Adrian: An Ironfield Forge Hockey Romance

by Frost, Sosie

  Clover quivered against my threading tongue. She needed nothing else. Never did, but I was too ashamed to realize it. My promises of soft touches, gentle kisses, and slow thrusts had simply satisfied her. But she needed that intensity as badly as me.

  She wanted to lose control.

  No—she wanted to give that control to me.

  And that was the ultimate gift I no longer deserved.

  This time, I wouldn’t stop until she collapsed with exhaustion. I’d render her delirious with pleasure. Leave her quaking in feverish heat as I stole from her the very pleasures she wrenched from my worthless body.

  My cock pulsed, threatening to bust as I positioned myself behind her. I didn’t offer her sweet nothings or whispered promises. My ravenous grunt was the only warning.

  I thrust into her too hard, too fast, and with pummeling punishment.

  And the dark urges within me roared with conquering delight.

  Clover whimpered with shock, surprise, and then…

  Explosive pleasure.

  She arched as she met my devastating thrusts with her own frantic desperation. Her pussy enveloped me in the purest of heat. Every inch. Every thrust.

  Never thought she’d so urgently slam back against me.

  Never imagined her cries would shift from timid hums and murmured encouragement to mirrored grunts and profanities.

  She wanted it as badly as I did.

  As hard as I did.

  And why not?

  Sex had always been selfish and wild, obscene and vulgar. From the slapping of my heavy balls against her thighs to the sweat beading on my forehead as I gripped her hair and bent her body to my will.

  I was meant to bury my frustrations into this woman…

  Because I was too goddamned afraid to look inside myself.

  At least the truth was obvious, exposed by a remorseless, domineering fuck.

  It wasn’t about the pleasure.

  It wasn’t about her submission.

  It wasn’t even about the act of mounting her for this breeding.

  I was so goddamned in love with her that I would rather destroy all we had than let her imagine—even for a single moment—that I couldn’t be the man to provide her with her idyllic future.

  So I embraced my wild, despicable urges and took what I needed from her offered slit.

  It was good. And dirty. And taken.

  I lost myself within my aching thrusts and the cadence of her shocked, gasping breaths.

  And yet…

  Even in the midst of that utter despair, of that undoing of everything I had tried to be for this woman, I still delivered to Clover exactly what she needed.

  She tensed, rolled, and shivered in constant pleasure. Orgasm after orgasm ripped through her weakening body. She moaned as her arms shook, unable to stay upright against my raging thrusts without the aid of my unforgiving hands gripping her hips.

  And she thanked me for it.

  Came again and again despite my monstrous behavior.

  Somehow Clover dissipated the pain and shame of my fucking and encouraged the bestial urges with the push of her ass against my hips.

  Was it possible that I could be so deeply connected with this woman that even in the darkest, weakest moments of my life…she understood me?

  I had no excuse to hide from her anymore, and yet I still disguised the truth behind punishing thrusts. I silenced any foolish words with guttural grunts of pleasure and unconscionable fantasies.

  I was weak. Selfish.

  Desperate for her.

  Clover came once again then collapsed to the floor. That was fine. I took her prone, her belly and breasts dragging into the carpet as I plunged deeper into her wetness. Her trembling fueled me. Her soaked pussy enthralled me. Her complete submission undid me.

  “Adrian…” Her gasped words ached with desire. “Please…”

  What the hell did she want from me?

  I had nothing left to give her.

  Nothing else except my seed.

  Nothing beyond my last fucking hope that it’d be all we needed.

  My orgasm boiled within me, torturing me with tightening balls and pricking my brain with a pain so fantastic and intense that I welcomed the encroaching darkness threatening to take me with it.

  The pleasure ripped through me, destroying everything in its path.

  My pride. My compassion. My dreams.

  It wasn’t warm or comforting, romantic or gentle.

  I erupted inside my best friend, the love of my life, as my body shattered in unforgiving despair.

  This was wrong.

  And yet, I couldn’t stop.

  I savored it. Enjoyed it. Delayed every jet of seed for as long as my body could withstand the pleasure.

  It revealed too much of me and exposed more of the truth in twenty-five seconds than the last twenty-five years.

  We’d plunged into chaos.

  And maybe that’s where I belonged.

  I emptied myself deep within her, crushing her under my body as I defiled her with ribbon after ribbon of searing hot seed in her womb.

  Why did she beg to take even more?

  I rolled away from her, cock still vulgarly leaking the last of my desire. Her body tumbled forward, and the sticky white mess on her darkened petals was the final temptation of a damned sinner.

  A ferocious shame bled through me. I was enraged with myself. My desires. My fucking destruction.

  Clover panted, staring at me from the floor. Her words promised softness, but I didn’t hear them. Didn’t want to listen to what she might’ve said.

  Or confessed.

  I hauled myself to my feet, unceremoniously stuffing my cock into my jeans. Felt like a damned fraud. Like I’d done something dirty, terrible, and unforgivable.

  And maybe I had.

  “I should go,” I said.

  Clover sat up, disheveled, hair mussed and body slick with sweat and seed.

  Was this how I treated my best friend?

  “You don’t have to go…” Her voice was hoarse from moaning. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Which made it all the worse. I didn’t want to go either.

  But if I didn’t leave now, I’d never summon enough courage to do what needed to be done. And that would ruin us both.

  “You’re right.” I winced as my forehead pounded with an agonizing headache. So much for the post-orgasmic bliss. “Gotta get home to sit in the dark, drown in my loneliness.”

  Clover stared at me—beautiful and forbidden and everything I’d always wanted.

  “No sense in both of us being alone,” she whispered.

  “I’ll only make things worse.”

  “Adrian…you’ve only ever made things better.”

  I wasn’t a good enough man to earn that lovely smile—but she gave it to me anyway. Willingly. So warm and forgiving I might’ve fallen to my knees before her and surrendered to the agony of it all.

  But I still had some strength. Some common sense. Big enough balls to do what was right.

  I wanted to believe her. Maybe pretend that the last few months hadn’t happened. Beg her to forget all that we had done in a vain attempt to preserve what we still had.

  But I loved her too much to ask of her the impossible. This would be my decision. My pain to bear.

  “I’m leaving.” It was as much truth as I could admit. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  I retreated to the door and embraced the darkness outside. The shadows hid her tears. At least I had that solace.

  “I’m sorry for everything I can never give you.”

  20

  Clover

  The Ironfield Forge were in trouble.

  Training camp was usually the time when the players rallied together. Instead, the team fell apart.

  It didn’t take a loudmouth journalist on Sports Nation to confirm the franchise’s worst fears, but Ainsley Rupert worked his magic during the league recap. The blowhard ensured the Fo
rge’s issues were documented, discussed, and analyzed in excruciating detail.

  It took three days of on-ice fights, blown plays, and frustrating disorganization before the team abruptly closed the practices to the fans.

  But what was bad in public was terrible in private.

  Magnolia Mallory met me in the tunnels, sneaking me through the journalists’ entrance with a coy smirk and stolen Sports Nation ID.

  She brought the coffee. I supplied the donuts. And the rest of the reporters radiated the existential dread.

  “What’s the word?” Magnolia asked as we slipped into the stands behind a row of cameras poised to record everything except the player drills.

  I suppressed a yawn. “I just got off a plane—three-day trip. All I’ve heard is what your station has broadcasted…and it hasn’t been kind.”

  I kicked off my heels and scrunched my toes. Anything that wasn’t a jump seat in the back of a crowded 747 felt like Heaven—even a chilly arena with plastic seats at the crack of dawn.

  Magnolia didn’t attempt to defend her network. “I can’t stop the stories, and it makes this job impossible. I’m supposed to be building relationships with these men. I can’t do that if I’m reporting all their vices to the world.”

  “Then don’t.”

  She wielded her iPad like a third arm, tapping through a few notes while she watched the practice. “Not that easy. This is a competitive field—especially for someone who isn’t a perky blonde puck bunny. Think the network wouldn’t love to have a woman with different…looks in front of the camera?”

  I doubted they’d be that stupid. Magnolia redefined elegance. Ball gowns and tiaras were so outdated. The woman rocked dress suits and sandals, natural curls and an iPad with a bedazzled case. Maybe she wasn’t blonde, but the peppermint pink dress wrapped her ebony curves with the blush of grace.

  No way she was worried about losing her cushy job with the network.

  So I wondered what the real reason could be.

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  Magnolia wasn’t above using her stylus as a weapon. She threatened me with the blunt end.

  “There is no he,” she said.

  I followed her gaze to the lone veteran on the bench, wrapping his stick with a layer of tape as he surveyed his younger teammates. Everett Thorn was the oldest on the team. He hadn’t aged like a fine wine…more like a hard bourbon, something that burned harsh and fiery on the way down.

  “He’s very handsome.” I teased her with a smirk.

  “Thorn is an old friend,” she said.

  “That so?”

  She wiggled her ring finger, brandishing the diamond ring so that it’d twinkle in the light. “He’s my fiancé’s oldest friend.”

  Well, that was less fun. “And who is your groom-to-be?”

  “Johnny Bastion. Starting center for the Cherrywood Bandits.”

  “Uh-oh. Our division rivals?”

  “Makes it fun,” she said. “When the Forge held their draft, the Bandits had to decide between Johnny and Thorn. Figured they could get a few more years out of Johnny, so Thorn had to go.”

  “That’s gotta be tough.”

  “They’d been teammates for ten years. Grew up together and came into the league at the same time. Cherrywood loved their bromance—made for some great ratings and behind-the-scenes shots. And it was important to them, you know? They competed against each other, played harder, had someone to watch their back.”

  “Doesn’t seem fair.”

  Magnolia nodded. “The league isn’t fair. Each player’s gotta find his edge wherever he can.” She sighed as Thorn silently joined the rest of the team’s drills. “He should’ve retired already, but he fought us on it. Too many hits, not enough rest. But Thorn insisted on taking the contract. I figure someone’s gotta keep an eye on the big lug. The job keeps me from Johnny, but we thought it’d be…better if Thorn had someone watching him.”

  “That’s very sweet.”

  “Nothing’s more important than friends,” she said. “We’ll do fine here. I’m sure of it.”

  “Providing the team doesn’t self-destruct before the season begins.”

  “They’re only a collection of the league’s biggest bullies, troublemakers, crybabies, and arrogant cocksuckers.” Magnolia’s smile almost made the profanity seem a compliment. “What could go wrong?”

  “Everything.”

  Her interested hum could make the mundane sound juicy. “Oh? Insider information from Captain Alaric?”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Right.” Magnolia returned to her notes. “I’m sure those lips have better things to do than gossip.”

  I feigned a coy shrug as a surge of acidic dread flooded my gut.

  Adrian hadn’t answered my calls or texts for three days.

  And I hadn’t spoken to him since the night of our fight.

  If I had known that the most amazing and overwhelming sex of my life would’ve created this terrible rift between us…

  Who was I kidding?

  We both would’ve still surrendered to each other in that moment.

  Adrian had warned me about his desires, but I hadn’t experienced a true conquering until that night.

  He’d been wild, pushing me down, slamming into me again and again, releasing his every last frustration deep into my core. He was rough and demanding. Harsh and dominating.

  I’d needed it.

  He’d wanted it.

  But now that we’d lost ourselves in the oblivion of our darkest fantasies, we had to talk.

  And I knew what had to be said—the truth that had slunk around within my mind for years, hidden and defiant.

  I’d always loved Adrian.

  And he must’ve known it. I was the last person to realize my feelings, but the question wasn’t when I’d fallen in love with him…

  But…what if it was too late to save that love from our own fear?

  The only way to protect whatever relationship remained was to acknowledge what we hid from ourselves and each other. And whether confronting that truth was the best decision of our lives or the worst mistake we’d ever make, we couldn’t live in this stagnant uncertainty forever.

  No matter how good the sex.

  Or how easily we denied our feelings.

  Or if I never got pregnant.

  If we wanted to survive this, we had to fix what was broken. And we could. That was the ultimate frustration. We trusted each other. We knew each other. We could so easily undo the last couple months of doubt and pain if we simply relied on each other, just like we’d always done.

  The world might’ve promised a silver lining to every problem, but Adrian was the only man who ever delivered me gold.

  It was time to admit our feelings.

  Especially because Adrian needed me more than ever.

  Magnolia scribbled notes while the players lined up for drills. The coaches blew whistles, the trainers offered bottles of water, and half of the men ignored the other half while they finished their own warm-ups and initial laps around the rink.

  The Forge had collected twenty-three ridiculously talented men, but teamwork required more than simple fundamentals. Each gifted athlete could pass, shoot, and display some fancy stickwork, but individual skill did not make for a functioning organization.

  The media buzzed around us, and a crisp twenty-dollar bill slapped into a grinning journalist’s hand.

  The reporter kissed his money and stuffed in into a striped polo shirt pocket, greasy from the spilled innards of a breakfast sandwich likely consumed in his car.

  “Ah, thank you, Mr. Jackson.” He grinned, revealing a bit of parsley stuck between his front teeth. “I knew Beau Beckett wouldn’t get here on time.”

  “Probably sleeping off a hangover.” The loser of the bet grumbled through his bushy, coffee-stained mustache and smacked his malfunctioning laptop with his palm. “It’s like the kid doesn’t want to play hockey.”

  Magnolia’s jaw ti
ghtened. “Here we go.”

  “Can you blame him?” Another reporter rubbed puffy eyes beneath his horn-rimmed glasses and struggled to stay awake. “You know his story, right? He never wanted to play hockey. Got roped into it because his older brother played in high school and went to the junior league. But Beau was good, better than his brother. So, Beau got all the attention—and Brady coped with pain pills.”

  “That’s awful,” I whispered.

  “No sympathy from them,” Magnolia grumbled.

  The journalist continued. “They shipped Beau from coach to coach for training. Made him into a prodigy. He was forced to eat, sleep, breathe, and shit hockey for the past fourteen years. I’d get tired of it too.”

  The mustached man wasn’t convinced. He pointed over the ice. “That’s no excuse. The rest of the team wants to be here.”

  “Here?” Glasses laughed. “Not a damned one of them wants to be here. Well, maybe Alaric because he’s fucking relieved he has a chance to play despite a pair of crushed balls. But the rest of them?” He snorted. “The goalie—Oz—had his agent on the phone with ten different teams in the league. He’s out of here the first chance he gets. Leo Telane and Felix Ferraro will kill each other before the first face-off. Cash Harrington is one dirty hit from getting bounced from the league. And Vasha Morozov is bound to be deported before he ever hits the ice.”

  “Sounds like you’re a fan,” Parsley teeth said.

  “I’m just watching a team of miscreant, egotistical assholes trip over a world that’s handed them everything. These bastards get what they deserve.”

  That wasn’t true. Adrian didn’t see it that way.

  He knew the Forge wasn’t functioning as it should, but a team was a team, regardless of how damaged the players. It’d take hard work and good leadership to turn it around, but he could do it. After all, the league and every journalist had already written them off, and Adrian worked best when he was the underdog.

  If the Forge could survive the antagonism and disrespect, if they would listen to their captain, they’d come out of this darkness as formidable men strengthened by adversity.

  But they needed to rally around Adrian.

  And unfortunately, he was losing his patience to unite the team.