Page 30 of Daddies on Ice

Carl stands at the gate to the bench, silver hair catching the blue light, eyes so blue they almost glow.

He doesn’t move right away.

He simply looks, and the look alone steals my balance.

Authority sits on him like a second coat.

The star-shaped scar on his left cheek pulls when he finally smiles—barely there, private.

I walk to him without thinking.

The rubber mat under my boots deadens sound, and when I step into the players’ bench, the wood smells like years of sweat and soap and winter.

He takes my chin gently between forefinger and thumb and studies me, like he wants to memorize what I look like. When I tilt my face up, he bends and kisses me—no hurry, no hesitation.

His mouth is warm, sure. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and the low sound he makes into the kiss turns my knees to jelly.

“Trisha,” he says again against my lips, and the way he says my name feels like a promise and a claim.

Ash appears at my shoulder, steady heat at my back, lips finding the place below my ear.

I shiver. “We’ll keep you steady,” he murmurs, and I believe him. Jake slips behind the bench and pulls me gently down to sit, one knee between mine, playful again as his fingers skim the outside of my thigh through denim.

I lean forward, catch his mouth, and he laughs into the kiss.

The cold of the rink melts.

We’re in a different room now. It’s warm and dim, wood-paneled, with a fire ticking in a stone hearth.

A single lamp pools gold on a low table. The Thunderwolves banner is draped over a chair.

Snow dusts the window. Everything smells faintly of pine and something sweeter—orange peel, maybe.

Carl sits on the edge of a wide couch and guides me into his lap like I belong there, one big palm spanning my hip.

I feel strong legs under me, solid; I could anchor a life here.

He kisses the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then the hollow beneath my ear, and I tilt my head without thinking, offering myself to him.

Ash kneels in front of us, hands sliding up my calves to the back of my knees, slow like he’s unwrapping something precious.

His touch is steady, almost reverent.

He looks up at me and the gentleness in his eyes hits harder than any heat.

He kisses the inside of my knee and my breath hitches.

Jake crowds in on my other side, all warmth and laughter and flirtation turned focused.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his knuckles brushing my cheekbone, and his other hand finds mine on Carl’s chest.

He laces our fingers, anchors me there, and then he leans in to kiss me, playful again at first, then slower, deeper when I hungrily respond.

His tongue skims mine and I moan. He swallows it, grinning, then kisses the corner of my mouth.

Carl’s palm slides up my spine, broad and warm, settling between my shoulder blades.

Ash’s thumbs draw circles at the back of my knees that send tendrils of heat curling low.