Page 75 of Shattered On Ice

“Your dad is living in a ghost town,” Knight whispers, voice thick with a love so profound it steals my breath. “You are building an empire. The men in your locker room are your family now, and they chose you exactly as you are. You don't ever have to go back to the shadows. The light looks incredibly good on you.”

A shuddering, broken breath tears out of my lungs. The last ghost of my past—the fear of rejection from the sport that built me—shatters into dust.

I pull my hands from his grip, reaching down to grab him under the arms. I haul Knight up from the floor and directly into my lap. He comes willingly, throwing a leg over my thighs to straddle me. His arms slide up to wrap tightly around my neck.

I bury my face in the crook of his shoulder, pulling his warm, reassuring weight against my chest as I finally let it all go. I’m not hiding anymore. The old boys’ club can keep their ghosts. I have my team, I have my home, and as Knight presses a soft kiss to my hair, I know I have the only man I’ll ever need to fight whatever comes next.

It’s two in the morning as my SUV tires crunch against the gravel of our driveway. The Hydras just wrapped up a brutal four-game road trip through the Northeast, and my entire body aches. In the past, coming home late to the empty, sterile shell of a house after a road trip would always trigger a heavy, suffocating sense of isolation.

Tonight, the porch light is on, casting a welcoming pool of warm light on the steps and reminding me that I no longer live alone. Knight has been living with me for two months, and it’s been better than I could have even imagined.

I unlock the door, dropping my bag quietly in the entryway. The house is nearly silent, save for the soft hum of a place at rest and the snores of Indiana Bones, who stayed with Knight while we were away. It’s a living quiet that fills me with comfort rather than the old dread I would endure opening the door to an empty house. The scent of Knight’s favorite cedarwood candle wafts along the gentle air current from the AC vent, mixing with the scent of whatever tea he was drinking earlier that’s slightly spiced and still lingering like a whiff of expensive cologne. I toe off my shoes, a soul-deep sense of peace settling into my body. I’m home.

I walk quietly down the hall, careful not to wake Indiana or disturb Knight. I stop at the guestroom, expecting to find Knight there. It’s where we’ve been staying while Callum waged war on what he called a sad, boring builder-grade monstrosity of a perfectly good traditional brick home. But the room is empty.

I smile as I see a sliver of warm amber light peeking out from beneath the door of the primary suite further down the hall. I push the door open and stop short. Callum “Calamity Jane” Jaynes may be a menace, but I have to admit he’s also a goddamn genius when it comes to design. The sterile, cold box of whites and grays I used to sleep in has been completely transformed. The walls are a deep, rich burgundy that is the perfect backdrop for the modern, yet still majestic black iron bed. Thick, custom blackout curtains frame the windows, and the lighting is soft and deliberate.

But the only thing I really care about is the man sitting in the center of it all. Knight is propped on a mound of pillows, reading a book in the ambient light. He looks up, green eyes locking onto mine as a slow, breathtaking smile spreads across his face. Seeing it completely erases the exhaustion in my muscles and pushes away the travel fog from my brain.

“Hey, you're home,” he murmurs, setting his book on the mahogany nightstand beside him. “How do you like the new room?” He gestures around, his smile turning proud.

“I like it,” I say, my voice a low, gravelly caress meant just for his skin. I cross the room, unbuttoning my shirt and removing my travel suit hurriedly. I toss the pieces on a brand new velvet accent chair that looks perfect in here. “I think it needs to be broken in. Right now.”

Knight’s eyes instantly gleam deep green with interest. “Callum just finished the install this afternoon. He said something about the fabrics needing to breathe.”

“Callum isn't here now, is he?” I growl, climbing onto the mattress.

I crawl over him, caging him against the pillows with my arms as he tries to fight a smile. He loses, the grin wide and brilliant, welcoming me home even more than his words did as his fingers slide into my hair and pull my mouth down to his. The kiss is a collision of relief and pure, unadulterated need. Fuck, I’ve missed him. The groan that leaves me is filthy and full of the promise of what I’m going to do to him. He answers in kind with the most satisfying whimper that has my cock thickening along my leg.

I roll us to the center of the bed, marveling at the plush, cloud-like softness of the mattress that’s perfect for Knight, but still manages to support my massive frame. I gotta hand it to Callum for thinking of everything. He’ll get a bonus for his amazing work, but for now, I can only think about the man in the bed with me.

I practically tear his clothes off. He’s appropriated one of my old shirts, and I work it over his head before tossing it on the floor and taking his flannel sleep pants off. When he’s naked beneath me, I set to work mapping the lines of his stunning body with my hands, making up for the lost time of being away. My fingers worship every inch of skin I can reach, teeth and tongue tasting my favorite parts as he shivers and writhes below me.

There are no ghosts of bullies and terrifying places in this room. There’s no anxiety thrumming through me, worried what people might think if they found out about us. There is only the frantic, beautiful heat of the man who anchored me to the earth, the soft sounds he makes into my mouth, and the absolute certainty that this, right here in this house with him, is exactly where I was always supposed to be.

“I love when you do that,” Knight murmurs into my neck as I roll my hips against his, building friction as our cocks slide together. “I could come just from this. Leave it to you to know I love it.” He sighs, and I greedily breathe in the exhale, wanting everything he’s touched to become a part of me.

I push up onto my forearms, pressing our lower bodies closer together so we can both watch the mesmerizing way we fit and enjoy the incredible feel of the most sensitive parts of ourselves gently rubbing together. But I want to grind into him hard and send his pleasure through the roof, which means the dry skin won't last long.

I reach blindly toward the sleek mahogany nightstand. “Please say Callum stocked the drawers,” I growl, voice rough.

He nods, half frantic with need. “Top drawer.”

I yank it open, fingers fumbling around until they close on the pump bottle. I pause long enough to slick our cocks with the smooth solution until we’re both shining, pressing the blunt crowns back together. Perfect.

“Oh, fuck, yeah. Stay just like that,” I command, voice a rough growl as he wraps his fingers around the top of our cocks. I thrust into his hand, and his head falls against the pillows, back bowing with a cry. Pleasure rockets up my spine, sending my brain spinning.

For ten years, my body has been a coiled spring of anxiety, terrified that if I let myself feel this much, if I let myself connect this deeply, I would be destroyed. But right here, tangled in these sheets, there’s no fear. I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop, or holding any part of me back. There is only the intoxicating freedom of being completely known, and completely loved.

“Oh, fuck, baby, you feel so good,” I groan, voice a wrecked rasp that is all his. I roll my hips faster, and let my weight press into the cradle of Knight’s hips. The friction, the warmth, the incredible intimacy of looking into the eyes of the man I love as we chase our pleasure together has me touching my forehead to his in awe. I’m a lucky fucking bastard to have the most perfect partner who enjoys exactly what I do, and makes me feel safe enough to explore myself more.

“Keep going just like that,” he gasps, breath stuttering as my cock slides over his, pushing through the tight ring of his fingers. “Fuck, it’s so good.” Hearing Knight swear when he’s lost to pleasure is my favorite thing. I know I’ve done something especially right when I have him abandoning his cultured vocabulary in favor of his baser instincts.

I move a hand up to his neck, spanning the sleek lines of his jaw and pushing two fingers into his mouth. He sucks hard, tongue sliding between my digits with a moan.

“You gonna coat those pretty fingers in cum and cry out for me, beautiful?” My words are a rough command as much as a question. I want him to fall apart because of how I make him feel. I love watching his face when he gives in to the pleasure, and he’s growing harder against me with every stroke. I’m ready to blow and cover him with days' worth of cum as soon as I know he’s there.

He nods frantically, his fingers flexing around our cocks in time with my thrusts. His hand squeezes and stills as his cock throbs and unloads cum onto his chest. His satisfied moan is my undoing. I let out a roar as I come, covering his stomach in my mess until I have to still, heart racing and breathing ragged.

Knight’s hand gives us one last stroke before he lets me go to drag his fingers through the pearly white cum decorating his perfect body. It’s everything I could have hoped for and more, my fantasies playing out in real time as the man I love paints cum over my lips with a fingertip. I lean down and devour his mouth, tasting what we’ve created together as it mixes with his exquisite taste.

“Welcome home, my love,” he murmurs against my lips. “I’m glad you like it.”

I smile and nuzzle my nose against his cheek, breathing in the scent of bergamot, tea, and the salty tang of our shared pleasure.

“The room is beautiful,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. I pull back enough to look into his brilliant green eyes—the eyes of the man who walked into my darkest places and guided me back to the light. “But you could have painted the whole place gray, baby. It wouldn't have mattered.”

He smiles softly, fingers threading into my hair. “No?”

“No,” I rasp, dropping my face into the crook of his neck and pulling his warm, solid body tightly against my chest. “Because a house is just a box with four walls and a roof. You are my home.”

🖤