Page 6

Stone

Early Saturday evening…

T here’s something magical about an empty ice rink, especially a charming vintage rink like this one. The freshly polished surface gleams in the rosy light streaming through the high windows up above, transforming the beat-up boards into something sacred, a temple dedicated to frozen water and questionable decisions.

Speaking of questionable decisions...

I wonder what Remy’s going to think of my surprise.

Was renting out an entire ice rink too much? Or just enough? Either way, I’ll find out soon. She should be here any minute, and I’m way more excited about that than I should be.

But, so what? Sue me for looking forward to an evening on the ice with a beautiful woman.

I take a deep breath, savoring the scent lingering in the air—aging rubber mats mixed with stinky feet, a hint of wood rot, and the subtle tang of metal and Zamboni fluid. It smells just like the rink where I strapped on my first pair of hockey skates, back when Mom enrolled me in every sport known to man to help burn off my boundless, six-year-old energy. But after just one day at Pee-Wee camp, I was ready to quit Little League, karate, and soccer. Even as a first grader, I knew that hockey was where I belonged. I played like I’d been born with a stick in my hand. I fell hard for the sport and never looked back.

Now, almost thirty years later, the love affair is nearly over. I’m in my last year as a member of the NHL, and sure, I’ll probably do something hockey-adjacent for work after this, but it won’t be the same.

Everything is about to change…

Maybe that’s why I’m finding it so therapeutic to worry about Remy’s emotional well-being. It’s a great way to keep my mind off the upheaval in my own life.

Or maybe I’m just horny.

I’ve jerked off to thoughts of my favorite redhead at least four times since we parted ways Thursday night, but it’s done nothing to take the edge off. I’m still committed to keeping this Fun Coaching friendly and above-board, but fuck… I’m in quite a state, and it’s all her fault.

If only she didn’t smell so damned good or look so smokin’ hot while crafting.

“Is it weird that I think it’s hot when women enjoy crafting, Flo?” I ask as our private tutor skates past on the other side of the boards, testing the fresh ice he just laid down twenty minutes ago.

“Yes, but we’re all weird, Big Guy. It’s fine.” Florio “Flo” Barone executes a series of lazy figure eights, managing to make them look like part of an inspired performance. He’s everything you’d expect from a former Olympic-level figure skater turned coach: dramatic, flamboyant, and a big fan of sparkles on and off the ice. “What’s not fine is that your girlfriend is late,” he says, arching a dark brow my way. “I will gently remind you that, much like a high-class prostitute, I do get paid by the hour.”

“Of course, you do. But like I said, she’s not my girlfriend,” I repeat for the twentieth time. “We’re not even dating. This is just a friend meet-up.”

Flo smirks. “If you say so, pookie . But I don’t know many straight men who would book a private lesson with a righteously expensive figure skating instructor for ‘a friend,’ they had no intentions of trying to get into bed later. You’re on a mission of seduction, or my undies aren’t ES Collection.”

I’m saved from further commentary on my love life (or his undies) by the sound of the heavy rink door swinging open. Remy strides in like she owns the place, all long legs and controlled energy in black leggings and an oversized Frosted Bushtits Hockey sweatshirt. Her messy bun has those little wisps escaping around her face, the ones that make me want to pull out her hair-tie, burying my hands in all that red silk as I feast on her?—

Focus, dude. You’re her fun coach right now, not her fuck buddy.

I extend an arm for a friendly hug, but she’s already gazing past me, her face lighting up as she sees we’re not alone. I was hoping she’d be excited about that, but maybe not this excited.

“Flo! What’s up, hot stuff?” she exclaims, dumping her gym bag on a nearby bench. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Vancouver!”

“Remy, bella !” Florio glides to the boards, his arms spread wide. He pulls Remy into a hug, before kissing both her cheeks with typical Italian enthusiasm. “I just got back last night. I was going to spend the weekend recovering on my couch with Drag Race reruns, but your charming man here made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” He nods my way, looking smug again. “Though he keeps insisting he’s not your man, so…not sure what to think about that obvious and blatant lie. I mean, you didn’t even say hello to him on your way in. If that doesn’t say ‘we’re secretly in love and fucking like bunnies,’ I don’t know what does.”

Remy glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes sparkling. “Ignore him. He’s terrible, but harmless. Flo knows all my deep, dark secrets, and he never tells tales out of class.”

“I’m a vault,” he assures me. “But Remy is my girl, so I can’t be your shoulder to cry on if this doesn’t work out, Big Guy. Sorry. She had my heart first.”

“Understood, and wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say, happy that Remy seems happy. It looks like fun date number two is off to an even better start than I hoped. “How did you two meet?”

“Flo’s littlest sister plays for my team,” Remy explains, gesturing to her sweatshirt. “Cecilia was crushing it at practice today, by the way,” she adds to Flo. “I can’t believe she’s only nineteen. Total powerhouse.”

“She got the power; I got the grace.” Flo pushes away from the boards to execute a perfect spin. “Speaking of grace, I didn’t know you used to figure skate, Coach Lauder! Your boy toy here said you actually started in my world and shifted to hockey. How did I not know this about you?”

“Not her boy toy,” I mutter, but at this point, I’m pretty sure I’m talking to myself.

“I mean, yeah, that’s true. Technically. But I haven’t figure skated in ages.” Remy turns back to me, grinning. “So, this was your big surprise? Figure skating lessons with the best coach in Oregon? How fancy.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to puff up my chest too much. “Even brought a pair of figure skates in your size.”

“I resent that.” Flo sniffs. “I’m the best coach on the entire West Coast , thank you very much. Now get those pretty legs out here and show me what you’ve got, girl. I’m already positive Big Guy is going to be hopeless, but I’m open to letting you surprise me.”

“I play hockey professionally,” I remind him as Remy perches on the bleachers, lacing up the white skates I brought. “I do know how to skate.”

Flo’s lips pucker as he tilts his head at a decidedly patronizing angle. “Of course you do, buddy. And I’m sure we can work with that basic skill set and a complete lack of artistry or musicality. Maybe. Eventually. If the gods are kind. Until then, you can be in charge of music! So, toddle over to the speaker and press play on my phone, m’kay? Please and thank you.”

I huff out a soft laugh and nod. “Yes, sir. Toddling, sir.”

The next hour passes in a flurry of Flo’s dramatic instructions, Remy’s jaw-dropping grace, and my growing awareness that watching her move like this—fluid and sensual and oh-so-sexy, with her butt sticking out behind her half the time—is probably going to be the death of me.

But what a way to go…

Every time she executes one of Flo’s moves with near perfection, revealing that she was clearly way more into figure-skating than she let on, I fall a little harder. And when I’m finally allowed out on the ice and she swoops in to correct my form, giving my ass a subtle pinch in the process, I nearly swallow my tongue.

An ass pinch…

Maybe I’m not the only one wishing our fun dates had a little more fun in them.

“Your center of gravity is still too high,” she says, winking as she circles me like a very sexy shark. “Figure skating has more lift in the frame than hockey, but only from the waist up. You still need to be grounded. Bend your knees more.”

“And suck in that gut,” Flo adds helpfully.

I play up my pout. “Don’t body shame. I’m totally at my fighting weight for hockey, man. They don’t want us too small.”

“Of course you are.” Remy slides up behind me, parking one hand on my waist as she guides my shoulders back with the other. “He just means you need to engage your core more.” Her palm is flat on my stomach now, sending confusing messages to my dick. He’s a simple creature who doesn’t understand the difference between figure skating lessons touching and touching after hours at Remy’s place. “There, yeah, like that,” she murmurs, her voice huskier than it was before. “Feel the difference?”

Boy, do I…

What I feel is her warm breath on my neck and an overwhelming urge to spin around and kiss her senseless. But I refuse to give Flo the satisfaction of proving he was right all along about me wanting more than friendship with a certain redhead.

I clear my throat, managing an almost normal-sounding, “Yeah, thanks. Think I have a future in sparkly spandex?”

“Getting there.” She gives my waist a final squeeze before gliding away. “Not bad for a hockey boy.”

Flo snorts. “And you two aren’t fucking. Not at all.”

We both laugh. Then Remy tells him to mind his own business and teach us something pretty, which he does, guiding us through a simple pairs routine that ends with me supporting Remy’s waist as she glides on one foot.

“The connection between partners is everything,” Flo explains, adjusting my hands on her hips before motioning for us to try again. “Strong but gentle, like you’re cradling something precious.”

I swallow hard, trying not to think about all the times I’ve cradled different parts of Remy. Her feet in my hands the other night in her bath. Her face when I’m about to kiss her like I mean it. Her ass when she’s on top and?—

“Relax, big boy,” Flo scolds, interrupting my racy thoughts with a sharp tap on my fingers. “She’s not a hockey stick. She’s a partner, not a power tool.”

Remy’s laugh vibrates against my hands. “I don’t know. Power tools aren’t all bad…”

She’s clearly talking about her vibrator, the one we add into the mix sometimes when props feel like a good idea. The memory of the last time I put her “power tool” to use on her clit while fucking her from behind nearly kills me. But somehow, I survive the rest of the lesson, even managing to nail a couple of spins and a switch-leg-leaping-thing Flo teaches us.

By the time he heads out, leaving us alone with a flutter of his fingers and a coy warning— “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, darlings. Especially on ice. Remember, passion is fun, but broken bones hurt like a son of a bitch.”— my thighs are burning in places I’d forgotten existed.

But seeing Remy have this much carefree fun makes every ache worth it.

“Want to practice some more with better music?” she asks, once the door shuts behind our fearless teacher. “I have some fun instrumental stuff on my phone.”

“Hell, yes,” I say, even though I know I’ll have to hit the ice bath before practice tomorrow if I do any more damage to my quads. “We have the rink for another hour. Let’s make the most of it.”

“Sweet.” Beaming, she skates off to fetch her phone from her bag.

She puts on some sexy sounding classical before gliding back to me, taking my hand as she asks, “Want me to show you some more couple stuff?”

“Yes, please,” I murmur. “All the couple stuff.”

“Good,” she says, her eyes glittering. “That’s what I like to hear.” She teaches me a simple lift—nothing wild, just enough to get my heart pounding as her body rises against mine. Then she spins into my arms, laughing as I barely manage to catch her without toppling over.

“Okay, hockey boy,” she teases, steadying me with her hands on my shoulders. “Next up, a little pair spin, some stroking, and maybe…a death spiral, if you’re feeling brave.”

“Stroking sounds nice,” I say, gravel in my voice that wasn’t there before.

Her breath feathers out. “I made that too easy for you.”

“You sure did,” I agree, letting my fingers press deeper into her waist.

We’re not moving anymore, just standing in the middle of the rink while the last of the evening light diffuses through the windows, turning her hair to fire. Her palms are flat on my chest now, and I can see her pulse beating faster at the side of her throat.

I should probably ease back. Keep things light. Remember that this is supposed to be about fun, not complicating our already complicated relationship. But then her gaze drops to my mouth, her tongue slips out to dampen her lips, and all my good intentions melt like ice under a blow torch.

I close the distance between us, crushing my lips to hers. She responds immediately, opening for me as she clings to my biceps through my sweater. The familiar heat ignites between us, but there’s something different about this kiss, an openness beneath the hunger that makes my chest ache as I guide her backwards.

We drift across the ice, locked together and hands everywhere, until her back meets the boards with a gentle thud. The heat really kicks up a notch then, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan against her mouth.

“This wasn’t in Flo’s routine,” she whispers between kisses.

“Advanced lesson,” I murmur, nipping at her sensitive ear lobe. “Extra credit.”

Her laugh turns to a gasp as I kiss my way down her throat while my hands find their way under her sweatshirt to the warm skin beneath. I cup her breasts through her sports bra, and she arches into my touch.

“Someone could walk in,” she says, but she makes no move to push me away.

“Nope. Like I said. All ours until seven o’clock. We’re completely alone.” I slide my hand down the front of her leggings, finding her underwear already soaked. My cock jerks in approval. “What’s this, Bossy? Does figure skating turn you on?”

“Maybe.” Her soft moan as I rub her clit in circles through her panties fills the space between us. “You might also have something to do with it.”

“Oh yeah?” I play it cool as I shove her sweatshirt up and her sports bra along with it. Her throat works as I expose her flushed nipples, already tight with arousal, to the cold air.

But again, she doesn’t try to stop me.

Looks like we’re both ready to quit pretending we care about silly things like being all over each other in public spaces.

“Tell me more about that,” I encourage as I thumb one stiff peak, teasing her tip as my other hand retreats from her pants just long enough to guide her leggings and panties beneath her ass.

“You can’t strip me naked out here,” she whispers, clinging to me as I kiss her again.

“I’m not,” I murmur against her sweet mouth, sucking her bottom lip hard enough to make her moan. When I release it, I promise, “Just need a little room to work, that’s all. Now, spread your thighs for me, Bossy. I need you coming on my hand five minutes ago.”

Her eyes darken as she reaches for the top of my fleece-lined track pants. “What if I don’t want to come alone?” She slides her hand inside, her palm grinding against my cock through my cotton boxers. “Looks like you’re already wet, too,” she murmurs, her thumb pressing the spot where I’m leaking pre-come, so desperate for her that I can hardly breathe as she adds, “You need to get off, princess?”

“Not as bad as you do, Bossy, and I’ll make a mess. Let’s concentrate on you right now.” I glide two fingers deep into her soaked pussy, curling them forward in a “get over here” motion that makes her head fall back against the plexiglass. I bring my thumb to her clit, applying pressure as I continue to fuck her with my hand until her ragged moans fill the air. “Do you know how good you look skating in these leggings?” I whisper against her forehead, my breath coming faster now, too. “I’ve been wanting to bend you over the gate and fuck you since the second you walked in.”

I add a third finger, her cunt clamping down like a vise as she starts to tremble.

“And I’m never going to forget you like this. Half naked and shameless for me against the boards.” I bend low, nearly breaking my back to bring my tongue to her nipple, but the contortion is worth it. I suck her deep, and she cries out, her hips jerking hard into my fingers as she starts to go.

“Oh, God,” she cries out. “Oh, God, Stone!”

“That’s right, baby. Come for me. Fuck, Rem, love feeling you come.” I hook my fingers harder, knuckles grinding inside her until her scream bounces off the rafters. Her spine bows as she comes in violent, full-body spasms that have me pinning her hips to the boards to keep her from taking that fall Flo warned us about. She chokes on my name, her pussy milking my fingers until my jealous dick throbs.

When she finally starts to come down, she reaches for my pants again, but I gently bat her hand away and pull her clothes back into place.

“I can’t, Rem. Not here, it’ll make too much of a mess,” I say, my jaw tight with the effort it takes to tell her no. “But if you feel like following me back to my place, I would be happy to ruin your pussy at least half a dozen times.”

She nods loosely, clearly still as eager for more as I am. “Yes. Your bed? Thirty minutes?”

“Make it twenty,” I say. “I know a shortcut. Follow me, beautiful, and don’t forget how much you need my dick inside you between here and there, okay?”

She nods again, something flickering in her eyes that I can’t quite read. But when she whispers, “Not a chance,” it feels like more than banter. More than foreplay.

It feels like the beginning of a new era, one where maybe I won’t have to hide how much I fucking adore this woman.