Hockey Romance Book Series Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Try me." Before I could say anything, he leaned in and kissed that exact spot. It started soft, then he sucked lightly, his tongue brushing my skin. A small moan slipped out of me. It felt way too good. He pulled back after a few seconds, admiring his work with a satisfied smirk. "There. A nice little mark. Looks good on you." I touched the spot, feeling the warmth. "You're trouble, Asher." "The best kind," he said, voice lower now. His eyes had darkened, staring at my lips like he wanted to devour me. The vibe between us shifted. Our casual hockey conversation got intense really quick. Asher's hand moved to my waist, drawing me in.

Chapter One Allison If my brother Zane found out what I was wearing under his best friend’s hockey jersey, he’d probably have a stroke right here in the luxury suite. The jersey belonged to Roman Greyson. Number 87. It was massive, made of heavy black-and-silver mesh that swallowed my frame, smelling exactly like him—expensive cedar wood, icy rink air, and a faint hint of pure, intoxicating male heat. It fell down to the middle of my thighs, completely hiding the ultra-tight, emerald-green silk dress I’d poured myself into for later.

So I’d left before dawn, slipping out while she slept, determined to cut her out of my life. My stick slammed a puck into the net, the impact jarring my arms. Sweat dripped down my jaw, my chest heaving. I’d come to the rink to escape, to drown her out with the burn of muscle and the sting of cold. But those eyes—those damned hazel eyes—clung to me, pulling me back to her. She was the reason my name was trending for all the wrong reasons, the reason my father wanted me off the ice and into the family’s real estate empire, married to Sophia Lang, some polished heiress I didn’t give a damn about.

For just a second, I caught a glimpse of pain flickering across his face before it vanished behind his usual icy facade. "The wedding's next month," he said. "Nora needs a bridesmaid." Nora Hunter. The girl who had shown up out of the blue three months ago, 20 and all sunshine with her blonde hair and blue eyes, clueless about the shadows in the world. Francis had welcomed her into the mansion, showered her with jewels, and paraded her around at every high-society event. Francis kept whispering sweet nothings to me, even as he was gearing up to marry someone else.

Both making me question everything I thought I knew about who I was fighting against — and who I was fighting for. I closed my eyes, letting the silence wrap around me. Tomorrow’s practice loomed. Victor Harlow’s calls were mounting. The team’s bets were getting bolder. Coach’s calculations kept turning. But tonight, in the dark, with messages from an unexpected rival and the man I was falling for sleeping inches away, I wondered how much longer I could keep balancing on this knife’s edge before everything finally broke. How much longer could I keep pretending this was only about hockey, when the truth was already slipping through the cracks — pulling me between two men who both wanted me in

His fingers were burning hot, locking over my pulse point with firm, possessive strength. The contact grounded me in a way nothing else could. All the noise from the arena suddenly felt far away. My defenses, built over months of keeping our relationship buried beneath team rivalries and league politics, cracked completely. The image of the fan hurling a steel bottle at Noah’s head flashed through my mind, followed by the memory of Jax charging across the ice to defend me. “Jax...” I breathed, my dark eyes lifting to meet his. *** He did not give me time to think.

Finally, College Romance is a wrap but there is actually a book I should have posted before it. The story of their parents titled HER PERSONALITY. It's a short book do I will be updating this soon. 🖤🖤HER PERSONALITY🖤🖤 ___________________________ AUTHORESS RICKY _____________________________ ✍️SYNOPSIS✍️ Not every lady want to be a queen that would be pampered by a man or been boss around or just a full house wife.

I was carrying Damien's baby. Damien Volkov. The captain of Boston Wolves. Hockey's golden boy. One of the nation's most loved hockey stars. And I was now the mother of his child. The thought made my heart swell with joy. This news could change everything. If he found out that his child was growing inside me, maybe Damien would finally look at me. Maybe he would finally love me as his wife Maybe he would finally be proud enough to show me off to the public as NHL's Damien Volkov's wife.

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.

The media was buzzing with rumors and speculation, all pointing to a budding relationship between the hockey star and his new lover. “This Just In: Beloved Hockey Star Timothy Hayes Is In Love with Stella Fitzgerald!”