

  To his credit, Mick tried to keep up with the rhythm she built, but her greed was greater than his determination. She couldn’t get enough of him. From the time he’d knocked on her door he had become her addiction, and she was so giddy to have him that she moaned long and loud as she gorged herself on as much as she could.

  At soixante, Julia drew back and rose.

  ‘Here comes the tricky part,’ she told him, and shucked off her T-shirt.

  Her jeans and panties followed, and once her bra was disposed of and she was left in nothing but her blue footie socks she tucked her hand into his jeans pocket.

  ‘Soixante …’ she coaxed him, waving his little condom compact in front of her. ‘Keep going, Volkov.’

  He flashed her a lazy and contented grin. ‘Soixante et un…’

  Julia quickly wrapped his hard dick and straddled him, settling into the cradle of his large hands.

  ‘Soixante-deux,’ he whispered, his thick lashes fluttering as he tilted his hips and corked her.

  Running her hands along his forearms and those massive biceps, Julia rotated her hips and grinned.

  ‘Soixante …’

  Mick’s grip went slack and she sank down, then locked her fingers behind his neck.

  She brushed her mouth against his. ‘Soixante…’

  ‘Soixante…’ he said in a rasp, and his thick lashes fluttered again as Julia rocked up and down.

  ‘Keep talking or else I keep teasing you,’ she whispered.

  His moan joined hers as she shunted, the fat head rubbing her sweet spot.

  ‘Soixante-trois …soixante-quatre…’

  Julia hung her head back and held on as Mick pushed up. Soon the thud of her pulse drowned his words and she followed its tempo.

  Resting one hand at the damp small of her back, Mick tucked the other between them and rolled his thumb around her fat clitoris.

  The dual pleasure he plied her with brought out a madness she knew well. She rode it faster, higher, harder, until there was nowhere else to go. Spurred by the friction of Mick’s rough fingers and his thick cock, Julia greeted the magnificent onslaught with a gasp.

  Mick clamped down on her hips and took over her momentum, pushing and pulling her up and down as his thrusts became more frantic.

  With what sounded like a gurgle but what Julia knew to be a curse in Russian, he turned her over into the corner of the sofa. One hand grasping the sofa back and the other pushing against her outer knee, he was red-faced and wild. Once she had entertained the thought that this was The Dragon she was glimpsing but now she knew better: there was no Dragon. This was Mick, this was all Mick. He was soft and hard at once, gentle and feral, and all hers.

  He drove deep and pinned her, body fully charged while hers hummed with the last remnants of her retreating orgasm. The rest of him remained taut as his cock throbbed with his release, and Julia couldn’t keep from exploring every muscled inch from his slick shoulders to his round ass.

  He sagged down and groaned against her ear. ‘How far did I count?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ she admitted, drawing in a sigh only to let it out in a giggle. ‘You’ll have to try harder next time.’

  Mick pushed up and scowled down on her. ‘Next time, I will be on my knees and you will count, then we will see who is so smart.’

  ‘See, this is why I didn’t want to go to your game. You’re a sore loser, even after you’ve just got laid. I’d hate to see you after you’ve lost.’

  Mick snarled and dropped back down, and Julia went giddy as his large hands turned ticklish.

  ‘Oh, son of a bitch!’ Kris exclaimed, sloshing her warm beer on to the concrete bleachers, and lowered her voice. ‘Is he that much of a bruiser in bed?’

  ‘No, thank God. I’d need a hip replacement by thirty.’

  Julia sipped her hot chocolate. It was powdery and cheap, but the whipped cream was real and offered just the right amount of comfort to withstand the bloodbath that was about to be released on the ice.

  The Dragon was in a fury. He’d started two brawls already and it was evident from his body language that he was geared up for a third.

  According to the diehard fans behind her, Mick was sharing the ice with his most hated opponent, a
n American by the name of Regan MacKenzie. Personal, said the diehards. Their dislike of one another went beyond the ice: Regan thought Mick too unrefined and belonged back on a frozen pond, while Mick just thought Regan was a pussy and an asshole.

  She had to admit this was a little exciting. Watching him glide across the ice like a warrior king sizing up his enemy, Julia was fostering some colourful fantasies about the many ways he could conquer her. She sucked on the edge of her cup and watched him skim over the ice, porn on skates, and her scalp prickled. She slid her gaze sideways and frowned at Kris’s grin.

  ‘Remember, it’s more fun in your head than you’ll remember it when you’re in a back brace.’

  Julia elbowed her in the ribs but giggled. ‘We’ll go to his place and let you sleep, assuming he’s not too banged up.’

  Second period began, and Julia made it about ten minutes before failure as a hockey girlfriend set in and she lost interest in the action on the ice. The diehard fans behind her had more than enough enthusiasm and so she and Kris reverted to their usual subjects like they were in a cold, noisy coffee shop.

  ‘Maybe they should just kiss and break the tension,’ Kris cracked as once more Mick locked into a tense stare-down with Regan MacKenzie from opposite sides of the ice.

  Julia snuffled into her cocoa. ‘Maybe he’s one of those people who needs to have a nemesis. Maybe years from now when he’s roaming from farm to farm he’ll have this one nefarious duck named Grendel who becomes the bane of his existence. It’ll leave threatening notes in his medical bag and sneak into his house to crap in his boots.’

  ‘You should be a more supportive girlfriend,’ Kris coughed out through her laughter.

  ‘If I’m still around,’ Julia said quietly. Even the thought made her blue.

  ‘Puh-lease. Isn’t this the first time he’s detached himself from you in days? I’m thinking of renting out your bedroom, you’re gone so often.’

  As Mick glided to their side of the area, he dragged his attention from his rival towards Julia, and his expression changed.

  ‘See?’ Kris said into Julia’s ear. ‘Can’t even go one period without eyeballing his sexy tutor.’

  Julia raised her cup to him, and he smiled as he skated circles.

  ‘Things are going to get real bad real fast,’ announced one of the diehards behind her. ‘Volkov has been sticking MacKenzie like a pin all night. The Dragon gets in his way again and MacKenzie is going to put his head through the boards.’

  Kris and Julia exchanged impressed glances and settled in. Even for a couple of book nerds with no interest in hockey, the promise of a bit of drama caught their attention.

  Things were civil for a while, but the temperature started to rise after Mick blocked two goals from the end of MacKenzie’s stick. MacKenzie spat at Mick’s skates, but Mick turned his back on him.

  Then things got really bad. MacKenzie finally scored his coveted goal, after which he zoomed along the ice and stopped in front of Kris and Julia.

  Julia straightened up. ‘Is he looking at us?’

  ‘No, he’s looking at you,’ Kris clarified, and gasped as Regan MacKenzie grabbed his crotch and licked his lips. ‘Really?’

  With little else to do to defend her own honour, Julia raised two middle fingers.

  Smirking and victorious, MacKenzie retreated. Mick looked so livid, it was a wonder the rink didn’t turn into a wading pool.

  A tap on the shoulder drew Julia’s attention to the diehards.

  ‘You the girlfriend?’

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, while Kris piped up. ‘Yes, she is. She’s The Dragon’s woman.’

  The man, practically mummified in a long scarf, toque and enormous earmuffs, nodded curtly.

  ‘I hope you’ve got a big bank account, because he’s going to need the bail money after he kills that fucker.’

  Julia turned back but, instead of the players on the ice, the image of Mick’s bloody face flashed before her eyes: teeth knocked out, nose busted, eyes swollen shut.

  She hugged herself, and Kris slipped an arm around her waist.

  ‘He’s not going to kill that guy,’ Kris assured her. ‘He’s going to hold in all that rage and then fuck you raw tonight.’

  It wasn’t Mick that Julia tracked across the ice, but Regan MacKenzie. He reminded her of a hyena waiting on the sidelines for its opportunity to strike. He was passive for a while, keeping his distance from Mick and letting his teammates rev the Russian up.

  Then, out of nowhere, he exploded. Puck kept in the shelter of his stick blade, MacKenzie raced out of the neutral zone and into the Bandits’ defending zone. The goalie might as well have been invisible: it was Mick he went for.

  Mick was ready for him, skating towards MacKenzie like a charging bull. MacKenzie made his pass to a teammate and kept coming.

  Julia wasn’t quite sure what happened in the next few seconds. There was an outburst from the crowd and the ref blew out a defining whistle, and Mick was facedown on the ice.

  ‘Is he bleeding?’ Julia asked, cuddling closer to Kris as Mick’s teammates swarmed around him.

  ‘He’s not bleeding,’ chimed in one of the diehards. ‘Worse. He’s out cold.’

  Like everyone else in the arena, Julia got to her feet and watched the aftermath. There was nothing else she could do as the medics tramped across the ice and examined him, then called for a stretcher for her lover.

  ‘That one’s going to the hospital,’ said one of the diehards.

  The crowd had gone sober. Even Regan MacKenzie looked repentant and concerned from where he had been isolated in the penalty box.

  Kris tugged on Julia’s jacket. ‘Come on, game’s over for us.’

  Watching the medics carry Mick’s unconscious body off the ice as they headed towards the mezzanine, Julia truly felt like the ice queen of the old story. Fear pierced her heart and froze her inside and out. She clung to Kris’s hand and let her lead the way as every step became heavier.

  She wasn’t sure what Kris said to the security, but the next thing she knew she was standing against a concrete wall in the garage as Mick was loaded into the ambulance.

  ‘The assistant coach is going to ride along to the hospital,’ Kris explained. ‘I think we should grab a taxi outside and meet them.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Julia said, too numb to think of much else.

  She had braced herself for The Dragon to shed some blood. She could have handled blood if Mick remained upright on his blades. She never imagined she’d be crushing Kris’s hand in hers in the back of a cab, following an ambulance to the hospital while he was laid out with…what? Massive head trauma? Broken neck?

  She felt like she ought to cry and her head ached with unshed tears.

  Once at the hospital, they waited in the emergency room lobby with the assistant coach, Mike Bishop.

  At nearly two in the morning they were joined by Coach Gwynn, who had been listed as Mick’s emergency contact.

  ‘Concussion,’ he reported. They followed him outside so he could smoke a cigarette. ‘Not his first, but this one was bad. He had a seizure in the ambulance, and he’s got a sprained neck that’ll keep him in a brace for a few days.’

  Julia’s stomach lurched. ‘Is he going to be OK?’

  ‘He’s gone up for tests right now, but so far I’m hearing that he’s going to be out for the rest of the season. They’ll probably keep him for a few days. He’s conscious now but resting.’ He took Julia’s wrist and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m going in to have a look at him. Did you want to come with me? Then I’ll take you girls home.’

  Julia nodded, and once he finished his smoke the coach and she left Kris and Bishop in the waiting room and passed by the security door. The corridor leading towards Mick’s room was long, brightly lit and eerily quiet.

  Coach Gwynn’s stocky frame blocked her first view of Mick, giving her an extra moment. She needed it. The numbness was starting to wear off and she felt a burning sting beneath the skin a
nd pricking in her throat.

  ‘You just had to give MacKenzie a hard time, didn’t you, you dumb fuck,’ said Gwynn, stepping aside to let Julia enter, and added something in Russian.

  The room was lit only by the light from the door leading to the nursing station on the far side of Mick’s bed. His neck was still stabilised and he seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes open. He didn’t seem to notice Julia in his periphery as he conversed with his coach. She hung back until Gwynn pulled her forward.

  Mick merely blinked at her for a moment, and then he raised those thick brows.

  ‘Ice queen,’ he murmured, and held out his hand. ‘I have headache and room is spinning.’

  ‘No lessons for a while,’ she croaked.

  Mick grinned, lopsided. ‘Among other things.’

  ‘All right, I don’t want to hear this if you’re going to talk dirty to your woman,’ Coach Gwynn teased, and spoke quickly in Russian before patting Julia on the shoulder. ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, and when he had left the room she turned back to Mick with a scowl. Mick had closed his eyes, but he held tight to her hand. ‘You are a dumb fuck, you know that?’

  Mick opened one eye. ‘How do you say that in French?’

  All of her anger coiled in her throat, creating a tornado of fury that demanded to be unleashed, only to come out as a choked sob.

  Julia burst into tears and fell into Mick’s open arms.

  His chest vibrated with low laughter, and in spite of his laid-up state he crushed her against him.

  ‘Oh, God, help me, this is more painful than headache,’ he groaned through his laughter. ‘I am all right. I am still your hero.’

  She rose up and rubbed her dripping eyes. ‘Looks like I’ll have to be your hero for a while. When this clumsy girl falls down I won’t have you to catch me.’

  Mick placed his hand on her cheek and smeared his thumb through her tears. ‘I will catch you, even if it hurts me bad, but I don’t think it will hurt. Sometimes falling is good thing.’

  Fresh tears blurred her image of him, and so she let him pull her down and hold her close once more.