Spicy Hockey Books Novels & Stories

Nothing about me thinking of Wade Scott was romantic. Okay, sure. I was thinking of him. I was thinking of how to dodge him until I never had to see him again. Not even his shadow. I was thinking of ways to disappear, somewhere I would never hear his name, never read it, never. The halls emptied out as five pm hit. Students left. Only athletes stayed behind. And of course, the hockey team was still on the ice, acting like practice was life or death. We passed the hockey building, and the air shifted. The sound of skates cut through everything. We paused, and I could not stop myself from looking in.

The icy shock made Lydia gasp. “Oh fuck— it’s so cold— ahh—!” Mila lowered her head and devoured her. She licked and sucked the melting ice cream off Lydia’s tits with long, filthy strokes of her tongue, paying extra attention to her aching nipples. She bit down gently, then soothed the sting with warm, wet suction. “These tits taste even better with cream on them, you dirty girl,” Mila moaned against her skin. “Such perfect fuckbags.” Once Lydia’s breasts were licked clean and glistening with spit, Mila climbed onto the couch. She straddled Lydia’s face, hovering her soaked pussy just above her mouth.

While still hoping that luck shined on me, My hand hovered until I spotted it: *The Fundamentals of Ice Hockey. I pulled it out, it looked neat and I wondered if it was because of the climate here or because my father treated his books as valued possession that it looked clean. My father spent almost all his time here reading, he was a book worm.

"For the last time, I'm not trying to commit any sort of crime. They're just freshly baked cupcakes. For you." Spencer gives me a look of disdain, but I'm not discouraged. It'd be hard to ruin my mood on a day like today. Bright morning sunlight floods through the enormous glass windows of the sleek Prime Sports office. Outside, I can just see the blue glint of the harbor, and the pops of burned orange and gold leaves on the tree lined streets. It's fall. The best time of year. Fall means hockey season. "These are definitely poisoned." Spencer leans back further in his desk chair, folding his arms across his navy Sports Bro Puffer Vest. His blond hair is gelled back in that way that screams

That's what I said two months ago when I got fired from my job as a kitchen assistant at Wendies, that's what I also said a month ago when my sister Katherine had took us out to celebrate her divorce, that's what I also said two weeks ago when my boyfriend of two years had broken up with me and left the country to pursue his education. Clearly, I was a liar. And now, here I am drinking again at a team dinner to celebrate me joining Saint Aurelius University as their new hockey coach while pursuing my masters in the grad division. “Let's go for round two!” One suggested, I looked at him and he looked fucked up real bad. The alcohol in his system made it hard for him to keep a steady posture,

Mirabel’s voice shook as she tried to continue reading, her fingers gripping the divorce papers so tightly the edges crumpled. “‘Section 8… regarding spousal support… the petitioner… demands...’” Riven growled against her ass, his tongue plunging deeper into her tight hole. He ate her with filthy, greedy strokes, long licks, wet circles, and possessive sucks that made her knees buckle. His strong hands kept her cheeks spread wide, completely exposing her as he devoured her most private place.

I finally muttered, and quickly stepped into the bar before he could further grill me. Thirty minutes later, things had spiraled out of control. Here in our town, Ice hockey was kind of a big deal so anytime players entered into any bar, we were treated like fucking royalty. Free beers, an almost emptied-out section for the guys, and most importantly puck bunnies–how could forget the fucking thrill chasers. God, I had a headache. Thirty minutes more and I would tap out. The rookies were hyped up and I trusted Jaxon and the old guys to take care of them.

Reasons that even Crew did not know, which was saying something because Crew and I grew up in the same house, breathed the same air, carried the same last name. But some things you carry alone. I was not ready to put it all on the table yet. Not for this house. Not for anyone in it. Eventually everything comes out. It always does. But not today. I would let them find out little by little. I turned the heat down and listened. Summer and Crew's voices had been low a few minutes ago, something passing between them in the space by the counter. I was not trying to eavesdrop but sound travels in this kitchen and I heard enough. She was tutoring him. Crew. Who hated school with every bone in his bo

He smelled good even from here. Dante nodded, pouring another glass of whiskey and sliding it across the counter toward me. “Sit. You look like you could use this. And talk if you want. I’ve got steaks on the grill out back under the cover. Dinner’s almost ready.” He didn’t push, just leaned against the counter watching me with those dark eyes. No judgment, no awkward pity like everyone else in the family had given me since the split. I took the glass and sipped, the burn going down nice and warm into my belly. “Thanks. I didn’t know you’d be here. Last thing I wanted was to crash your alone time.”

Spit ran down my chin and onto my chest in messy streams while he used my mouth with the same relentless rhythm. Harry kept slamming into my throat without slowing down…full, brutal strokes that forced his cock all the way in until my nose pressed against him, then pulled almost free before driving back in just as hard. The wet, choking sounds grew louder. Spit poured from my mouth with every thrust. My eyes watered continuously. My throat burned but he held my head locked against the wall and used me anyway. His rhythm turned faster and more erratic. The hand in my hair tightened. Low, rough groans spilled out of him as he fucked my mouth harder, hips snapping forward with short, deep punch