Page 29 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

I roll my eyes at his usual audacity but can’t ignore the thrill that surges through me. As much as I hate to admit it, these meetings have become something I look forward to. The release he provides helps to keep me focused. There is a rush in the secrecy, the stolen moments between cities, that allows me to concentrate the rest of the time.

I arrive at his hotel room, my heart racing with anticipation. The moment the door closes behind me, he presses me up against the door, lips on mine. We don't waste any time, diving into each other with the same ferocity as each time before. The competition, the challenge—it's all there, driving us both.

My latest travels take me to Denver, and the game is another nail-biter, but the Red Wolves come out on top. I capture every moment of the excitement and celebration, the adrenaline fueling my reporting. When I finally wrap up my interviews, I find the nightly text waiting for me.

:Rooftop bar,

midnight

I smirk, knowing exactly what he has in mind. The rivalry between us extends beyond the rink and reporting—it’s in everyaspect of our interactions. When I arrive at the bar, Elliot is already there, nursing a drink and looking out over the city.

"You're late," he says, a teasing glint in his eye.

I roll my eyes, taking the seat next to him. "Had to finish up my work. Unlike some people, I actually have to prepare for my job."

He laughs, the sound low and rich. "Touché. Ready for another round?"

"Always." I say with a smile.

The night passes in a blur of laughter, drinks, and enough sexual tension to drown us. Once the bar shuts down, we go back downstairs to Elliot's hotel room. Our hands grope each other, taking more and more, and giving each other everything we can. The intensity between us is as fierce as ever. We move together with a sense of urgency, each of us determined to work it all out together, one orgasm after another.

As I lie in the bed, trying to catch my breath, I feel a strange sense of contentment. What had started as a risky arrangement is now something I rely on, both professionally and personally. The competition, the rivalry—it is all part of the dynamic that drives us both to be better.

As the days turn into weeks, our arrangement continues. Each city bringing new opportunities, but with it comes a growing sense of respect between us. Our arrangement continues to evolve, pushing the boundaries of our agreement organically. Elliot has become more than just my enemy—he is someone I rely on, even if I won't admit it out loud.

Chapter 24

The season has turned into nothing but training, sex, games, and relentless pursuit of perfection. My focus is razor-sharp, every practice dedicated to pushing my limits, breaking records, and securing wins for the Red Wolves. Our team is on fire, and I’m determined to keep that flame burning bright. The adrenaline of victory is addictive, driving me to train harder, play smarter, and stay ahead of the competition.

On top of it all, I have my first podcast meeting. It's something new, a different way to engage with fans and share insights into the game. The studio is buzzing with energy as I sit down, adjusting my headphones and glancing at the producer.

My co-host, Bryce Cole, gives me a nod. “Welcome to the show, Elliot. Let’s talk about this season. You’ve been setting records left and right. What’s been driving you?”

I lean into the mic, a grin spreading across my face. “It’s been an incredible year. The team’s been working hard, andwe’ve got great chemistry on and off the ice. For me, it’s all about focus and dedication. I push myself every day to be the best, and it’s paying off.”

The conversation flows smoothly, touching on everything from training routines to game strategies. Filming the first episode is a rush, the thrill of sharing my experiences with fans adding another layer of excitement to this already intense season.

Every night ends the same way: with Ziggy. If we're in the same city, we find ourselves tangled together in a frenzy of desire. Our encounters are fiery, volatile, a perfect storm of passion and stress relief. It doesn’t matter where we are—hotel rooms in a random city, or my place—the result is always the same. Explosive, raw, and intense.

Our random hookups blend together in a montage of heated moments in the best possible way. In Charlotte, we barely make it to the bed. As soon as the hotel room door clicks shut behind us, the world outside ceases to exist. Urgency takes over; we are like a hurricane, our movements frenzied and desperate. Clothes are discarded without thought, leaving a trail from the door to the bedroom, where the real chaos unfolds.

We collide with the furniture, a lamp crashing to the floor in our haste, the nightstand's contents scattering. I can't hold back. Every second away from her has been a torment, and now, with her beneath me, all I can do is lose myself in the warmth and intensity of her touch. The room is a disaster, a testament to the ferocity of our reunion, but none of that matters. All that exists is the feel of her skin against mine, her breath mingling with mine, as we reclaim each other in a tangle of sheets.

In Chicago, the rain outside only heightens the heat between us. The city lights cast a soft glow around us, creating a backdrop that feels almost surreal. I pull Ziggy toward the expansive window, pressing her back against the cool glass.

“I want the world to see me fucking you,” I whisper hoarsely into her ear, my hands firmly gripping her hips. “Turn around, spread your legs, and press those beautiful tits to the window.”

She complies eagerly, her breath fogging up the glass as she positions herself. The contrast of her warmth against the cold surface, the vulnerable position–it’s exhilarating. As I slam into her from behind, the feeling of her body on mine is overwhelming, each thrust echoing in the silence of the room. Our reflections merge into one in the foggy glass, a passionate, blurry masterpiece visible to the city—or so it feels.

One night in New Orleans, after an exhausting game, in the steamy confines of the shower, the sound of cascading water is the only thing that fills the air besides our heavy breathing. The hot streams flow over us, mingling with the intensity of our movements. Our interactions, typically marked by a fiery competitive edge, shift into something more profound, the physical urgency giving way to a deeper connection. As I hold her against the shower wall, the water running down her back, my hands explore her with a possessive yet tender touch.

“You will always come for me… I own every one of your orgasms,” I murmur into her ear, my voice echoing slightly in the tiled space.

My words are a declaration, heavy with intent, as I continue, “If you were truly mine, I wouldn’t need this condom. I would fill you with my cum and send you back to your room withme dripping down your leg so the world knows how I make you feel.”

Each word is punctuated with a thrust, the sound of water splashing around us melding with the gasps and moans that fill the steamy air. The moment is isolated from the world, just us, the water, and the undeniable truth that what we share is morphing into something neither of us can easily define or deny.

As the season progresses, our routine becomes almost ritualistic. We push each other during the day, whether on the ice or through our constant banter. At night, we release that tension in the most primal way possible. The friction between us is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, each encounter leaving me wanting more.

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