Sugar Baby for the Ice King

Chapter 4

ROSALIE

Realising I had absolutely no leverage, I cautiously climbed onto the edge of the massive bed, pulling the ridiculously soft comforter up to my chin.

Rhett exhaled a long, exhausted breath and climbed in on the absolute opposite side, lying perfectly rigid on his back like a statue.

For ten minutes, there was absolute silence. And for those ten minutes, I was slowly going insane.

Then, my stomach let out a loud, empty, echoing growl.

In the dark, I heard Rhett’s jaw click shut. "Are you kidding me?"

"I didn't get to eat the cupcakes," I whispered into the dark.

A long pause stretched between us.

Then, with a fierce, dramatic groan, the billionaire tech mogul and ruthless hockey captain threw off the covers, stood up, and stormed toward the door.

"Where are you going?" I called out. Hoping he hadn’t changed his mind about the deal.

"To find whatever is left in that godforsaken smart fridge," Rhett barked from the hallway. "Before your stomach triggers an earthquake."

Sitting up in his massive bed, wrapped in his scent of winter frost, a tiny, involuntary smile tucked at the corner of my lips.

The Ice King was supposed to be a monster but he was currently hunting for midnight snacks.

A few minutes later, Rhett stormed back into the bedroom. He was carrying a sleek silver tray holding a plate of neatly sliced green apples, a jar of peanut butter, and a couple of artisanal crackers. It was arranged with the same terrifying, geometric precision as his furniture.

He set the tray on the nightstand with a sharp click.

"Eat," he ordered, his voice dropping into that dangerous, gravelly register. "And do it silently. If I hear a single crunch, Rosalie, I swear to God I will put you out on the balcony."

Embarrassed but utterly starving, I reached for an apple slice. I dipped it in the peanut butter and took a bite.

CRUNCH.

In the quiet bedroom, it sounded like a firecracker going off.

Rhett’s head snapped toward me. His jaw was so tense a thick vein throbbed violently along his neck. "What did I just say?"

"I'm trying!" I whispered back defensively, chewing as softly as humanly possible. "It's an apple! Apples are physically incapable of being silent!"

Rhett let out a dark, frustrated growl. Before I could process what he was doing, he shifted his massive frame closer to me.

The sheer heat radiating off his bare chest rolled over my shivering skin. He snatched the apple slice right out of my hand.

"You are a menace," he muttered, his icy grey eyes locking onto mine.

He scooped a tiny bit of peanut butter onto a cracker, balancing it perfectly. Then, his large, taped fingers hovered just an inch from my lips. "Open."

My eyes widened.

The ruthless Ice King of the NHL, a man who literally broke bones for a living, was currently hovering over me in the dark, trying to micromanage how I ate a snack. It was so absurd I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my throat.

But one look at his lethal, unblinking glare told me that laughing right now would be a death wish.

I bit my lip, holding back the chuckle, and obediently parted my mouth.

Rhett carefully slid the cracker past my lips. His thumb lightly brushed against my bottom lip as he pulled his hand away. The brief touch felt like a jolt of pure electricity, making my breath hitch.

"Chew slowly," he commanded, his eyes tracking the movement of my throat as I swallowed. "Don't open your mouth."

He didn't give me a chance to answer. He picked up another apple slice, placing it gently between my teeth. He fed me the entire plate, piece by piece, with an intense, unwavering focus. It was an incredibly intimate, dominant act masked as pure annoyance.

I sat there completely frozen under his intense gaze, my heart doing dangerous acrobatics against my ribs.

When the tray was finally empty, he handed me a glass of water. "Drink."

I took a few quiet sips, never breaking eye contact. He took the glass back, set it down, and finally exhaled a heavy breath.

"Now. Sleep," he barked, turning his back to me and lying down on his side of the bed.

I lay back down, pulling the heavy comforter up to my chin. The room fell perfectly silent again. But the air between us had completely changed.

An hour passed. I was finally drifting off into a deep sleep when the storm outside took a violent turn.

A massive, blinding flash of lightning illuminated the entire master suite, immediately followed by a thunderclap so loud and violent it felt like the glass tower was splitting in two.

Startled out of my sleep, my survival instinct took over. I let out a sharp gasp and flinched violently away from the window, throwing my body toward the center of the bed.

At the exact same moment, Rhett had started to turn around to check on me.

We collided in the dark with a breathless impact.

My hands instinctually scrambled for purchase, landing flat against his bare, heavily muscled chest. The heat of his skin burned through my palms. Before I could pull away, the momentum tangled our legs together, and I slipped, sliding directly underneath him.

The world spun. When it stopped, Rhett was hovering directly over me, his massive weight pinning me into the plush mattress.

Another flash of lightning lit up the room, casting sharp shadows across his face. His dark hair fell forward, brushing against my forehead.

His chest was heaving against mine and his large hands came down on either side of my head, pinning my hair to the pillow.

He was breathing heavily, his hot breath fanning across my face, smelling faintly of the winter frost cologne.

"Rosalie," Rhett growled, his voice lower and darker than I had ever heard it. It wasn't the voice of a businessman or a hockey captain. It was the voice of a predator.

"It was the thunder," I whispered before he could say more, my voice trembling as my fingers curled into the muscles of his shoulders. “Please, don’t end the deal. I…I am just unstable for today...”

Rhett didn't move. Instead, his gaze dropped to my mouth, his eyes darkening to a near-black shade. His body hardened against mine.

He leaned down a fraction of an inch, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "If you keep looking at me like that, Rosalie," he warned, his grip on the mattress tightening until the fabric strained, "I am going to break rule number three tonight. And I won't apologise for it tomorrow."