Page 74 of Ice, Love, & Other Penalties

“I know,” she whispers. “But I want this, Ty. I want you inside me.”

I take her in my arms, lifting her up so our bodies align perfectly. I slide inside her slowly and carefully, watching for any sign of discomfort on her face.

She meets my gaze. Love and trust fill her eyes. That look. It hits me right in the chest. Knowing that I’m not alone in this, that I’m not falling for her while she’s just waiting for me to leave is everything.

She’s everything.

“Ty,” she breathes, wrapping her legs around me.

I groan as the feeling of her tight warm body enveloping me becomes more than I can bear. I begin to move—first slowly then with growing intensity—our rhythm matching each other perfectly.

I thrust my hips forward, burying my cock between her legs harder, deeper. Her moans become louder and louder.

I feel her inner muscles starting to flutter around me, her breath catching on increasingly loud moans. She trembles and shakes right on the precipice. With one final deep thrust, she shatters, crying out her ecstasy. I capture her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds of pleasure. It’s not a gentle kiss. I’m branding her, possessing her, making her irrevocably mine.

I groan, feeling myself release inside her. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before—raw and intense, consuming every part of me. We collapse together, but I keep my arms wrapped around her. She’s still hugging me tightly, panting and sweaty, but neither of us moves. This moment is perfect, and I don’t want it to end.

I pull back to look at her, our emotions clear in our eyes. I lean in to kiss her with the depth of our feelings. As our tongues dance together, I’m caught in a whirlwind of sensation—a heady blend of desire, intensity, and a deep, resonant love. Each emotion pours into the kiss, mingling, overwhelming, until I’m completely lost in the moment. When we finally part, gasping for air, I realize, with a shattering clarity, that by this act, I’ve become hers.

We’ve irrevocably given ourselves over to each other.

There’s something undeniably thrilling about it too. The risk of letting someone in so deeply . . .

The realization sinks into my bones and deep in my soul as our afterglow finally crashes us. I break the kiss, pressing my forehead to hers, our panting breaths intermingling. No words are needed. What we’ve shared transcends anything that can be said.

“I love you,” I say, knowing she’ll brush it off, but hoping she won’t run away.

Indie’s smile is something completely different from anything I’ve seen. When she speaks, her words cut through me, devastating and healing in the same breath. “I love you too,” she says, and just like that, my soul feels both undone and rebuilt, intricately entwined with hers.

Chapter Forty-Five

Tyberius

I lace up my skates, each pull of the laces tight and precise, like I’m preparing for battle. The cold air of the arena bites at my exposed skin, a familiar chill that’s both a welcome and a warning. It’s game day against the Boston Blizzards, and the tension is a thick fog in the locker room, palpable and heavy.

I’m out on the ice now, cutting through the silence with the sharp scrape of my blades. The arena looms around me, the fans are ready for the game to start. Taking selfies of themselves against the players who are stretching, shooting toward the goalie and just making sure we’re ready to face off the Boston Blizzards.

It’s one of those Friday games when we’re at home and Indie is able to visit since her parents offer to watch Myra. Even before I began to date their daughter, Jacob and Pria Decker took it upon themselves to give my child the family she’s been wanting for so long. Now . . . they are hoping that soon we’ll tell them things are more serious between us.

All that is up to Indie though. I’m doing this at her pace.

The buzzer sounds, and it’s time to go back so the game can start. I glance toward the bench, right above it is Indie. Gloves and everything, I blow her a kiss and she does the same.

“Stay the fuck away from my sister,” Jude mumbles as I walk by him.

I shake my head but say nothing. He’s learning to deal with it.

We’re in the thick of it now. I’m on the offensive, my eyes scanning the ice for openings, for that split-second gap in the Blizzards’ defense that I can exploit. My teammates are in sync, our time of playing together a silent language only we speak. A nod from Jenkins, a subtle shift from Rodney, and I know what to do.

I take the puck, feeling its weight and promise against my stick. The defense is closing in, a wall of jerseys and determination. I feint left, a move I’ve perfected over countless games, and then I’m through, breaking past their line with the puck still firmly under my control.

The goalie looms ahead, a final challenge to best. My heart pounds, a drumbeat of anticipation and adrenaline. I shoot. The puck flies, a blur of potential, and then—the unmistakable sound of the buzzer, the puck hitting the back of the net.

The crowd erupts, a wave of sound and fury, but all I hear is my team, their shouts and cheers grounding me. We circle together, to celebrate.

“This is it, boys,” I say, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. “We keep this up, and we keep it home.”

After the goal, the game’s intensity doesn’t just simmer; it boils, each minute ticking by ramping up the pressure. Frederick Rossi, one of the defensemen for the Boston Blizzards, has been a thorn in our side since the puck first dropped, his hits bordering on the excessive, his sneers . . . I’ve tried my best to brush him off and ignore him. More so when I want to kill him for what he did to Indie.

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