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Lahat ng Kabanata ng Owned on the Ice M/M Romance: Kabanata 121 - Kabanata 130

369 Kabanata

Morning After

Milo woke slowly, blinking into the soft light bleeding through the hotel curtains. The room was still dim, quiet except for the sound of Avery’s soft breathing and the occasional hum of the heater. He lay stiffly on the pullout couch, his back sore, his muscles aching with tension.But it wasn’t the couch that had him stiff. It was him, the man lying just across the room.Ethan.He turned his head.The enforcer was sprawled across the bed, one arm slung across the pillow. The covers pooled low around his waist, exposing his broad chest and the curve of his stomach, the dip of his hip bones vanishing beneath the sheet. His lips were parted in sleep, his brow relaxed in a way Milo had never seen. It made him look younger. Softer.Beautiful.Milo couldn’t stop looking.The dark shadow of stubble across Ethan’s jaw only emphasized the strong angles of his face, and his throat looked infuriatingly kissable from this angle. Milo’s heart fluttered and twisted in confusion. This was his enem

Shifting Ice

Milo packed fast.The second the door shut behind Ethan, he’d moved with shaky hands, stuffing his clothes and gear back into his bag while the shower ran in the bathroom. His heart hadn’t quite calmed, not after that night. Not after watching Ethan pad across the room, half-hard and unapologetic, muscles flexing with every step.He tried not to look at the bathroom door.Tried.But when it opened, steam billowed out first, then Ethan followed, a towel slung low around his hips. Hair wet and mussed, drops of water sliding down his chest, across his abs, down the sharp V-cut Milo couldn’t stop staring at.He swallowed hard and yanked his gaze to his duffel.Ethan crossed to the bed with lazy ease and flicked on the TV, sprawling back against the headboard like he owned the place. “You Vultures should all be out of here in thirty, right?”“Yeah. Definitely.” Milo’s voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat and hurried into the bathroom.His toiletries were scattered across the count

Hot Streak

The streak kept building.Another goal. Two assists. Another game-winning shot in overtime that had the whole arena on its feet.And the headlines got louder."Milo Laskey: The Blackmoor rookie carrying the team through its slump.""Future franchise star? Laskey makes his case."Milo tried not to read them. But it was impossible to avoid when they were on every screen in the locker room. On his phone. On the commentary clips playing between drills.And every time a reporter asked about him in postgame, the air seemed to tighten around the team.“Laskey’s been incredible these last few games—what’s changed?”He’d barely finished mumbling something about working hard when Logan cut in from across the scrum, voice flat.“Yeah, he’s riding a hot hand. We’re all grinding out there.”The press didn’t miss the chill in those words. Neither did Milo.The next practice was brutal. Every drill seemed harder, faster, more physical. The “accidental” shoves increased. The clipped edges in Logan’s

Fallout

It had been a week.A week since Milo had stood frozen in that hallway and overheard the conversation that had made his stomach drop through the floor.A waiver.Not a maybe. Not a warning. A decision.And every hour since, he’d had to carry on, pretending nothing had changed. Pretending he didn’t know that his time with the team was already counting down.He still showed up. Still laced his skates. Still played. Still took the hits, the slashes, the cross-checks. Still scored, though the fire behind it felt more desperate now, like if he played hard enough maybe someone, anyone, would still want him.But every game felt heavier.The team hadn’t softened. If anything, Logan’s jabs had gotten more pointed. “Hope you’re packing your bags, Golden Boy.” “Maybe the minors will toughen you up.”Even Branick had gone silent. No more subtle blocks on the ice. No more shoulder checks on Milo’s behalf.He was alone again.And through it all, he couldn’t stop thinking about Ethan.It was stupid.

A Visitor

A cold weight settled in Milo’s stomach.Of all people... A man who could snap his career in two with a word if he chose.Sterling Belmont didn’t do casual drop-ins. He didn’t waste time.This wasn’t a chance meeting. And Milo knew it.He nodded, momentarily stunned, words failing him.Belmont gave a practiced smile. Polished. Effortless.Then slid the chair back with a quiet scrape, settling with the kind of unhurried grace that spoke of absolute control. His tailored suit sat perfectly on a frame that could rival Ethan's. Though where Ethan was all dark danger and the rare softness beneath, Belmont was a blade wrapped in silk.A moment of silence passed. Milo swallowed, throat dry. He felt assessed. Measured. Those dark eyes pinned him in place, cool and piercing.The silence stretched another moment. Milo’s heart thudded painfully. He wanted to move, shift in his seat, do anything, but Sterling’s gaze was like a blade through the chest. His throat worked uselessly. He wasn’t sure

Game Face

The bus ride to the arena was quieter than Milo expected.Not from the team. The usual voices were loud enough. Logan ribbing a rookie, a few guys chirping about the last road game but inside Milo’s head, the noise was deafening.Sterling Belmont’s words echoed in every turn of the wheels."Don’t push yourself at the game tonight. No reason to risk your team’s... jealousy again."He gripped the strap of his gear bag tighter. He hadn’t told anyone, not that he could. Not that he dared. But that card burned in his pocket, a sharp reminder that there might still be a way out of this mess.If he didn’t screw it up.And that was the real risk. One goal too many. One slick play too bold. One wrong look in front of the media. That was all it would take to turn Logan’s smirks back into fists.Sterling was right. Tonight, he needed to survive. Not shine.He would keep his head down. Keep his profile low. If Crestwick wanted to steal a win from him, fine. He wasn’t going to fight it.Not tonigh

Target Locked

It happened on his fourth shift.Milo barely heard the line call. His heart was thudding too loud, his head spinning with what-ifs and too-lates. But he forced himself over the boards, legs heavy, pulse racing.The ice felt smaller now. The angles sharper. Too many Stormriders moving like one machine, making Blackmoor look slower by the second.And Branick wasn’t watching the puck.He was watching Milo.Milo caught the stare mid-glide and nearly stumbled.Not yet, he told himself. Just one clean shift. Get through it.He hung wide near the boards, keeping to his zone as much as possible. But the play churned fast. The puck popped loose at the blue line, just ahead of him. He chased on instinct. His stick touched the puck once.And then he hesitated. Too much.Branick was already moving.Milo heard it more than saw it, the sudden scrape of a hard cut across the ice. Heavy strides barreling toward him. He barely turned in time to see Branick charging in, eyes wild, teeth bared.No time

Unraveling Lines

He hadn’t meant to keep checking.After that night, after leaving Milo tangled in lies and softness he hadn’t expected, he’d told himself it was done. One night. A favor, at best.But something hadn’t let go.And fuck if the memories didn’t help. Or the fact that they kept slipping back in at the worst times.He shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. Not about a Blackmoor. Not about a guy. Christ. He’d never given a damn about another man this way. Not once. But every time those memories hit, it was like something primal in him didn’t care. Couldn’t care.That wide-eyed look Milo had given him when he’d stripped down that night, stunned and pink-cheeked like he didn’t know whether to run or drop to his knees. The way his lips had parted when Ethan had stood towering over him, cock hard and proud—fuck, he could still see it.The faint hitch in his breath when Ethan had palmed the sex toy, when he’d eased it inside that tight, perfect body, watching Milo bite his lip so hard it must

The Feral Guard Dog

The lobby felt too bright.Ethan stepped through the doors, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his hood, every muscle coiled tight. The damage could already be done. And he couldn’t stand the thought of Milo trapped upstairs, alone, out of sight, at the mercy of anyone who decided they’d waited long enough.He crossed to the front desk, pulse thudding in his ears.Kept his hood low. Voice even."Lost my key card," he said. "Milo Laskey."The girl behind the counter blinked up at him, eyes wide. Flustered. Small under his shadow."Uh—I’m sorry to hear that Mr Laskey, do you have any ID?""Wallet’s in my room but I have this…”He slid out his temporary pass from the arena, movements deliberate.“I play for the NHL, I’m here with the Vultures," he added, smooth. Controlled. Like he had every right to be there.She fumbled. Blushed. The air between them felt charged in the worst way."Oh! Uh—okay, I—yeah, that should be fine..."She handed him a key card with the room number printed

Too Close

The warmth hit first.It was almost a shock after the ice of the shower. Skin on skin, heat sinking in deep, deeper. Milo gasped again before he could stop it, muscles too weak to pull away.The rough drag of a towel over his frozen limbs. The press of Ethan’s bare chest, hard and hot beneath him. The steady thrum of his heartbeat where Milo’s cheek ended up, half by instinct.He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.His body was shaking in aftershocks, whether from cold or something worse, he couldn’t tell anymore."You’re gonna fucking sit right here," Ethan growled against his ear. "And get warm. You hear me?"Milo shuddered.He wanted to answer. To say anything. But the words caught in his throat.Because somewhere in that tangle of heat and muscle, he felt it.The hard press beneath him. Thick. Unmistakable.He froze.Shock jolted through him, sharp and dizzying. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe what his body was pressed against.Ethan was... aroused.Not just hard

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