Page 104 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“I don’t love it, but you not there tears a hole in my chest. Can’t you wear gloves, or something?”
I hate wearing boxing gloves. Half the attraction is the scrape against the bag. But the catch in his voice, like me not being there actually does tear at him—I hate that more.
“Yeah, baby. I’ll wear gloves.”
God, listen to me. Who knew I could be such a dick-whipped, love-sick fool?
“Problem solved then.” There’s a pause long enough to suggest he doesn’t really believe that, maybe waiting for me to insert more about my boxing obsession. I don’t. He sits up.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“First to piss and then home. I have so much to do tomorrow, it’s ridiculous. Dad’s coming for a visit, and I love him, but seeing him’s a goddamn headache lately.”
None of that’s reason enough for me. If anything, it’s flashing warning lights that he needs me.
“Go ahead and piss, but your ass is staying here tonight.”
“Luke,” he argues.
“No. I’ll wake you up early enough, princess.”
Ace stares, jaw dropped, unable to parse out enough words to put together a response.
“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘yes, daddy’ said in that pretty purr I like, or do I have to have a conversation with you over my knee?”
Why the fuck would he think he’s going home after sex like that? He was fine after last time, so I made that the new threshold, but tonight we went beyond anything we’ve ever done. He’s staying right here where I can make sure he’s okay. He could crash in the morning, and I wouldn’t be there to help him through it.
“You’re gonna have to let me go home after sex stuffs at some point,” he sasses.
“Excuse me?” Because no, I do not. I won’t take no for an answer when it comes to his safety, and he knows it.
“Uh … um, yes, Daddy…?” he says.
“That’s what I thought. Now piss and get your ass back here. You woke up my cock, and I’m gonna fill that swollen little hole of yours again.”
“What the fuck?” he squeaks, climbing off the bed. “How do you have more stamina than I do?”
I’m gonna have to tell him what I used to do, since I’m not letting him go, but now is not the time, nor is it all that important anymore.
“Hurry up. You don’t wanna make me retrieve you, baby.”
“I don’t have any cum left, Daddy,” he complains.
“That’s fine, nobody said you were coming.”
He groans, loud and suffering, and now I’m the one chuckling into the darkness.
“Wow, you have it bad, big brother,” Tate says, when I’ve checked my phone for the seventh time. Ace has that brunch with his dad. He said he was excited to meet with him, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. I remember all too well what happened the last time he fought with his dad. I told him to message me as soon as he was done. Until then, if I can stop fucking fidgeting, I’ll call that a win. I’m trying not to do what I’d usually do and punch the shit out of a heavy bag until my hands are destroyed.
I pick at the tape and bandages.
All he had to say was that he didn’t like it, and I said I’d wear gloves. I’d rather not punch the bag at all if that’s the case. But fuck, I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t do something. How would Ace feel if I took up smoking again?
“Luke,” Tate says again, dragging out the syllables. “Earth to brooding weirdo.”
I jump. “What?”
“I said I’ll aim to bring a date to the next fundraising event. Someone respectable. Thought you’d be excited about that.” He rubs a hand over his face, letting it slide into his hair. By the state of his hair, he’s done that a few times.
