Locker Room Confessional

MM Hockey Romance
by Chase Power

Buy Now

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Pairing: MM

Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno

Tropes: Teammates to Lovers, Praise Kink, Voice Kink, Secret Relationship, Closeted, Possessive Hero

He was never supposed to hear what happens after the lights go out.

Marcus Hale is the captain who keeps everything locked down — his game, his emotions, and a desire he’s been hiding for eleven years. He spends his nights alone, headphones on, listening to strangers’ voices in the dark. It’s the closest he lets himself get to wanting.

Evan Reyes is the rookie who can’t stop talking — on the ice, off the ice, and into a microphone after midnight, where he records erotic audio under a pseudonym to keep his family afloat. His voice has four thousand paying subscribers. His locker room fantasies about a certain grey-eyed captain are his most popular content.

When Marcus catches Evan recording in the team’s locker room after hours, he should report him. Instead, he makes an offer: his soundproofed spare room, his two years of audio expertise, and his undivided attention. He calls it coaching. Evan calls it foreplay.

Every session pushes them closer to a line they can’t uncross. Every late-night text about “pacing” says something neither of them is brave enough to say out loud. And when the internet starts connecting Evan’s anonymous voice to a real hockey player, they’ll have to decide what matters more — the performance, or the person behind it.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ Closeted captain × out rookie with a filthy side hustle
✅ Voice kink and praise kink turned up to eleven
✅ “Coaching sessions” that become very real very fast
✅ Possessive, protective MM with earned vulnerability
✅ Hockey teammates with electric on-ice chemistry
✅ A love story told through sound, silence, and the space between
✅ HEA guaranteed

Buy Now

Get the Bonus Chapter →

⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic MM scenes including oral, penetrative sex, and praise/voice kink dynamics), strong language, depictions of anxiety and career pressure, discussions of coming out and closeted experiences, and sex work themes (erotic audio creation). Intended for readers 18+.

📖 Read Chapter One Free

Not sure yet? Read the full first chapter right here.

Chapter One: After Hours

The locker room smelled different when it was empty.

During the day, it was thirty guys’ worth of sweat and wet gear and whatever body spray the rookies were drowning themselves in this week. It was loud and sharp and alive. But after eleven at night, when the arena had been dark for hours and the hallways echoed with nothing but the hum of the ice plant, the smell settled into something quieter. Cold tile. Damp concrete. The ghost of athletic tape and cedar soap that clung to the stalls like a memory.

Evan Reyes sat on the bench in front of his stall, phone propped on the shelf between his helmet and a roll of sock tape, and breathed it in.

This is why you come here, he told himself. The acoustics. The atmosphere. Not because you’re fucked in the head.

He clipped the lavalier mic to the collar of his hoodie, opened the recording app, and checked the levels. The tiny red bar jumped when he tapped the mic, and the sound bounced off the tile walls with exactly the kind of low, intimate reverb that his listeners lost their minds over.

He was a professional too. Just not the kind the Bolts’ front office knew about.

Tonight’s thread: Locker Room Overtime, Part 4.

The teammate was always the same person, though. Evan just never used his name.

He hit record.

“Hey.” His voice dropped into the register he’d spent months perfecting—low, a little rough, like he’d just woken up or just finished something that left him breathless. “You came back. I was starting to think Part 3 scared you off.”

“So here’s the thing. Everyone’s gone. Showers are off, lights are on half power, and I’m sitting in front of my locker in nothing but shorts and a hoodie because I told the guys I needed to ice my shoulder.” A quiet laugh. “I don’t need to ice my shoulder. I need to stop thinking about what happened last time.”

“You know the stall across from mine? That’s his. The captain’s.” Evan’s gaze drifted to the stall directly opposite—the one with the C stitched onto the hanging jersey, gear arranged with military precision. “I stare at it every day. I sit here and lace up my skates and pretend I’m not looking at his name on the plate and thinking about his hands.”

“He’s got these hands. Big. Rough knuckles, always taped or bruised. When he grabs my jersey during drills to pull me into position, I feel it for an hour after.”

He didn’t say Marcus. He never said Marcus. “Grey eyes” was safe. “Captain’s hands” was deniable. The listeners didn’t need a name—they needed the fantasy.

“‘Because I want you to pin me against these lockers and make me forget my own name.’”

“His thumb is on my bottom lip. Just resting there. And he says—in that voice, God, that voice—‘Tell me to stop.’”

“—he wraps his hand around me and says, ‘Good boy.’”

The moan that followed was not scripted. It came from a place Evan didn’t fully understand—a place where the fantasy of Marcus Hale’s hand and the reality of his own had blurred into something that made his spine arch.

“He drops to his knees.” Evan’s voice was barely a whisper now. “The captain of the Bridgeport Bolts gets on his knees on the locker room floor and looks up at me with those grey eyes and says, ‘I want to taste you. Tell me I can taste you.’”

He reached over with his clean hand and stopped the recording.

The locker room was silent. The ice plant hummed.

Then he texted Mia.

Evan: new track. locker room series. this one’s going to hit

Mia: recorded AT the locker room again?

Evan: the acoustics mia. you don’t understand

Mia: i understand that you’re going to get caught and fired and then you’ll have great acoustics in the unemployment office

Evan: the unemployment office has terrible reverb actually

He was passing the training room when he saw it.

Light under the door.

Then the light clicked off.

Evan bolted.

But the footsteps had been heavy. Deliberate. The stride of someone who moved like they were still on the ice.

Evan turned the radio up loud enough to drown out the thought and drove home to his apartment, where his sisters were asleep and his walls were thin and the only voice in his head was his own, saying good boy in a register that belonged to someone else entirely.

Want to keep reading? The full novel is available now.

Buy Locker Room Confessional