Best Mm Hockey Romance Novels & Stories

Marielle's POV “Victory! Victory!“ The cheers of the crowd echo through the rink. The college ice hockey team—the Blackridge Ice Wolves—has just won the tournament that qualifies them for the championship that will take place in the next four months and yeah… we are celebrating. The ice hockey players pull off their jerseys—revealing their sexy abs and tattoos—and wave them in the air while sliding across the ice. Despite my weight and the tightness of my cheerleading uniform—a short blue pleated skirt with a white shirt—I jump for joy, waving the pom-poms in my hands. I’m not only excited for the victory, but also excited because… finally, my mate—Rylan Ward, prince heir of the Blackridge P

Then the distance turned sharp. Now he barely looked at me. When he did, it was with that blank hockey-player stare, like I was just another face in the crowd he skated past. I turned the corner toward the library — my safe zone during lunch — and nearly collided with a broad chest wrapped in a letterman jacket. Strong hands caught my elbows to steady me. The scent hit first: clean sweat, mint gum, and something colder, like ice from the rink. Jax. Up close he looked even taller than on the ice. Dark hair still damp from morning practice, jaw tight, eyes the kind of blue that used to make me feel seen. Today they flicked over me quickly — recognition, then something unreadable.

“What do you mean?” He smiled. “All the times I've been having sex with you, I've been holding back. I haven't been going all the way in. I haven't been rough with you. But this afternoon, I played hockey, and I feel really violent right now. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to try to have sex after all the violence I've had this afternoon with your fiancé on the field.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Is something going on between you and Oliver? Because if something is…”

The blonde reporter looked at Maya. "Is that true?" Maya nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. "I'm impressed he pays that much attention to anything other than hockey." A few reporters laughed softly. Hunter chuckled beside her. "Hockey may be my first love," he said, turning to look at Maya, "but you're the love of my life." Maya's heartbeat stuttered. She almost looked at him. Almost. It was fake. Every word of it was fake. Yet the way he said it—without hesitation, without sounding rehearsed—made it dangerously believable.

I simply hadn't wanted another problem. But tonight was different. Tonight wasn't another training session. Tonight was the International Hockey Championship. The United States National Team was playing Canada for the championship. My eyes moved across the ice, searching for one particular person. Ryan. My heart gave a stupid little jump when I finally found him. He was standing near the other players, his helmet covering most of his face. Then, as if he could feel my eyes on him, he looked up. Our eyes met. My breath caught. For a few seconds, the noise around me disappeared. There was only him. Ryan lifted the corner of his lips. A smile. My cheeks immediately warmed. I quickly looked away

another one joked, causing the girl next to her scoff. "Go and find a new manager then," the girl snapped. Her friend raised her hands in surrender. "I'm kidding. We have the most handsome coach out of all the clubs." Broad smiles appeared on their faces. "But it doesn't even matter," the girl sighed. "We have five applicants but none of them look serious." "I mean we are the worst performing sports team in the school," she continued whining. "If people wanted to take Ice Hockey seriously, they would leave this town."

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.

The way the camera catches things the naked eye misses. He stepped closer, leaning against the neighboring locker. "The way you and Miller look at each other... it’s not hockey, Liam. It’s something else.And very vulnerable." "I told you, it’s chemistry. I can’t be fighting with my teammate who was once my roommate," I snapped, finally looking him in the eye. "If you’re so interested in film, maybe you should spend more time studying the plays so you could be better on the rink and less time playing detective."

Ever. I pointed to the rest of the stuff, and he started moving it all, quiet and strong. The room felt smaller with him in it, but not in a bad way. Still, my mind wouldn’t stop. What if this was a trick? What if he got tired of me and left? The tension in my chest made it hard to breathe. After a few minutes, he broke the silence. “So, you like hockey at all? Or is it just something you clean up after?”

I heard a beeping sound on my phone, and I decided to check what the notification about. The moment I looked at my phone screen, I was shocked. “Speculations are making the rounds that hockey king, Chase Maddox, and his manager, Carmen Vega, might be having an affair as they were spotted having breakfast at a small diner two days ago. The waitress who attended to them has confirmed their unusual closeness…” I wasn’t even done reading the news when Jonathan started calling my phone. Oh, heck!