Pucking Christmas Triplets Surprise (Ruthless Kings Of Thorhaven)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

CHRISTOPHER

D on’t tell ESPN, but Josie Richards is the real reason I left the Mississippi Titans after an award-winning season: to come to this small town in Maine to coach a subpar hockey team. I did this not because I was humble or knew my prime was over, which isn’t true. I am a beast driven by my obsession. If I wanted to be in my prime, I could be so for as long as I wanted.

No, it was for Josie Richards, Northbrook University darling with a smart mouth, killer legs and no fucking respect.

I remember watching her when I was at the top of my game last season. She looked like an angel, lost in the flurry of snow. She was Olympic-bound, a future gold medalist, and the icon everyone had their eye on. I mean, how could you not keep your eyes on her?

Her loose, wavy blonde hair with honey highlights looked effortlessly perfect even when tossed into a messy bun on her head. Up close, her tan freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, and her lips were a dusted baby pink. But the best part about being this close to her are those ivy-green eyes that remind me of the trees around my home in Michigan.

She is stunning, but she's still a student, even if she's a senior in college. This doesn't make my attraction to her any less inappropriate or complicated, but she is the reason I took this job below my status.

See, my obsession with the game consumed me daily: the sound of skates scraping against the ice, the roar of the fans, and the grunts of my opponents. But nothing compared to the adrenaline rush I felt when I stepped onto the ice for a game. Or so I thought until I saw her in her proper form.

Suddenly, the ice and the game didn't hold the same appeal for me anymore. Hockey felt dull, my contract was up, and Josie was ripe for the taking. It didn't matter that I spent my life dedicated to hockey when there was someone more compelling than hockey ever was.

The moment I laid eyes on Josie Richards, she caught me in her spell. It was during the Northbrook Winter Showcase, where I had been sent for good publicity after my team caused a drunken brawl at a local bar with some students from Northbrook.

I attended to show that not all of the Mississippi Titans are assholes, especially not their very own golden boy Christopher Jackson— killer on the ice, sweetheart in the city. I was to smile, wave, take pictures, and congratulate the performers.

I never would have guessed that a girl with blonde hair, wearing a sparkling lavender bodysuit and tutu, could capture my attention for the entire evening. The light from the stadium made her outfit look like a second layer of sparkling skin, hiding not a single curve from my imagination. Her toned legs curved in arches for tricks, making me wonder how many positions I could put her in.

But it wasn't just her physical prowess that held me captive. There was a fire in her eyes, a determination that burned brighter than the spotlight that followed her every move.

She was a goddess, and the ice was her altar. I’ve never been big on prayer, but I’ve always believed in devotion and worship. Josie Richards’ tight little body deserved to be worshiped in the most primal and passionate of ways, as a true believer would offer themselves to their goddess.

She was flawless on the ice—graceful, precise, and only making one minor mistake on a spin that no one noticed but me. She seemed perfect, living up to being the Olympic-bound gold medal star everyone had hyped her up to be. If it weren’t for the tightness in her jaw, I’d think she was perfect, just like everyone else, but that’s the thing about goddesses—they’re just as human as us.

Off the ice at the afterparty in the president's house, she was polite, respectable, and stiff, giving everyone a plastered-on smile as she rolled her jaw over and over again. She had changed into a short, body-con, champagne dress that blended so well with her complexion that I had to remind myself over and over again that she had clothes on. When she was mine, and trust me, she would be, I would never allow her to wear that color again.

I watched from across the room at her performance, not knowing if this one or the one on the ice was better.

Every Tom, Dick, and Harry congratulated her, took a picture with her, and touched her. That's what really pissed me off; the number of men that found a reason to touch her, whether it was a hand on the small of her back during a photo, pinching her elbow to get her attention, moving a rogue curl behind her ear while they chatted; every man had tried to steal a piece of my little ice princess.

Lucky for their limbs, she was too cold to let any of that get to her. She excused herself halfway through the night, making an excuse about homework, and steadily exited the house.

After taking one last sip of my drink and flashing a few more polite smiles, I signed an autograph for the son of someone from Human Resources. But let's be honest: from the way she gripped my arm and licked her lips, little Johnny probably doesn’t even exist. I winked in her direction and excused myself to the bathroom, but as soon as I saw my ice princess leave, I snuck out of the presidential house and followed her discreetly to wherever she was going.

I had seen the irritation in her face all night long. She absentmindedly twirled a lock of her golden hair around her finger that she tugged from her bun, the same curl men kept tucking behind her ear. She was too annoyed to notice the romantic gesture.

When she felt no eyes on her, she would furrow her brows and chew on the corner of her pinked glossed lips, frankly driving me mad all night. It only made me want to pull her lip between my teeth and bite it properly, kiss her properly.

The crisp air nipped at my cheeks as I entered the ice rink. I could see her slender figure already lacing up her skates, hidden beneath the bleachers. She seemed to be muttering to herself with a sense of urgency. Gone was the image of the ice princess I had once been fascinated with.

Instead, I watched as she angrily yanked her hair out of its perfect bun and marched onto the glistening ice. The blades of her skates cut through the smooth surface, leaving behind deep grooves in their wake. Her movements were powerful and determined, like a warrior preparing for battle on a frozen battlefield.

She glided across the ice with fierce grace, like a predator honing in on its prey. My little hellion drilled her blades into the ice, carving a path with precision and determination. She repeated the same combination relentlessly, her eyes blazing with the intensity of an obsessive athlete on a mission to perfect her craft.

As I watched from the shadows, hidden behind the bleachers, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. Josie wasn’t performing for an audience now and wasn’t giving the polite, rehearsed routine that had the crowd eating out of her hand at the showcase. This was raw, unfiltered. She wasn’t skating to dazzle; she was skating to destroy.

Her anger made her movements sharper and more aggressive. She dug her blades into the ice with purpose, spinning and leaping in a furious ballet that looked more like an attack than an art form. Before, I had been intrigued. I wanted to see if the ice princess cracked, but now with this fire blazing off of her, fuck, I wanted to feed off of her; if this is the real her, I want all of it.

The girl everyone saw at the parties, smiling and perfect in her champagne dress, wasn’t the real her. No, this was. The tension in her jaw, the way she slammed down after each jump, the rage radiating from her every movement—that was the Josie Richards I was drawn to. Not the ice princess, but the warrior who fought her battles on the frozen stage. My little hellion.

I stepped closer, the sound of her skates cutting through the ice echoing in the empty rink. She didn't know I was there and didn't need to.

I liked that this moment was mine. She was skating for me, and I soaked up every moment, from her face, flushed from exertion, to her loose hair stuck to the sweat on her neck, to the snarl permanently on her face.

She practiced until she screamed. Every time she faltered, she howled in frustration. That guttural howl that only leaves the throat of an athlete who has beaten themselves over the head and came out covered in the blood of their desire to succeed.

And god, I thought I had wanted her before when she was a little princess, but nothing compared to her now. She had a burning fire inside her that matched my obsession, my own relentless need to win. And I have won hundreds of games on the ice, rarely losing one— but her and her fierce, raw, unrelenting passion? I wanted every part of it. I fucking needed it like I needed air to breathe.

But don't worry, she'll be mine. She doesn't have a choice in the matter.

My heart pounded in my chest as I watched her launch into the air, twisting mid-jump before landing with the grace of a predator. She didn’t smile, didn’t revel in the moment.

I leaned against the railing, letting the cold metal bite into my palms as I watched her with hungry eyes. She didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. Not until she’d pushed herself past whatever limit she had set for herself tonight. But I could see it—the slight tremor in her legs, the way her breath came in ragged gasps, and all I could imagine was how much better it would be if she trembled under me and if I fucked her so good she couldn’t breathe. I wanted that. I needed all the passion she put on the ice to be reflected in claw marks along my spine.

Pushing away from the railing, I stepped out from the shadows and onto the ice, my boots crunching softly against the cold surface. Josie didn’t notice me at first, too caught up in her own personal battle. But as I approached, she faltered slightly, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. She stood there, chest heaving, eyes vast and wild, like a caged animal. I could see the sweat glistening on her brow, the flush in her cheeks. Her body screamed for rest, but her mind wouldn’t let her quit.

"What move are you trying to do?" I said quietly, my voice low and even.

Out of breath, with her hands tightly propped on her hips, she narrowed her eyes on me. "And you are?"

"Answer the question." My voice was firm, eyes hooded.

"Answer mine."

"Christopher."

Her eyes widened, but she quickly schooled her features and bowed her head like the polite little princess she played all evening. "Christopher Jackson?"

"In the flesh," I smirked, my lips slipping to the side, crossing my arms over my chest. "Now, what move are you working on?"

"Mr. Jackson, I can assure you that I—” she stuttered, gliding closer to me, her hands dancing in front of her.

I cut off her rambling, narrowing my eyes on the pinks in her freckled cheeks. "You messed up a spin three minutes into your performance. "

She paused, looking over her shoulder and lowering her voice as if we weren’t alone. "You noticed?"

My gaze roamed over her body, taking in every inch. “I'm observant," I shrugged, wanting to mention how much I noticed about her, because a stumble was only the surface. But I restrained myself, knowing that patience is a virtue, even if mine was wearing thin.

She scoffed and bit her lip, her eyes flickering around the empty rink.

"We're alone, Josie. Tell me." My steps echoed throughout the stadium as I made my way closer to Josie. The scent of fresh snow and vanilla invaded my senses, and I had to swallow back the growl trying to escape my throat.

"It's a Biellmann spin. It’s supposed to be simple." She shook her head, looking down at her bare legs, pink from the cold, and her hands shaking from frustration.

I pinched her chin, making her look me in the eye. Her breath caught in her throat. Her pink lips were slightly agape. Her green eyes, which looked like emeralds, glossed over and were wide as she stared at me.

"Explain it to me, princess," I whispered, my breath feathering over her face.

She took another breath, her words coming out slow, deliberate. “You start spinning, just like any other move. Then you reach back, grab your skate, and pull it up over your head... It’s like—like you’re trying to break yourself in half. Your leg is straight, but you have to keep spinning. Faster. Tighter.”

Her voice faltered as I tilted her chin just a little higher, making her look at me, getting a peak of a perfect-like heart right behind her right ear.

"Your back arches so deep it feels like it might snap, but you have to hold it. You can’t slow down. Everything has to stay perfectly balanced, or you fail." Her eyes flashed with frustration, like the memory of every failed attempt was burning through her.

"And where do you fail?"

She swallowed, her eyes darting from me, but I squeezed her chin tighter, pulling her damn near underneath me. Josie is so small I could toss her around with one hand, and her nerves radiate off her onto me in waves that I allow to satiate me until her fury returns.

"Fail?" Her nostrils flare. "I don't fail."

"Don't lie to me, little girl. You wouldn't be on this ice if you weren't failing." I licked my lips, my eyes trained on her face while hers darted to my lips. Naughty girl, turned on by the lips of a man fifteen years her senior.

"It's tighter." She whispered so low I barely heard her.

I watched the fire in her eyes flicker, the blush creeping up her neck as she tried to compose herself, but she was trembling—half with anger, half with something else. I tilted her chin higher, not letting her escape the moment.

“Tighter, huh?” I murmur, my voice low, teasing her, testing how far she’ll let this go.

“Yes, tighter,” she snapped, her breath coming faster. “The moment I pull my leg up, everything has to lock in—my core, back, even my hips. One tiny slip, one muscle out of place, and the spin goes wide. If I’m not tight, I lose control. I can feel it wobble.”

I smirked, inching closer, my thumb brushing over the soft skin of her chin. “So that’s where you’re failing? You’re not tight enough?” The words roll off my tongue slowly, like a challenge.

Her lips parted, the slightest hitch in her breath giving her away, but she kept her gaze locked on mine, refusing to back down. “I’m tight enough,” she whispered, her voice sharp despite how she shivered beneath my touch.

I leaned in closer, my mouth just inches from hers, and I could feel the tension vibrating between us. “Prove it, then,” I whisper against her lips. “Show me you can hold it together, princess.”

In waves, heat danced off her body, and right when she was going to break and tell me to fuck off or show me how she takes command over her body, the man I was going kill for her came into the stadium.

"Why don't I hear your fucking skates?!" A man barked. I turned slowly, looked over my shoulder, and narrowed my eyes at the idiot. He was shorter than me and looked like a clean-cut, all-American skater.

"Because I'm talking to her," I growled, baring my teeth.

"Oh, Mr. Jackson, I am-"

"Who the fuck are you?" I snarled, making the more petite man in a fucking neon turtleneck flinch.

"I am Dylan. Josie's partner, right babe?"

Josie placed a small hand on the center of my back, sending flames rushing through me.

"Right." She whispered, moving around me.

"You let your partner talk to you like that?" I lowered my eyes to hers, ignoring the nervous twitching of the idiot.

"No. Dylan, I will practice when I want."

"Women, am I right, Jackson?! Don't know a hard day’s work."

Heat surged through me, my jaw locking the moment that idiot's voice grated the air. I focused on Dylan, feeling the primal need to protect her spike in my chest. He had a smug grin plastered on his face, clearly trying to play buddy-buddy.

“You think that’s funny?” I growled, my voice dangerously low as I stepped closer, towering over him. Dylan’s smirk wavered.

"Come on man, you know what it takes to be at the top, and she's not putting the work in."

My eyes flicked to Josie—she was stiff, her expression unreadable, but I could see the tension in how she clenched her fists. She was annoyed, maybe even embarrassed by the idiot, but too polite to put him in his place.

“Not putting in the work?” I echoed, my voice low, dangerous.

Dylan chuckled, running a hand through his hair, but his laugh lacked real humor. “She’s great, don’t get me wrong. But you know how it is, man. Sometimes, they need a little...push. Otherwise, they fall behind.”

Josie’s lips parted, but no words came out. I saw her flinch just the tiniest bit, and that was all it took for me to lose the last thread of patience I had .

I stepped forward, closing the distance between Dylan and me, towering over him now. My voice was steady, lethal. “A push?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “That’s what you call it?”

Dylan shifted, his cocky expression faltering for a second, but he still tried to keep up the act. “You don’t get it, Jackson. She’s stubborn. If I don’t keep her in line, she’ll never be ready for the big leagues. You’ve seen it yourself—she’s slipping.”

“Keep her in line?” I repeated slowly, letting the words hang in the air like a threat. My voice dropped, dark and cold. “What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"Stop it." Josie snapped, her body a paling pink and the phantom print of her hand against my spine ringing. "I need silence to practice."

"Josie-" I said, but she shook her head and kept her eyes down.

"Both of you need to leave, please; I need to practice." She spit out the words like venom before skating away to the other side of the stadium.

I took a step closer to Dylan, ready to give the obnoxious punk a warning, when the voice of the PR head of the Titans rang through the stadium. "Jackson! I have been looking all over for you. We need photos!"

A growl rolled through my chest, and Dylan flinched out of the way as I stalked out of the stadium. That would be the last time I would ever leave Josie unprotected.