Two Minutes for Holding: An MM Hockey Penalty Box Tension Erotic Novel

I hunt him across the ice like prey. That fleet-footed forward with his razor sarcasm and eyes that dare me to break him. Every shift, I slam him into the boards, feel his body yield then rebound, fueling the rage I've worn like armor for years. It's my role. Enforcer. Destroyer. But his isolation haunts me, mirrors my own cold facade, and I crave the man beneath the skates.

Two minutes in the penalty box changes everything. Arena roars fade to our heavy breaths, sweat-slick chests heaving inches apart, gloves discarded in the humid trap. Hatred boils over into something forbidden - my knuckles grazing his thigh, his glare turning molten. Bro-code screams no. Teammates would bury us. Yet my hand fists his jersey, pulling him into the collision we've both denied.

Equipment room after the game. Blood-streaked ice from our sacrificial clash lingers in my mind as his fingers probe my bruises, rough but tender. I pin him against lockers, mouths crashing, his surrender tasting like victory laced with venom. Hotel sheets swallow us later - tangled limbs, his nails raking my back, breaths ragged with confessions neither dares voice. He's my ruin, the rival who sees my vulnerability when no one else does.

Championship dreams dangle by our restraint. One leaked glance, one reckless night exposed, and teams fracture, reputations bleed out like rink-edge crimson. I want to possess him wholly, body arching under mine in desperate rhythm, but love like this? It could end us both.

What if quenching this fire means watching him burn without me?

A full-length rivals-to-lovers sports erotica featuring a brutal hockey enforcer and his elite forward rival.

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E-bog: 26. april 2026