That Time We Faked It (Time On The Ice #3)

30. CAL

CAL

Rules Were Made to Be Broken—Especially in Bed

M aybe it was because I was emotionally exhausted—because once again, I broke my own promise to stay away from anything resembling love. I was kissing Jack Wade—the Viking god himself. Okay, so his full name wasn’t technically that, but it had a ring to it, and I wasn’t about to let him go. Not when he was holding me like that.

And he didn’t seem opposed, either.

Sitting in his lap, his hands roamed my skin like he was memorizing me, his lips moving against mine in a way that should’ve been criminal. Every kiss, every touch, was intoxicating, and I couldn’t decide what I liked more: the weight of him beneath me or the way he kissed like he had something to prove.

I found myself grinding into his lap, a soft groan escaping him that made my heart race.

“So, do you want me to stay or go, Pretty Boy?” he asked between kisses, his voice low and teasing.

“If you leave, this relationship will be very short-lived,” I sassed, not missing a beat.

Jack just laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver through me.

“Well, on that note then—”

Without another word, he stood, lifting me like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, and I didn’t bother to hide my grin.

There were plenty of times during lifts on the ice that I’d wished the tables were turned. Now that they were? No complaints from me.

Jack’s hands cupped my ass in support, his grip firm but teasing, sending a sharp bite of pleasure through me. I had learnt he was like this—walking the perfect edge between rough and soft, inflicting just enough pain to make it thrilling and following it up with something soothing. His hands, his mouth, even his voice—everything about him left me craving more.

He carried me to my room, navigating like it was second nature, and shut the door with an easy kick of his foot. I half expected him to toss me roughly onto the bed, the way he had before.

Instead, he lowered me gently, placing me on the mattress with a care that made my chest tighten.

His eyes raked over me, slow and deliberate, like he could see through the oversized hoodie and track pants I’d thrown on earlier. The weight of his gaze burned, and I felt more bare under it than if I’d been wearing nothing at all.

Jack leaned down, one knee on the bed, his fingers brushing against the hem of my hoodie as his lips curved into a smirk.

“You know, Pretty Boy, you look good in just about anything, but I’d prefer a little less.”

The heat in his voice sent a thrill down my spine, and for once, I didn’t bother trying to fight the way he made me feel.

“Now, there’s something you should know about me, Pretty Boy,” he drawled, his voice low and deliberate, his eyes somehow darkening to an even deeper shade of blue.

I was stunned, speechless by the sheer raw masculinity of him. God, he was a sight—every part of him seemed designed to disarm me.

“Still with me?” His eyebrow quirked cockily, and I wanted to snap back something smart, something sassy, but there was something about the man that made me submit without hesitation.

“I like to be in control,” he continued, his tone steady but laced with a promise. “But sometimes, I like to be Jack—the man who’s rough, wild, who’ll make you pant and push you to the edge of no tomorrow. Other times, I want to be Wade. I want to savor every sweet inch of your body.” His voice dipped, sending a thrill down my spine. “Tonight, I want to be Wade.”

If there ever was a perfect man… God help me, he might be it.

I nodded, breathless.

“Anything with that pierced cock sounds like a dream to me.”

His deep chuckle rumbled through the room, and I watched as he sauntered toward me, every step deliberate and confident. But as much as I loved him taking control, there was one thing I needed first—something I’d missed the last time.

I held up a finger, stopping him in his tracks. He paused, that same cocky quirk of his eyebrow rising, equal parts challenge and question.

“I have one request,” I said, voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. “Then I’m all yours.”

His lips curved into a smile, lazy and full of mischief. “Yes, darling?”

Ugh, this man.

“I want you to take your clothes off,” I said, emboldened by his smirk. “Last time, you didn’t fully undress, and as much as I appreciated the sight of your pants around your thighs and your cock jutting out—I want to see your chest. Those arms.”

Saying the words out loud sent heat flooding through me, my once lethargic libido roaring to life. Or maybe it was just his presence—he had that effect. It was why I’d found myself at his bar night after night, unable to stay away.

I watched him bite his lip, considering, and for a moment, I thought he might make me beg. But then, to my delight, he obliged.

He was wearing one of his usual plaid button-ups, this one dark blue with lighter threads that made his eyes stand out like gemstones. My breath hitched as he began unbuttoning it, slow and deliberate. Each flick of a button heightened the tension in the air, making me hyper-aware of everything: his scent, warm and woodsy, wrapping around me like a balm; the way his eyes stayed locked on my face, sharp and focused, drinking in every reaction I gave him. Whatever he saw must have pleased him, because a sly smirk spread across that devilishly handsome face.

When he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, my fingers twitched, fighting the ridiculous urge to pick it up and bury my face in it. That would be weird… right? I looked back to the man before me, seeing now his flannel was gone it revealed the singlet underneath, I couldn’t stop my disappointment from showing, my need to see his chest blocked by the white fabric. My bottom lip jutted out in a pout, and Wade closed the space between us, catching my lip gently between his fingers and pulling it free from my teeth.

“This,” he said, his voice a growl, “is mine to bite.”

I shuddered under his touch, only to feel its loss when he stepped back.

But then I saw him.

His large arms, strong and dusted with dark hair, flexed as he moved. My breath caught at the sight of a tattoo—one I hadn’t noticed before. The ink stretched across his bicep, intricate and detailed.

It was his cottage—there was no mistaking it, the little house nestled in trees. But what stopped me cold was the quote beneath it:

“This home was meant to be ours. It’s now just a house, because you will always be my home."

I sat up to close the space, my fingers moved without thought

“Beautiful,” I murmured. My breath caught as my fingers moved to trace the beautiful artwork inked into his skin.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, his voice steady but low, a thread of uncertainty woven into the words.

There was a part of me, the one shaped by my own insecurities, that had always wrestled with jealousy—especially after being cheated on time and time again. But this? No, this didn’t bother me.

“You were a young man who went to war for love,” I said softly, my voice catching. “For your home. No, Wade. If he’s always going to be your home, I hope I can be the steady ground beneath your feet. To hold you up, to keep those walls, that roof, strong.”

“Fuck, Cal, you can’t say things like that,” he said, his voice tight, rough with emotion.

I looked up at him, catching the mist in his eyes, and felt a smile tug at my lips. Rising to meet him, I kissed him softly, savoring the way his lips were both tender and possessive, the kind of kiss that made my knees want to give way.

But I resisted, sliding my hands beneath his singlet, feeling the contrast of soft skin and a light dusting of hair. Pushing the fabric higher, I took in his build, the kind of strength that came naturally rather than from hours at the gym. He wasn’t like the men I’d been with before—he was so much more. His broad shoulders, powerful chest, and the faint curve of his stomach, solid and unpretentious, had me practically purring as my fingers roamed over him.

“Happy with what you see, Pretty Boy?” he asked, his voice teasing, a smirk playing on his lips.

Instead of answering, I leaned forward and took one of his nipples into my mouth, my tongue flicking against it.

But before I could do more, he tugged my head back by my hair, his eyes blazing.

“I’m in control,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. “But I’ll take that as a yes.”

And he was. Every move he made was deliberate, purposeful, and I was helpless under his hands as he stripped me of my clothes. Each brush of his calloused fingers against my skin sent shivers coursing through me, igniting pleasure in ways I hadn’t thought possible. He stopped to kiss every bruise, his lips soft and reverent, but when he knelt before me, his gaze settled on my still-bruised ankle.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he said, his tone sharp, though it softened when he pressed a kiss to my heel.

The contrast between his commanding growl and the tenderness of his touch left me speechless. I watched as he stood, evening the score by stripping himself of his pants and underwear in one smooth motion.

This time, I had the chance to really look at him, and the sight of his body redefined what it meant to be a man.

My gaze mapped every inch of his skin, from the powerful lines of his chest to the trail of dark hair leading down to his cock, thick and glinting with piercings that only made him more breathtaking. My eyes trailed lower, to the strong muscles of his thighs, but stopped at the angry scars marking one of his knees. It looked slightly inflamed, and concern rose in my chest.

“Another thing we can discuss later,” he said firmly, catching my gaze. “But I assure you, it won’t hinder one second of me taking you.”

Before I could respond, he proved it.

Lowering himself to his knees, he spread my thighs, giving me one wicked look before taking me into his mouth in one swift, heated motion.

The gasp that escaped my lips was automatic, my body responding before my brain could catch up. And then, every coherent thought scattered as Wade showed me exactly what he saved his tongue for.

The way his mouth worked me—deliberate, skilled, and unrelenting—was unlike anything I’d ever felt.

When he pulled back, my cock slick and throbbing, I couldn’t stop the desperate moan that spilled from my lips at the loss of his warmth.

But then his tongue traveled lower, parting my cheeks and teasing my hole with slow, purposeful strokes. The stretch of his tongue, the heat of his mouth—it set my body ablaze. My back arched, my hips tilting to give him more, completely undone by the sounds he made as he worked me, like this was as good for him as it was for me.

Every moan, every gasp, was met with his relentless attention, and I lost myself completely, surrendering to the fire he’d lit inside me.

I flinched when the cold lick of lube hit my hole, looking down and the puzzlement on my face must have shown, “an army man is always prepared.”

I scoffed which turned into a slutty moan as he put a finger inside me, I was lost in the euphoric sensations, moaning and squirming in pleasure as he prepared me for him, even though there was the physical aspect of him stroking over my prostate, what really had me a writhing mess was the promise of what was to come, my mind just thinking about that perfect cock taking me.

When he finally climbed over me, his hands bracketing my head, his dark hair fell to one side, revealing the sharp jawline I’d admired from afar for far too long. My hands instinctively came up, cupping his bearded face before tangling in his hair. Every nerve in my body screamed for me to pull him down to kiss me, but he was in control. And I loved that—letting him keep me guessing, not having to think, just feeling.

Lucky for me, he was just as eager. His lips crashed down onto mine, the kiss hungry and all-consuming. It didn’t stop there—hurried touches followed, both of us desperate to explore, until he pinned my hands above my head, holding them there with one hand. With the other, he guided himself into me, his thick length filling me in a way that was just shy of overwhelming.

I shifted my hips to take him in faster, earning a low hum from him.

“Mmm, needy,” he teased, his voice a gravelly mix of amusement and lust.

“Only for you,” I breathed, my voice breaking with need.

His response was a mix of a groan and a growl as he rolled his hips into slow, measured thrusts. Each one sent waves of sensation spiraling through me, leaving me on the brink of losing myself. But soon, the same need overtook him, and his rhythm quickened, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate.

He caught my bottom lip between his teeth, breathing in every needy sound I made like he couldn’t get enough. And when the moment hit, it was almost cinematic—our bodies tensed, moving in perfect sync, until release crashed over us like a tidal wave.

Panting, trembling with exertion and something deeper, I looked up at him. His gray eyes, heavy-lidded and full of a vulnerability that took my breath away, locked onto mine. Those lashes should’ve been illegal, but I wasn’t about to complain. I was too busy being lost in him.

Jack Wade wasn’t just a man. He was a future I could see myself wanting. A scary thought, considering how I was wading through a pool of uncertainty in my life. But with him, there was clarity. A dangerous kind of certainty that sent a pang of fear through me.

He must’ve seen it, because his lips pressed against mine, grounding me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice a low, reassuring murmur. “And I don’t plan to hurt you, Cal. If anything, I want the opposite. I want to see you smile every day, to make you happy, safe… loved.”

The last word lingered in the air, carrying a promise I couldn’t bring myself to let go of.

Before I could respond, he rolled off me. I opened my mouth to protest, but before the words came, he pulled me to his chest, wrapping me in his arms. He always seemed to know exactly what I needed, and it was giving me whiplash.

But I didn’t have time to dwell on it—or to revisit the conversations we’d tabled. The sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear lulled me to sleep. For the first time in what felt like forever, I slept without the aid of tablets.

I would’ve slept through my alarm if it hadn’t been for Wade softly rustling me awake, his voice a warm rumble that was better than any morning coffee.

“Morning, darling. Your alarm is going off.”

I groaned in displeasure, rolling onto my side.

“For someone who wakes up early, you don’t seem to like mornings,” he teased, his smirk audible.

“It’s not the morning,” I grumbled. “It’s the rink. A very specific circle of hell. But the competition is just around the corner…”

I trailed off as his expression shifted, his brows furrowing with concern.

“You sure you should be pushing it with that ankle? It doesn’t look too happy.”

“This is my career,” I said sharply, pulling myself upright. “I’ve been cleared by the medics. It’s just a little bruising.”

I got up, already on the defensive, throwing clothes around the room as I searched for clean training gear. Wade shadowed me, standing there in all his naked glory, arms crossed, watching me with a look that only fueled my frustration.

“Pretty Boy, I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” he started, his voice steady but tinged with concern. “I just…”

I sighed, cutting him off. I knew his intentions came from the right place, and it wasn’t fair to lash out at him. Turning toward him, I kissed his cheek softly, hoping to ease the tension before my mood ruined everything we’d shared last night.

“I thank you for caring,” I said quietly, my voice softening. “But I’m okay, really.”

Wade’s eyes stayed on me, steady and unreadable. It was the kind of look that told me he respected my decision but wasn’t entirely convinced. He didn’t push, though, and I was grateful for that, even if I could feel his unspoken questions lingering in the air.