Rookie Rules. Red-Hot Trouble: Hockey Sports Romance (Standalone Reads) (Hot Ice Book 8)

by Lily Harlem

  He jerked and slotted his hands into my hair. “Ah, baby, yeah, like that. Fuck.”

  I laved at his frenulum, loving the way he jerked and moaned with each swipe of my tongue.

  “Ah, that’s a wonderful sinful talent you have there,” he moaned. “But come up here. I want you.”

  I was reluctant to interrupt what I’d started but Jackson left me no choice as he gripped my arms and pulled me upward, onto his lap. “Straddle me,” he said, shoving his pants down and rolling on a condom, “Straddle me and sit on me like you did that night. You just about blew my mind what you did with your hips.”

  Damn, he remembered that orgasm with the same intensity I did. I’d thought my head was going to explode and my body remain stuck on a climax. We’d taken each other to extreme highs. Highs I’d never been to before or since.

  My dress was tight around my thighs and, in order to part my legs, I had to wriggle it higher. Jackson helped, tugging and pulling.

  “Don’t rip it,” I warned breathlessly. “I’ve got to go back to the reception later.”

  “What reception?” his voice was almost a growl. “Get it out of the way. Now. Or it bites the dust.”

  Thankfully the delicate material bunched belt-like around my waist, giving me the freedom to straddle his cock.

  He cupped my breasts through my dress and planted a kiss on my throat. “You taste so good,” he said, licking up the column of my neck. “As good as I remember.”

  I reached downward, found his shaft and allowed the head of his cock to kiss my pussy. “Do you remember it feeling this good?” I asked, pressing my lips against his temple.

  “This is better,” he said, gripping my hips. “Because this is real, here and now and not a memory.”

  He eased me downward and I held my breath as my pussy struggled to accommodate his cock. His thickness stretched me in a way that made me greedy for more.

  “Ah, yeah, take me, like that, baby,” he said. “Fuck, yeah.”

  I sank to full depth. “Oh, Jackson...” I moaned, my head falling back. The sensation was overwhelming.

  He caught the base of my skull in his hand and pulled me close. “You’re so hot, so wet, so fucking perfect for me,” he murmured against my ear. “Now fuck me, like you did before. I want it, no, I need it.”

  Damn, and so did I. I began to grind my hips, working my clit against his hard body. The stiffness of his cock rubbed against my G-spot. “Yes, yes, yes...” I was fucking Jackson Price...again. I’d thought it a one-time only thing. That I’d been a rink bunny he wanted one night with, a night I was more than happy to give, yet here we were fucking again. And at the Viper’s rink, too.

  Excitement and lust was a potent combination of emotions and the pressure was building inside. I picked up the speed, my climax was rollercoastering toward me, like an unstoppable force I knew I would soon have to give into it.

  Jackson’s breaths were a storm in my ear. I’d have bruises on my hips in the morning but I didn’t care. This was all I wanted—fucking, raw and primal.

  “Ah, yeah, baby, come, fuck please come.” He gasped. “I can’t hold out much longer.”

  His words toppled me over the edge and as I bounced on his cock a wild, frantic orgasm raced through me. It started in my pelvis and rushed outward, dragging bliss over all of my nerves and blinding me with a mass of beautiful colors and sensations.

  “Yes, fuck, yes,” I shouted, the sound echoing around my head and the rink.

  “Argh!” he yelled, slamming me down and shoving his pelvis up. “Yes...”

  He came with me. His cock pumping and pulsing as he filled the condom.

  I found his mouth, cupped his cheeks and kissed him. Showing him with my lips and tongue just how amazing I thought he was, how well we fit together and how much I wanted him, still wanted him.

  He squeezed me close, so close it was hard to drag in oxygen. My pussy was spasming around his cock, my heart racing and my clit trembling.

  Finally, I slowed and then stilled, so that I was sitting on his cock and cradling his face.

  “You okay?” he whispered, brushing his lips over mine.

  “Yes, you?”

  “Never fucking better.” He grinned. “Gives new meaning to the word sin bin, though, doesn’t it? I’ll never be able to sit in here again without thinking of you.”

  “Good.” I smiled. “I like you thinking of me.”

  “Baby, you’ve got under my skin. I can’t think of anyone else but you, haven’t since that night.”

  “Really?” I wanted to believe him but found it hard to.

  “Yeah, you’ve ruined me for all others, so you might as well get used to the fact that it’s us now, Jackson and Harmony, making sweet, sweet music together.” He paused. “If you’ll have me, that is?”

  I glanced around the penalty box. My heart bursting with joy. “Well, only if it includes sinning?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “There’ll be a hell of a lot of sinning involved.”

  THE END

  (Want to know more about Samantha and Vadmir’s romance? Don’t miss their full length novel RUSSIAN HEAT )

  RED-HOT TROUBLE

  Hot Ice

  By Lily Harlem

  Chapter One

  I would never have pictured myself at The Orlando Vipers’ home stadium on the Friday night before Christmas, but here I was standing in the front row, listening to the roar of the crowd, inhaling the scent of corn dogs, and wincing as bodies barged into the Plexi.

  I suppressed a yawn. It had been a long day.

  My twin, Benjamin, was a mad hockey fan and currently a rink-side medic for big games. Trouble was, he’d double-booked.

  And not any old double-booking, he’d clashed his rota with his honeymoon.

  Which was why I’d stepped into his shoes. He was lucky I could. I had the same medical degree as he had.

  “Not long now, Dr. Delaney,” one of the coaches called to me. “Then you can go home.”

  Damn it, had I really looked so bored?

  “Thanks.” I glanced at the scoreboard. Five minutes left of play.

  “And The Vipers are onto a winner here, if they can just hold it together,” the commentator in my earpiece shouted. “This has shades of last year’s Stanley Cup triumph. And there goes Phoenix, he’s on top form lately. He’s unstoppable. But here comes the defense. Can he get round it…no…but he’s spun it and passed. A beautiful side curve to Brick. This pair are unstoppable.” There was a pause. “And now to Nathan Walker; they don’t call him The Flash for nothing, he’s moving like the wind, and…it’s in!”

  The crowd erupted as the puck hit the back of the net and the away team goalie slid forward with his stick clattering from his hand.

  Nathan Walker, or The Flash, was quickly surrounded by his teammates. They slapped him on the back, bumped gloved knuckles with his, and knocked his helmet with their own.

  “And it’s a magnificent goal by Nathan Walker. Holy moly, it doesn’t get any better than this. His winning streak is clearly not over yet.”

  The coach at my side, and the team’s owner, were on their feet, air punching and grinning broadly.

  I stood to show my support.

  Thumping music filled the air. The Viper’s mascot—a big green alligator dressed in a Santa suit—was throwing sweets into the crowd. The away team, dressed in black, matched their colors with their mood.

  Quickly play resumed. It made me dizzy watching the puck, so instead I concentrated on The Flash. He appeared to be the man of the game, and not just this one with the frequent references to his winning streak.

  He was tall and broad in his gear, through his caged helmet dark stubble was evident, and the way he moved his big bulk around so gracefully was mesmerizing.

  Suddenly he was heading my way, puck neatly tucked in the crook of his stick.

  Out of nowhere another player, in black, barged into him. Their huge bodies slammed together, their skates clashed, and both sticks
and the puck flew into the air.

  Then The Flash was pressed up against the Plexi. The whole section shook and appeared to strain under his weight.

  I gasped and stepped back, my legs hitting the chair behind me and my earpiece falling out. Adrenaline surged into my system. Was he going to come through the thing?

  But as soon as he was there, he was gone. He’d slid downward and hit the ice, hard.

  The officials were around him. The other player involved in the collision stood, retrieved his stick, and skated off adjusting his shoulder pads.

  I rushed to the rink edge. He was down, not moving, with his helmet at an angle.

  “Damn it.” He’d had one heck of a collision. If his head gear hadn’t protected his skull, there could be serious consequences.

  The coach to my left urged me to the door in the Plexi so I could get to the ice.

  “Here,” he said. “Hold on to me.”

  “Thanks.” I’d never been a skater, but luckily my supine patient was only a few yards away.

  I kneeled next to him, keen to see if there was obvious damage. The cold seeped onto my knees, and my breath plumed in front of me.

  His eyes were closed. He remained unmoving.

  “What’s up with him?” the coach asked.

  Before I could answer, Nathan Walker opened his eyes and stared up at me. His irises were a stunning shade of blue, his pupils largeand luckily equaland his lashes long and dark.

  His mouth stretched into a grin. “Have I died and gone to Heaven?”

  “Keep still,” I said, concerned about his skull and neck.

  “Keep still? I’ve got a few more points to score yet, sweetpea.”

  “I’m not a sweetpea, I’m the rink medic, now stay there.”

  “No can do.” He blinked several times, then opened his mouth wide and clicked his jaw. “The clock waits for no one.”

  “I really think you should…”

  He held his palm up and sat.

  “You should listen to the doc.” The coach at my side wrung his hands together. “She knows best.”

  “If we were losing, Coach, you’d have me up already. Just ’cause we’re points ahead, doesn’t mean we can slack.”

  “We have Vadim on the bench.”

  “I’m finishing this.” There was a note of steel in Nathan’s tone. It was clear he wouldn’t be dissuaded.

  “Well, be careful until I can do a proper exam,” I said as I stood, gripping the coach’s arm. “And get that helmet replaced; it’s probably damaged after that hit.”

  “Right you are, sweetpea.”

  “And don’t call me…”

  A fine spray of ice landed on my lower pant legs and shoes, and he was gone, halfway across the rink in a nanosecond.

  “Come on,” the coach said, tugging me. “We don’t want to be in the middle of this lot in another five seconds.”

  The officials were swarming, the teams resuming their positions.

  I’d just made it off the ice when several players raced over the spot I’d previously been standing in. The puck was the center of a battle of sticks. The team’s captain, Rick ‘Ramrod’ Lewis, and Nathan Walker were taking on two opponents with grim determination.

  Within seconds another point was scored. I missed it, as I was looking for my earpiece, but it had been Walker again. His name flashed on the screen, and the crowd behind me were chanting “The Flash, The Flash. No one gets past The Flash.”

  How can he be practically comatose one second, then performing as one of the best in the league the next?

  Much as I disapproved of his decision not to get checked out medically, I had to admire his skill. He was at the top of his profession and keen to stay there. I knew what that felt like. I’d been working on getting to the top of mine for the last decade and had no intention of letting it slide.

  But still, after the game I’d perform a few basic reflex tests and look in his eyes to make sure everything was in order. And if I found anything I wasn’t happy with, he’d be headed for the scanner before he could say National Hockey League.

  After a few more minutes of on-ice mayhem, the final buzzer went.

  The mascot scooted out, waving his arms and working the home crowd into a frenzy of delight over their win.

  The crowd’s roar was one long continuous bellow, almost drowning out the sound of Slade’s Merry Christmas Everybody blasting through the speakers. Flags waved, hooters honked. The Vipers’ coaches rushed onto the ice, joining in the celebrations.

  I searched out Walker, identifiable by his name written in white on the back of his red jersey. He appeared to be the center of the congratulations, not surprisingly as he’d scored the most points.

  He seemed okay, no harm done from his collision course with the rink perimeter.

  As I studied him, he tugged off his helmet and looked my way.

  For the second time in minutes, his stunning blue gaze settled on me.

  Momentarily, I felt embarrassed to be studying him so closely, then reminded myself it was from a medical perspective, a professional surveillance, nothing to do with the fact he had features which were so sharp he could have been crafted from a block of the ice he skated on, or hair that although flattened to his head was thick, over-long, perfect for running fingers through…

  He turned, slapped Phoenix on the back, then slid to the opposite side of the rink, holding his stick up in triumph as the crowd’s enthusiasm grew ever louder.

  Tugging my scarf a little tighter, I decided to find somewhere warmer to wait for Nathan Walker and the coach.

  “Doctor Delaney.” The team’s owner, Fergal Gunner, held out his hand. “I really appreciate you standing in for your brother.”

  “My pleasure.” I smiled and shook his hand. “And congratulations on your win.”

  “The Vipers are the best.” He nodded at the rink. “But they don’t come cheap, which is why I’m glad you’re here, for emergencies.”

  “I should check out Nathan Walker, he had a nasty collision.”

  He chuckled. “That was nothing more than breeze against the Plexi. I’ve seen him take a hit a rhino could deliver and barely notice.”

  I frowned. “He might be tough, but he’s still made of flesh and bone. We all break the same.”

  “The guy is super human.” He held his hand up to a few of the players who were calling him.

  “That might be the general opinion, but I still need to examine him before he leaves the stadium. If you could tell him that.” If I didn’t, I wouldn’t sleep. Not crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s wasn’t my style. That was how mistakes happened, and in my game, mistakes could be fatal.

  Fergal headed off, clearly elated and looking forward to celebrating. I was left alone so reached for my bag, which held some basic medical gear, and I headed away from the noise.

  Once in the corridors at the back of the tunnel, I paused. I’d been given Ben’s office to use. Where was it?

  I recalled the direction and made my way there. As I did so my cell rang. Scooping it from my pocket, I checked the screen.

  It flashed the words Benny-Boy, and an image of Ben from last Christmas, a little tipsy and wearing an elf hat, appeared.

  My heart skipped. I’d been hoping to hear from my brother. We spoke every day, and him being out of communication while he was on safari in South Africa with his new wife had been strange and a little disconcerting.

  “Hey, you,” I answered, stepping into the office.

  “Soph, can you hear me?” The line was crackling and his voice faint.

  “Just.”

  “How’s it going at the rink?”

  “Fine, but what about you? What’s it like out there in the savannah? Have you seen lion, elephant—?” The line went dead. “Damn it.” I frowned and stared at the screen.

  For two minutes I willed the cell to flash to life again, but it didn’t. So I tried calling Ben’s number. It went straight to voicemail. Cleary the signal he’d foun
d wasn’t quite enough to reach Florida.

  There was activity outside, the players clattering toward the locker room. Their voices were loud and booming and echoed around the walls. I hoped the coach I’d been sitting with would remind Nathan Walker he needed a check-up before he headed out of the stadium.

  I spotted a full coffee pot and helped myself as I waited. I had no intention of walking into a locker room full of sweaty, naked, testosterone-fuelled hockey players.

  Or maybe I should?

  I hadn’t appreciated hockey players were actually quite hot before. If I had maybe I would have taken Ben up on his many offers to accompany him to games in the past. I might have enjoyed it. I smiled and sipped my drink, appreciative of the warm, dark flavor and the caffeine hit I knew was coming. Nathan Walker was particularly handsome, and his eyes were…

  Stop it, Sophie. You haven’t got room in your life for distractions.

  Chapter Two

  I passed the time by flicking through some of Ben’s Sports Medicine journals. Outside, the activity continued; all manner of people coming and going, but mainly men judging by their deep tones. After half an hour and another coffee, I wandered outside with my bag.

  “Hey, Doc.”

  I turned at the sound of the coach’s voice.

  “You coming upstairs for a celebratory drink?” He nodded at a set of stairs with the handrail wrapped in red tinsel. “It’s the last game, and it’ll be a great party with a win this close to Christmas.”

  “Thank you, but no. I’ve got an early start in surgery.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “Broken hearts wait for no one.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, thanks for all you’ve done.”

  “I haven’t finished yet. I need to give Nathan Walker a check over after his head trauma.”

  He laughed. “Ah, he’s okay, nothing damaged that wasn’t already.”

  I frowned. “I was very clear about his need for an exam.”

  His grin dropped. “Er yeah, sure. You were.” He glanced around.

  Two players ambled past, each tall and broad and dressed in jeans and t-shirts with the Viper logo on them. One I recognized as Rick Lewis, the captain. The other was olive-skinned and with glossy dark hair still damp from the shower. I had a vague memory that his usual position was in goal and his name was Raven.