Page 74 of Playing Rough

I laugh, nipping his lip. "Bullshit. I owned your ass fair and square."

That cocky smirk widens. "Keep telling yourself that."

Pure fucking happiness wells up in me, sharp and overwhelming. I kiss him hard before we have to leave the ice.

Cameras surround us, but it's just background noise now. We’re used to it. Riot kisses me like we're the only two people alive, ending his last game how we began—obsessed and wrapped up in each other.

It wasn't always like this. When we first went pro, being openly together was unheard of. We caught hell those first few seasons—slurs hurled at us on the ice, bigoted bullshit spewed online daily.

But we weathered it, standing tall together. And over time, hearts and minds slowly changed. These days, we're just another hockey couple to most fans. It's no big deal anymore when Riot pulls me in close after the buzzer for those few times a year we play against each other, both of us flying high on the thrill of competition.

No more hiding who we are from the world. We carved out this space together, pushed boundaries and kicked down doors until we could just exist as us.

Eventually we come up for air, both dazed. His teammates bang their sticks across the ice.

"Get a room already!" someone shouts, laughing.

Riot flips them off, eyes never leaving mine. "I'm proud of you, London. For everything you did out here tonight." His voice cracks. "And everything you gave me off the ice."

Emotion clogs my throat. I grip his jersey. No words are enough. "I'd bleed for you however many times it took to get here." I crush him close, unwilling to let go. But change is coming for us. "You and me? We're just getting started."

I step back reluctantly as his teammates sweep him up, shouting congratulations despite their loss. Riot joins in, with his signature understated joy. But his eyes keep finding mine across the chaos.

One last time, I etch every detail into memory. The sweat making his skin slick. His damp hair curling at his neck. The glint of his tongue ring peeking out as he laughs under the lights. The black ink all over his skin. This is how I'll picture him when these days are behind us both.

The crowd chants Riot's name until the arena empties. Their cheers will echo in this stadium for years, immortalizing his legendary career. As for his legacy off the ice, it's our love that will be forever carved into hockey history. What we fought for and overcame matters just as much as the trophies in the case. Kids like us deserve to see their dreams realized too, no matter who they love.

If our journey planted seeds of change on the way, helping clear the path for others, then it was all worth it. Watching Riot take this final lap to celebrate a hard-earned end, I know that's the real victory here. The work's not done, but we made a dent, enough for me to find hope.

* * *

Moonlight filters into our bedroom,silver rays cutting through the dark. I watch Riot's bare chest rise and fall as he sleeps. Even at rest he looks coiled, honed from a lifetime of pushing human limits. I run my fingertips across my name inked into the skin of his neck. It's still so surreal that he chose me.

My lips quirk, remembering last night. After the game's high came the crash. Too wired for sleep, we stayed up christening every damn room, celebrating this milestone.

It's our first real home together. No more hotel rooms or stolen nights between cities or team-owned apartments. This is our fresh start. I'm not ready to hang up my skates yet, but with Riot retiring, we bought this place knowing we needed to set down roots.

The thought makes me smile. Riot Kensington settling down? Who would've guessed it back when we were rivals tearing up the ice at Hollowgate?

I shift closer, breathing him in. Waking beside him still feels sacred, this gift I'll never deserve but got anyway.

Riot stirs under my gaze, blinking awake. "Hey, creep. How long’ve you been staring at me?" His scratchy morning voice ignites a flare of heat in my gut.

I grin, tracing the lines of his abs. "Long enough to get very dirty ideas about round two."

A smirk tugs at his lips. "More like eight, you insatiable bastard." He kisses me slow and rough, stubble scraping my skin.

"You love it," I murmur against his mouth.

"I do." His eyes burn with that same fire from the ice, lighting me up inside. "And I love you."

He never fails to get me hard, and my cock thickens between us. "Show me how much."

Riot chuckles, low and dirty. "Always ready for a fight, aren't you?" He rolls on top of me, pinning me down with his weight. "Guess I'll have to teach you a lesson then, Lancaster."

I grin up at him, arching into his touch. "Bring it, Golden Boy."

He bites my nipple in warning, making me groan. "Don't call me that."

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