Scoring Off The Ice: Ice Kings, #2

by Stacey Lynn

  Oh goodness. A ripple of pleasure pulses at my sex. Bossy Mikah is sexier than any of the rest of him. I love when he gets like this, commanding, but waiting for my consent.

  I give it freely.

  Turning around, I tease him, knowing he likes it. I let my dress fall from shoulders, shaking my hips as it brushes my ass on the way to the floor. I’m still in my heels, so I’m careful as I step away from the dress and reach behind my back to the band of my bra. It’s red, to match my shoes as well as my thong. Lace. It’s a sexy, glamorous set and based on the heat burning my flesh from his look alone, he enjoys it more.

  Which is what I hoped for.

  I undo my bra, gather my hair and drape it over a shoulder so he has a complete, unfettered view of my back and then slip my fingers into the lace of my thong at my hips. I shimmy them down slowly, turning to watch him over my shoulder, but he doesn’t notice me looking at him.

  His gaze is settled at my hands, my ass, watching the movement of the lace deliciously scrape down my thighs. Once I’ve kicked them from my ankle where they land on top of the rest of our discarded clothing, his gaze whips up to meet mine.

  “Bend over.” His hand presses to my shoulder and he doesn’t shove gently, but firmly.

  I fall forward in surprise until my hips hit the armrest and then I’m angled, ass up in the air, fingers digging into the couch to cushion my fall and brace.

  When he gets bossy like this, he doesn’t go slow.

  I love him furious and fast.

  He barely takes a breath before his fingers are at my slit, rubbing, tasting and teasing. There’s no need. I was wet and ready for him before we stepped off the elevator. I mewl into the couch cushions, sounds of pleasure pulled from my throat as he works me quickly, dragging the pleasure from my body so easily.

  My legs are trembling, ankles shaking in my heels and it takes effort to keep them from slipping on the wood floor, but I stay still for him.

  I feel the weight of his chest as he bends over and then his mouth is at my ear, hand brushing hair out of my way.

  “You like this?”

  I arch into him, grind my backside against his hard dick. “Yesss.”

  “More?”

  “Always. Always more.”

  “Good. Come for me and then you’ll get it.”

  I feel it barrel down, spikes of pleasure starting at my thighs and spreading outward, down my legs, up my spine and I clamp around his fingers, screaming his name and slamming my eyes shut. I buck against the armrest, find him behind me and he’s there, where I’ve never had a man go. As I hit the tip of them there, animalistic sounds tear from my throat. He’s not even trying, but he’s just found a way to make my orgasm stronger. Louder. And I come on his fingers while pressing against him, my body quaking from the force of it until it starts to leave me, and he lifts off my back.

  The vague sound of foil tearing filters into my mind but I’m still lost… falling… needing him to put me back together to barely registers before his hands are at my hips, pulling back.

  “Brace yourself, skat.” My eyes flicker open at the word. One I don’t know, but it’s said with such emotion I feel it. And then he’s there, the thick head of his cock pushing into me, slowly but in one long thrust and I crush the cushions beneath me in my fist. “Damn. Du er så smuk.”

  I listen to the parts of his guttural language I understand and obey, bracing myself while he seats himself so deep inside of me it borders on painful.

  And then he lets go, and I hold on for every glorious moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mikah

  * * *

  A month ago, I came home from training, exhausted, muscles aching. I planned on another workout, a shower, and then to head to George’s with the guys for a quiet night with a few drinks.

  It was only a month ago when Paisley knocked on my door, a baby in her arms, and me… completely clueless as to how to even hold said baby.

  The same baby who now rests comfortably in my one arm. I have him facing out, hand at his crotch so he can kick and babble his way through our morning ritual of where I wake when he does, some days at six, some days, like today, at the bright burning time of five-thirty.

  Awesome.

  I’m exhausted after last night’s home pre-season game. I didn’t get back here until well after ten, my body bruised and battered after a tough win against Edmonton. We play them one more time tomorrow night and all I wanted to do this morning was sleep in, hold Paisley in my arms where she still sleeps in my bed, go get coffee with Angelo in the stroller.

  Instead, he woke up wet and dirty, fussing while I changed him and now that I have him dressed in clothes for the day, I’m mixing his bottle while a pot of coffee brews in my Ninja coffee machine. I can brew a full pot of strong black coffee for me and make Paisley a cappuccino as soon as I have time to wake her.

  She’s been at every home game so far, even though they’re only pre-season games and every time I slip onto the ice, I do a slow, warm-up skate around the rink until I find her, usually mid ice or behind home bench, always in the lowest section where she’s easy to notice. It’s the first time since moving to America where I’ve known without a doubt that there is someone there for me. Not the player. Me. I’m playing so much better and so thankful she’s there even when I know she’s sacrificing her time and schoolwork. I spent hours last night showing her my appreciation.

  It’s no wonder my legs hurt today. My abs and thighs. Hell, even my ass muscles are sore and I’m pretty sure that’s from when I took her hard, her knees in the bed, hands wrapped around my pillow where she shoved her face when she came.

  Loudly.

  So loudly I’m thinking Angelo might have to start wearing his noise-canceling headphones to bed instead of just to the games.

  “La-leesh-da.”

  He babbles, a mouth full of bubbles spits to my counter and I laugh.

  “You like that idea?” I set down his bottle and turn him. Like I always do, as soon as I see his face, I kiss him. His nose. His forehead.

  This daddy gig hasn’t been easy, but it’s now been over a month. I’m settling in. I have an incredible nanny with Viola. She even cleaned my home even better than I do when I was in Washington for an away game earlier this week.

  And even better, my lawyer Luke has said they’ve finally found Angela and he’s working on getting in contact with her. Apparently after she dropped Angelo off, she took a trip to the Caribbean where she’s been lounging on beaches, possibly drinking her way through coconut rum and beach bums. Luke has also officially filed a petition for me to be added to the birth certificate, something we have to wait on while the proper state departments work their way through it.

  It’s taking longer than I want.

  Until she legally signs away her rights, I will also be on tenterhooks, waiting for her to show up and take him back.

  It will never happen.

  “It won’t,” I tell Angelo. “She will never have you. Not after what she’s done.”

  He grins at me, toothless as always but he’s growing more active during the day and sleeping better now that I feed him six ounces instead of four at every feeding. Viola gave him a bath last night so he smells like his soap with a hint of spit-up.

  It’s the strangest combination and the best I’ve ever smelt.

  I hold him close and grab his bottle. It’s easier to feed him when I’m sitting, but I can do it all one-handed in a pinch, which I do now, filling my mug of coffee while he starts to take his. I’m careful to keep my hot coffee out of his flailing arms and legs and move us into the living room. One of my modern, black leather and black metal chairs has been moved to my guest bedroom so Viola has a place to sit and two weeks ago I went out and bought a recliner chair. It looks like a spaceship with wide arms, a table I can put up on the side and cup holders on both armrests. I pull up the side table now and set down my coffee.

  I’ve fallen asleep in this chair almost every
day since I’ve had it.

  If I was single, I would probably live in it.

  Fortunately for me, I have Paisley and a reason to use and sleep in my king-sized bed.

  “We like her, do we not?” I ask Angelo. I like his early morning feedings even when I hate being awake so early. It’s quiet outside, the city not yet fully awake and bustling. I can take an hour if I need to, to hang out with nothing to do but spend time with Angelo. I usually read to him, place him on the playmate near my feet while I catch up on news and sports games from the night before, scroll through social media.

  Ever since camp when I did the quick interview with Niklas, my accounts have gone wild with women, fawning over the photo I posted of me holding Angelo. Behind my shoulder, there’s a hint of Paisley in her winter coat.

  It’s my favorite part of the picture.

  The comments about her, though, are not kind, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

  Someday down the road, after Paisley is done with school, when she’s settled and teaching, I will make it more permanent. As is, I already want her to move in with me. It seems silly to have separate rooms divided by a hallway. She spends almost all of her time here and I love it.

  “You like Paisley, right?” I brush my finger over his cheek. My son is a fast eater. He gulps his food down in minutes and then usually rips a burp that can rival Maddox’s.

  I’m rewarded with a quick smile around the bottle’s nipple and then his brows push together as he concentrates on his food.

  “Well, I like her,” I whisper to him. I sip my coffee. That’s not right. I more than like her. I think I might love her. I couldn’t have survived the last month without her. She hasn’t distracted me from hockey or becoming a father, instead she’s been by my side every step of the way, always encouraging. Always knowing the right thing to say. She makes me better. On the ice and off it.

  I have never felt such victory.

  “I don’t think I love her, Angelo.” I keep quiet. I don’t want Paisley to find out I love her because I’m talking to my now twelve-week-old. But he can keep a secret. “I’m pretty sure I love her. Certain of it. I want her here with me, in my home, with you. We can keep Viola, but I want it to be Paisley and me, raising you. Maybe giving you more brothers and sisters someday.”

  He pulls his knees to his stomach and grunts. I take that as excitement.

  Either that or he has to poop.

  “Excitement it is.”

  In the hallway, I hear the quiet sound of Paisley’s phone ringing. My eyes slide to the clock above my microwave and I frown. It’s just after six. So early for her to be getting a call, even for her parents who she talks to several times a week. At least her mom. They babble about nothing and love it. She has not yet told them about me though.

  Which worries me.

  If she’s close with her mom, wouldn’t she want them to know about the guy she’s dating? Unless maybe she doesn’t feel the way I do? For the first time, worry filters in like a fly. Soft but annoying, I swat it away as her phone rings again.

  Fortunately, Angelo is chugging the last gulp of formula and air out of the tip, so I pull it out of his mouth. He clamps his gums on it, always hesitant to lose his food source and scowls at me.

  “Later, little man.” I laugh at him and lift him to my shoulder. “Let’s go check on Paisley. I hope nothing is wrong.”

  The sound of her quiet voice comes from my room and I’m outside the door when Angelo lets lose one of his infamous belches. He beat Jason in a burping contest last weekend.

  “That’s my little man,” I tell him, patting his back. He’s so loud it makes me laugh every time. I cannot help it.

  Paisley’s eyes are on me when we enter the room, her eyes wide but still cloudy with sleepiness. She has her hand at the top of her head, pushing back her hair.

  She rolls her eyes dramatically at me and pats the bed next to her.

  Angelo and I hurry there, and I settle him near the middle of king-sized bed on a blanket so he can kick and play. Then I throw a pillow on the other side of them to ensure he can’t roll off.

  “Mama.” Paisley drawls the word.

  I should have known that’s who she was speaking to as soon as I heard her voice. Her southern accent always thickens when she talks to her parents. Her hand falls from her hair and onto my lap. She immediately starts drawing a circle on my thigh with her thumb.

  “I know, Mama. I know. Don’t be mad.” She blinks at me and her green eyes clear in a second. “No. No, not today. That’s… he’ll think y’all are crazy!” Her hand on my thigh digs in until I flinch.

  Damn, this girl has strength behind her thin frame, and now I’m more worried. Are they talking about me?

  I arch my brows in question and Paisley makes a face, crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out of one side of her mouth. She’s so ridiculous, hair messy, cross-eyed and being goofy all while I can now hear her mom’s raised voice come through the phone.

  “I said it’s because it’s new, Mama. Tell Dad to calm down.” She winks at me. “And no, he doesn’t need to bring his shotgun.”

  I fight back a laugh. She’s told me her dad’s protective.

  With a heavy sigh, she unwraps my leg and brushes away the half-moon marks she’s made, cringing. “Sorry,” she mouths to me.

  “I like them,” I whisper back. “Give me more.”

  Her cheeks flush hot pink and she sighs again. “Mama, let me talk to him, okay? I’ll call you back. But I’m warning you now that the answer is no. You can’t come today.” She scowls at the phone and yawns.

  She laughs softly. Shakes her head, but even with her faces, there’s no real annoyance or frustration, apart from possibly being woke up too early.

  “Love you too. Tell Dad I’ll call him at nine… fine, eight. Bye, Mama.”

  She tosses her phone to the nightstand, shoves both hands through her hair and thumps her head against the headboard. “Apparently, my father was channel surfing last night trying to find information about a NASCAR driver who was injured in a race and saw a picture of us with Angelo leaving the game.”

  “Oh.” We walked out from the arena together and there are always cameras. “Is that… bad?” My worry from earlier sparks.

  “Well, no, not for me, I guess…” She meets my gaze and nibbles on her lip. Ah, she is worried too. “For you, maybe? It’s my parents. And she called because now she says they want to meet you. Or rather, are insisting. Angelo, too. We don’t have to.”

  “You haven’t told them about me.”

  She makes a face that doesn’t please me. “It’s not that I didn’t want to. At first, before you gave the interview about Angelo, I didn’t know what to say and I wasn’t sure what we were, so…” She shrugs.

  I’ve made a mistake. I haven’t told her how much I care about her.

  “Do you want me to meet them?” It’s possible I’ve gotten carried away with myself and my feelings for her thinking this is more than it is.

  She grabs my hand in the air and kisses my knuckles. “I want. Trust me. I want. I want more of what we did last night, well, early this morning, and I do want them to meet you. They’ll love you and Angelo.”

  “After your father shoots me.”

  “He’ll only scare you.” She leans forward and kisses me, laughing as my mouth drops open.

  She scoots down on the bed, and I fall on top of her, her thighs widening to make room for me. We kiss until Angelo interrupts, babbling and grunting.

  I push off Paisley, kissing her nose. “I want everything, Paisley. Anything and everything you want to give me.”

  Her look softens, more than just from the kiss.

  “Call your parents back. I’ll grab my schedule. Figure out a time when we both have a day off and I’m happy to have them come here and meet us.” I slide off the bed. I keep the schedule printed and on my refrigerator for both Viola and Paisley even though they’ve both downloaded it onto their phones. “And I don’
t want you worrying about us. I’m all in. I care very much about you.”

  I’m rewarded with a dazzling smile that almost blinds me as I leave the room. That and the fact she’s snuggling Angelo with as much love as a mother should.

  And it hits me. If this lasts between us, she will be the only mother Angelo ever knows. I don’t think I could have chosen better.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mikah

  * * *

  I scrub my hair. Water from the shower slides down my back as I dry off. Practice was killer, but the ice is where I belong. For the first time, I had a hard time getting focused. I’ve spent little time not memorizing every inch of Paisley’s tanned skin late into the night lately. I know exactly where her bikini tan line hits at her hip even when it’s covered by clothing now. She has a freckle there, on her left hip, that I’ve spent much time kissing.

  Too much Paisley first thing in the morning made me sluggish until I found my feet. Then I worked double, skated faster, slapped the puck harder, all to prove my father wrong.

  I can have more in life than hockey and still be the best.

  It sometimes still surprises me how much my father’s expectations spur me on even when I despise him for everything he is.

  My shirt clings to my still damp skin as I tug it down and Sawyer comes up to me. “How’s it going?”

  “Can’t complain. How’s Tessa?” Every time I think of her ex-fiancé, I imagine punching him in the face.

  “Struggling.” Sawyer is Jason’s age, and at five years younger, Tessa is still older than me by years. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be screwed over by someone you hope to spend the rest of your life with. “Listen, Debbie and I are taking her out tonight. She hasn’t been out much. Want to show her the city. Make her maybe think of getting a fresh start. You in? Bring Paisley. She could use some decent friends in her life right now.”

  “I’ll need to talk to her.” I’m thinking of Paisley and her freckle and what else we can be doing on a Friday night. Fortunately for me, Paisley and I have already planned a date. “I’ll call and let you know.”