All Chapters of Breaking the Ice with My Fake Boyfriend : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The ride up to Kaelen’s Beacon Hill penthouse was an exercise in absolute, localized sensory deprivation.I was completely buried alive in fifty pounds of insulated, weatherproof team hockey apparel, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat of his matte-black SUV while the heater blasted warm air across my bare ankles. Beneath the heavy zipper of the oversized winter coat, my ruined midnight-blue silk dress hung in pathetic, frayed tatters around my waist, and the sticky, cooling evidence of Kaelen's double-dose Alpha seed was currently drying in thick streaks down the inside of my thighs. Every single time he hit a pothole on the cobblestone streets, the motion caused the split remnants of my black satin panties to tickle my lower abdomen, triggering a fresh, involuntary throb from my thoroughly stretched core."You're remarkably quiet, Dr. Cross," Kaelen drawled, his gravelly voice slicing through the heavy, cedar-scented silence of the vehicle. His massive hand remained casually drape

The structural engineering of a granite kitchen island is completely underappreciated until a six-foot-five professional hockey enforcer decides to turn it into an emergency examination table."Kaelen," I gasped, my fingers frantically clawing for traction against the cool, polished edge of the stone counter as he effortlessly hoisted me upward. The oversized, heather-grey team sweatpants he had forced me into were instantly bunched around my knees, making my legs look like two deflated accordions sticking out from beneath fifty pounds of black fleece. "This surface is entirely unhygienic for clinical manipulation. There is a literal mountain of scrambled eggs less than three inches from my left elbow!""Then don't knock them over, Doc," Kaelen grunted, his deep, gravelly voice vibrating right through the heavy fleece of his hoodie as he stepped directly between my thighs.He didn't bother with a slow, civilized transition. His massive, tattooed forearms braced against the granite on

The biological consequence of five consecutive mating knots within a thirty-six-hour window is an absolute, localized loss of muscular coordination.When the tight, pulsing ring of Kaelen Vane’s fifth Alpha knot finally dissolved from my raw, thoroughly stretched interior, my lower limbs felt less like anatomical structures and more like over-boiled sheets of lasagna. The thick, white torrents of his masculine seed were deeply pooled within my center, a heavy, warm fullness that trickled slowly down the crevice of my backside the exact second he slid his massive, glistening shaft out of my core with a loud, wet squelch."Vane," I croaked, my throat completely stripped bare from the high-pitched, uninhibited screams I had been delivering into his Egyptian cotton pillows for the last thirty minutes. I attempted to pull my right knee back toward my torso, but the muscle gave a sudden, violent twitch that had me groaning in genuine, physical exhaustion. "You have officially compromised my

The human structural matrix simply isn't engineered to accommodate a seventh consecutive True Alpha mating sequence without localized seismic feedback.When the dense, pulsing ring of Kaelen Vane’s expansive knot finally yielded within the thoroughly colonized depths of my center, the immediate physical aftermath felt like an administrative default. A massive, lukewarm torrent of his concentrated Alpha seed surged past my raw, over-sensitized walls, painting a heavy, glistening track down the curve of my hip and soaking deep into the structural fiber of his ruined silk-bound mattress. My lower pelvic floor was vibrating with an autonomous, high-frequency tremor—a deep-seated metabolic exhaustion that left my inner thighs violently unstrung the exact second his thick, glistening shaft slipped out of my channel with a heavy, suctioned pop."Vane," I rasped, my vocal cords sounding like they had been scrubbed with heavy-duty rink salt. I attempted to rotate my pelvis into a less vulnerab

The velocity of a professional hockey puck traveling at one hundred and five miles per hour creates a distinct, metallic crack when it impacts graphite, but the sound of Kaelen Vane shattering a rival player's ribcage against the plexiglass is a far more definitive biological statement.From my vantage point in the climate-controlled security of the Executive Box, the ice below looked like a pristine, frozen stage where civilized rules were systematically dismantled. The home opener against the New York Alphas had devolved into a bloodbath by the middle of the second period, a direct consequence of the suffocating, territorial True Alpha pheromones Kaelen had been radiating since he stepped out of the tunnel. I was sitting on the edge of a high leather barstool, my fingers curled tightly around the polished brass railing, while my lower torso actively throbbed with a heavy, wet ache. Every single shift of the game, the cooling, thick remainder of his ninth release moved deep within my