Cold Water Novels & Stories

The scars and attitude were proof of that. “Alright… Maybe I won’t have a bath… But a bucket of water should be fine. How horrible is cold water anyway?” Ten minutes later… “So fucking cold!” Rhys yelped after pouring cold water over the top of his head. A moment ago, he’d been once again admiring Amira’s body and the next, his teeth were chattering, his nipples had perked up, and goose pimples flourished on his body. “Shit, shit, shit…”

They bobbed silently in the black water, bumping into each other with dull, hollow thuds. "It's a graveyard," Jack whispered. "Everything that ever tried to cross the magnetic pole... ended up here." "Look at the water temp," Olivia said, her voice trembling. "It's minus thirty degrees Celsius." "Water freezes at zero," Ben corrected automatically. "Salt water at minus two." "This isn't water," Jack said, staring at the oily sheen. "It's chemical runoff. Coolant. Alchemical waste. It doesn't freeze because it's too toxic to form crystals."

I don’t want to break it, but soon the cold water comes through. I strip down, step in and cover my mouth in case the cold water makes me yelp. I make sure my hair doesn’t get wet. I shudder as the coldness hits me, a small squeak falling from my lips. I adjust after a second. My body is used to it. It is one way that helps me calm down and relax. Why cold water and not warm, I don’t know, but it does. I only stay under it for ten minutes. I can’t manage much longer. Stepping out of the shower, a shiver runs through me, and I quickly wrap a towel around me, rushing back to the bedroom.

She was naked beneath me, her skin hot and her nipples hard and her thighs pressed together, I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the bathroom. The whiplash of the cold water against the heat of her body made her scream. The sound was sharp and loud, echoing off the tiled walls, and her body convulsed in my arms as the cold shock raced through her veins. "Ahhh!" She cried, her hands gripping my arms, her nails digging into my skin hard enough to draw blood. I held her steady, keeping her from climbing out, keeping her in the water. "Breathe through it." I said, my voice low and even. "The cold will bring your temperature down. Focus on my voice and bre

Very cold. I start to strip my clothes and step into the shower not bothering to strip properly first….shoving my boxers down my thighs with one hand while the other cranked the dial as far left as it would go. The shock of the cold water hit my body stealing the air from my lungs, and I brace both palms flat against the glass wall, sucking in sharp breaths through my teeth. Shit. Shit. Shit. The cold is supposed to help. That’s the whole point of cold showers, isn’t it?

I'm drowning. The cold water clutches me, squeezing the last remnants of warmth and strength from my body. My legs, stiff and unyielding, refuse to hold me upright any longer. Every attempt to shift sends a jagged bolt of pain up my back, the ache radiating through my frozen limbs.

She clutched her stomach due to the sharp pain caused in her lower abdomen. Zared picked up the jug of water kept on her side on the table and poured it all on her head in one go. She gasped for air and swept her hair from her face and looked down at the water sliding down her, her body started shivering, even though it was sunny outside and no sign of even a cold breeze was present, she was shivering, out of the cold she felt, the fear she felt.

The frozen ravioli sat there in its plastic container, frost still clinging to the edges from the grocery store freezer. I boiled water and dumped them in. The ravioli rolled around in the boiling water for a while before splitting open completely. Ricotta leaked into the pot, turning everything into a starchy mess. I scooped one into my mouth. The pasta was still undercooked, and the ricotta inside was cold. My stomach churned instantly. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up. In the end, all that came out was bitter acid. My phone vibrated again, indicating that Isabel had updated her social media.

JULIAN The ambient temperature of the university ice rink was kept at a strict forty-two degrees, but as I stepped out of the tunnel at five in the morning, it wasn’t cold enough. I needed it colder. I needed the chill to sink through my thermal base layer, pierce my muscle tissue, and freeze the marrow in my bones. I needed it to extinguish the heat of Kael Sterling’s wet, gear-clad body pressing me into the shower tiles.

He just watches. "Get in," I say. "The water is cold." "That is the point." "The point of swimming is to be cold?" "The point of swimming is to feel alive. Cold is part of it." He takes off his shirt. He walks into the water. He does not run. He does not scream. He just walks. Slow and steady. The water rises. His knees. His hips. His chest. He stops when the water is at his shoulders. "This is cold," he says.