Novel & Cerita Best M/m Hockey Romances

“Have you been going around telling people we’re sleeping together?” His eyes shifted sideways. “Why would I do that?” “Then, why did some random girl from my class who looks like she would be the last person to care about something like this, say you have been confirming all the rumours about us, which doesn’t help the other rumours about me!” His face turned stone cold. “What rumours about you?” I scoffed. “Like you haven’t heard. I’m the hockey slut, I supposedly let all the players have their turn at me before I go running back to you. Ring a bell?”

The headlines were ruthless: “Thunder’s Captain Lachlan and Rookie Star Rhys Spark Romance Rumors” “First Openly Gay Power Couple in NHL History? Sources Say Yes” “From Ice to Fire: Brooks Rhys and Callan Lachlan Heating Up Off the Rink” I scrolled through them in silence, stomach in knots. The link pulsed with shared tension my anxiety feeding into Callan’s controlled fury and back again in an endless loop. Callan stood behind me, shirtless, reading over my shoulder. His hand rested heavy on my hip, thumb stroking slow circles that were meant to calm me but only made the new dose thrum hotter under my skin.

Max asked, voice rough with want. Jamie didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His hand had gone almost useless now that Max was touching him, fingers barely moving as Max worked his jeans open and pushed them down just enough. Max’s hand slid inside Jamie’s boxers and wrapped around him. The first firm stroke ripped a broken sound from Jamie’s throat. Max’s grip was hot, sure, slightly callused from hockey, nothing like Jamie’s own hesitant touch. It felt impossibly good. Max stroked him slowly from root to tip, thumb sweeping over the leaking head on every pass, spreading the wetness.

“Zane?” Max’s voice snapped me out of it. I nodded, forcing a tight smile as I stood and walked forward. The door pushed open, and Max stepped in first. I followed behind him. It took seconds. The first man was probably the lawyer—briefcase in hand, already reaching for the file. The second… Shit. Recognition hit instantly. He was the coach and manager of the Ice Hogs—one of the best hockey teams. National winners. Champions. my eyes landed on the third man.

Leera POV As if I hadn't even just had a mind-blowing orgasm only a few hours ago, watching Roman play hockey turns me on more and more every time I see it. I'm enjoying sitting here chatting it up with Khaos, but we also have absolutely no privacy right now. Social media is going to have a field day with this. Honestly, I would if it wasn't revolving around me. Hey, that’s it! Maybe I can do a piece on Roman and Khaos coming to terms with each other and not trying to kill each other so hard on the ice.

I grunted. Liam looked up at me with his cock which was already hard laid back and leaking against his stomach. “Yeah?” He smirked. “If I am, take me then, Ryan. I need more.” “You bet I will,” was my reply before I kissed him deeply with our tongue fighting as I ground my hip down. Our cocks began to rub together when I climbed over him. The friction was hot and slick with precum, and the friction also felt perfect. I reached between us and wrapped my hand around the both of us in order to slowly stroke both of our cocks together with a tight grip.

” A pair of strong hands caught my arms before I could bounce backward. “Are you lost, love?” I looked up. He was tall—the kind of height that came with playing center, built broad through the shoulders and chest in the way that hockey did to people if they’d stuck with it long enough. His dark hair pushed back from his forehead like it had been pushed back many times tonight, with a finely carved jawline. I registered his hands on my arms—they were light but there. And I knew that face, not from here. I knew it from two seasons ago, across the ice—game five of the regional semifinals. Harlow versus Westbrook. I’d watched that face score three goals in the third period like he was personally

“I think he misses you so much he’s calling from thirty thousand feet, Serena. You’re overthinking. The man left his own bed in the middle of the night to find you when you were hurting. That isn't a game.” I set my brush down, my hands trembling. “What if Lucian was right about him?” “What did that dog say?” “He told me Rowan doesn't do ‘bonds.’ He said Rowan just ‘claims territory’ and that the sex would be emotionless—just a physical release without any heart.” Valeria grabbed my hands, pulling me to the stool. “Listen to me. Missionary mating isn't ‘making love’ any more than a quick shift in a closet is ‘fucking.’ It’s about the soul behind the act. Do you feel invisible when he touches

He fell back onto the pillows, resting the back of his palm over his eyes, his lips turned down in a dramatic, grumpy pout. Valeria couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of him. The terrifying, world famous Ice King of professional hockey was lying there looking so completely defeated, all because of one woman. Smiling softly, Valeria moved. She climbed directly on top of his broad chest, straddling his waist, and began placing soft, sweet pecks all over his jawline, cheeks, and lips to loosen up his moody face. "Come on, sulky boy," she persuaded gently, looking down into his dark eyes. "It's not like we aren't going to see each other! I'll come over every single weekend, and we can go on

This isn’t a dark romance love story built on sweetness. It’s built on denial. On want. On the kind of hunger that doesn’t ask for permission even when you want it to. MARA LENNOX’S P.O.V. The Rink Bar, Post -Game I notice him before I let myself notice him. Shit! If that’s even a thing?