All Chapters of KNOTTING ON ICE: Scentless Obsession : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

80 Chapters

71. Stay away

AurelMy wrists hit the mattress with a heavy thud, locked down tight under Neylan’s fingers. I arch my back, a sharp gasp cutting out of my throat as he drives straight into me, his body weight crushing me deep into the sheets. The air in the bedroom is thick with the dark, heavy scent of his pheromones, clogging my nose and turning my brain to absolute mush. I hate how fast my body responds to the dominance. I hate that even though I am cursing his name between my teeth, my hips are instinctively lifting to meet every single harsh thrust."Neylan... stop," I choke out, my fingers clawing uselessly at the mattress. "Damn you."He doesn't listen. He leans down, his chest rubbing against my bare skin as he drives harder, his breathing rough against my ear. "You're not going anywhere, Laurentis. Your body obeys my command."The intensity splits my vision into a blur of heat and shadows. He dominates every single inch of my space, taking exactly what he wants, and the pleasure makes me

72. Danny is here

AurelI am the new brand ambassador for Apex Guard, a premium sports recovery line, and today we are shooting the national launch campaign for their new titanium-infused muscle compression sleeves and heat-therapy wraps.The tight black compression sleeve wraps around my left forearm, hugging the muscle to promote blood flow. It feels restrictive, rubbing against the friction burns on my skin from last night."The posture looks too stiff," the photographer mutters, stepping out from behind his tripod and gesturing with his hand. "Loosen up the shoulders. You're supposed to look like an elite athlete recovering from a hard game, not a statue."I force a breath out, my shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. "The gear is just tight," I mutter, keeping my voice level despite the sharp jolt of pain that shoots up my back every time I shift my stance on the concrete floor."Alright, let's try the heat-therapy wrap for the shoulder matrix," the stylist calls out, running onto the set with

73. Games

ElyceThe engine of my sedan idles silently under the shade of a tree across the street. My fingers grip the leather steering wheel hard, my nails digging into the material until my palms ache. I do not take my eyes off the concrete entrance of the brick apartment building for a single second. Dominic, the new private investigator I hired after firing the last useless idiot called my personal line exactly at midnight. He is the one I paid a fortune to tail Neylan the exact second I stomped out of that disastrous engagement gala. I needed eyes on my fiancé. I needed to know exactly who that woman was and if the pregnancy result was true. Dominic tracked Neylan's car straight to the parking lot of the JanP Hotel. But Neylan wasn't alone in that car. He was with the exact same guy I found coming out of his penthouse one time I visited unannounced. They spent the entire night locked inside that hotel suite together. I booked the room close to them and the entire night, I swear I almos

74. Deal

Aurel "Your baseline vitals are red-lined, Aurel," Anthony says. He stares at the digital readout of the portable medical monitor on the kitchen island. The screen flashes a sharp, steady red. Anthony crosses his arms, his forehead locked in a deep frown. Behind him, Hannah stands near the fridge, watching me with tight lips. Anthony is a medical doctor. He knows exactly what these numbers mean, and Hannah is the one who begged him to run this check. She had dramatically mentioned how careless I am with my health, especially when the season gets brutal. "I can still skate," I say, leaning against the counter. "The numbers say you should be unconscious, man," Anthony snaps, tapping the glass panel. "Your heart rate is racing. Your core body temperature is spiking. You are running a dangerous fever, Aurel." I shift my gaze away from him. Fuck. I can feel the heat radiating from my skin, a heavy burn deep in my chest. I can't even talk about my rendezvous with Neylan. My system is gl

75. No calls

NeylanThe locker room is in absolute chaos after our win against the Montreal Sabers. Guys are shouting, tossing wet gear onto the floor, and blasting music that rattles the metal benches. The air smells like sweat and ice shavings. Someone throws a wet towel that hits the wall next to my head.“I give you a reason to be happy, yet I get a towel thrown at me?” I growl as I pick the towel and send it straight back to Ken.“Yoo, sorry Captain.” I chuckle before he is grabbed by another team member.I stare down at the heavy MVP puck in my hand. It feels weightless. It means absolutely nothing compared to the silence on my phone resting on my thigh.I press the screen. No new notifications. Nothing.The Titans just secured a massive victory, putting us right where we need to be for the finals, but I feel hollow. I unlock the phone again, scroll to my texts, and stare at the empty chat thread, expecting a snarky, competitive text from Aurel. Usually, after a game like this, he’s the fir

76. Suspicious Deal

Aurel The Jordan Group corporate logo on the folder looks like a target painted directly on my coach's desk. With a sleek, silver crest stamped on black leather, catching the harsh fluorescent lights of the office. "Sign it, Aurel," Coach says, tapping his knuckles against the desk. "I don't need my captain sitting in the stands when the finals start." Minutes ago at the Wraiths' private training facility, Coach intercepted me right outside the weight room, dragging me in here before I could even strip off my sweaty training gear. Now, this mandatory corporate sponsorship agreement funded by the Jordan family is sitting between us. "This is bullshit," I say, leaning my hands on the back of the chair. "The league doesn't just drop random contracts middle of the week." "They do when the money is this big," Coach says, sighing. He slides a pen toward me. "The Jordan family is funding the league’s upcoming finals gala. They are pouring millions into the venue, the broadcast, ever

77. Mr. Astor

NeylanMy father doesn't even look up from his desk when I walk in; he just slides a folder across the wood like a death warrant. The study smells like tobacco and old money, a suffocating mix that always makes my chest tight."Sit," he commands.I ignore him and stand right in front of the desk, my hands stuffed into my pockets. "I don't have time for a lecture, Father. I just got off the ice.""You will make time," Richard Astor says, finally raising his cold eyes to meet mine. "Mr. Jordan called my office. He is putting a literal chokehold on our multi-million dollar merger. The entire deal is dead because of the stunt pulled at the engagement."I keep my face flat trying not to blink. "The fire alarm cleared the room. The press thinks it was a venue crisis. We controlled the narrative, just like you wanted.""We delayed the narrative," my father snarls, leaning forward. "The Jordan family isn't stupid, Neylan. They won't keep quiet after receiving your all time pregnancy test resu

78. Me or none

ElyceThe scent of imported white tea and expensive leather fills the private room of the salon. It cost a small fortune to buy out the entire afternoon slot, ensuring the stylists cleared the floor for just my friend and I. I lean back against the plush velvet washing station, my eyes closed as the hot water soaks into my hair. Next to me, Chloe is scrolling through her phone, her fresh acrylics clicking against the screen."I'm telling you, the oversized minimalist vibe is completely dead," Chloe says, tossing her head back as her stylist applies a glossy treatment. "Everyone is doing tailored archival looks now. Did you see the winter preview? The structural coats are insane. If you aren't wearing custom leather to the Jordan gala tomorrow, you might as well stay home.""Please," I scoff, keeping my eyes closed as the stylist rubs oil into my scalp. "I already had my dress flown in from Milan last week. It’s structured, sharp, and costs more than most people's cars. The Jordan nam

79. Neylan

NeylanShit, my skull feels like it will explode from the loud vibration of the bass thudding in the VIP bar. Neon red lights slice straight through the haze of vape smoke and expensive cologne, painting the booth in jagged, bloody streaks. It’s a private buyout, so my teammates are acting like total fucking animals without a single filter.To my left, our starting defenseman throws his head back with a loud roar, his fingers tangled in the hair of the Omega kneeling on the floor between his knees with his dick buried deep in the omega’s throat. The kid doesn't even flinch as the crowd cheers around them. Across the table, two linesmen slam their empty shot glasses down, splashing amber liquid over the wood while three models shriek and dump a fresh bottle of tequila over ice. In the dark corners of the lounge, shadows shift against the leather couches, raw groans cutting through the music as a heavy, suffocating wave of sweet slick hits the air.I keep my eyes glued to my own glas

80. Does she know?

AurelThe puck skids against the boards, a sharp spray of chopped ice hitting my shins. I dig the edge of my skates into the gray ice, my lungs burning as I switch directions and hard-shoulder our defenseman into the wall. The impact rattles my teeth."Watch the stick, Aurel!" Miller barks, spitting a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ice."Move faster then," I say, my voice raw. I don't wait for him to stand up. I chase the puck down, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps that turn to fog in the freezing arena air. I need the friction. I need the bruising. If I stop moving for even ten seconds, my mind glitches right back to the hotel room with Neylan.Coach blows his whistle, the sound piercing the massive, empty stadium. "That's wrap! Hit the showers. Finals will be here soon, boys. Don't lose your heads before the first whistle."The guys slide toward the bench, their skates groaning against the ice. I stay out there for an extra minute, breathing heavily, my knuckles tight aro

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