Page 111 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“There we go, princess. That’s better.” He hucks his wraps into his gym bag, plastering his sweaty body to mine, and risking a kiss to my lips like we’re not in the middle of a gym.
“I feel a bit dramatic now. When Shep told me, I decided love was dead. Is that true?”
“Thought you said it was dramatic?”
“Answer the question, Daddy.”
He stares into my eyes and then kisses me again. “It’s not true—hearts and shit, McKinnon.”
“Mhm. Hearts and shit, Daddy.”
He spanks my ass. “Get yourself to my place, princess, and if you’re late, I’m pulling out my paddle.”
“Wait, how long do I have?”
Luke shrugs his big shoulders with a devious twist of his lips like the menace he is.
Fucking asshole.Sigh.But he’s my fucking asshole. So, I get my ass to his place, because spanking or no spanking, I’ll enjoy every damn minute.
24
Luke
Ace only thought there was nothing left of him. As soon as he enters my temporary abode, I bend him over the counter and wrench the last of his sanity from him, making him beg for an orgasm until his voice is hoarse.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” he chants. “Please.”
I’ll never get tired of those words. Not possible. I’ll never get tired of this perfect, round ass either. I reach around to grip his cock. “Let’s see you come, baby.”
After, we shower. I’d like to dress him in something of mine, but he’ll have to leave soon, and he can’t go home in my stuff, so the clothing he brought from his bag will have to do. I make him sit on the kitchen counter beside me while I cook us a meal.
“You gonna tell me where you learned to fight like that?” he asks.
I’ve been waiting for the question. It’s a normal question, but it doesn’t have a normal answer. And this time, when we showered, he paid extra-close attention to the graphic storywritten on my skin. Most of the old scars have faded to white lines, but others remain, stubborn pink, loud tattletales.
“My uncle and his friends.” Oil sizzles in the pan, and I add my seasoned beef steaks. All the while, I feel his eyes on me, wondering if he should pursue it.
Of course, he does. He’s a curious puck bunny.
“Why do I get the sense it wasn’t a recreational activity?”
“It wasn’t.” I slide broccoli from the cutting board into the steamer, just as the rice cooker clicks, signaling the rice is done.
“Um, sounds like something you don’t like to talk about. You don’t have to.”
“I don’t like talking about it.” It’s in the past now, there’s no real reason to bring it up, but I have the undeniable urge to tell him. I want him to know me. “Our parents died when Tatum and I were young—I was eight and he was six. Only a two-year age difference, but it’s always felt colossal.”
“You protect him,” he devises.
I nod because I do in a big way. He hops off the counter when he sees I’m ready to plate up, handing me plates from the cupboard.
“Our uncle—Dad’s brother—took us in.” I shiver at the memory. I put on a brave face for Tate, but inside I was a terrified mess. I was only eight, but I felt thirty-eight. I shook Uncle Jasper’s hand instead of whatever it is kids do. It was fitting since that day marked the end of my childhood.
“You haven’t said much, but the vibe is foreboding as fuck.” Ace sets the plates on the counter, and I use tongs to place a steaming steak on each. “Is he a dickface?”
I laugh, imagining Ace calling him a dickface to his face. “Yeah, he was a dickface.”
His hand snaps out, and his thumb runs over one of the smaller scars on my wrist. “Did he leave these?”
