Page 44 of Off-Ice Misconduct
I plant my hands on his shoulders.
“Can I help you?” he says.
“Actually, I was thinking I’d help you. Y’know, as a thank you.”
“McKinnon,” he warns, stiffening beneath me.
I shift, tightening my hips, trying to relieve some of the ache in my groin. That’s when I feel it. The very obvious hardness beneath the thin cotton between us. I flinch. I knew he wanted me, but now I have proof.
And wow. I knew he’d be big, but he’s bigger than big.
His face remains like stone, brow furrowed, and for the first time, I think I’ve captured him instead of the other way around. It’s like he’s afraid to move. I don’t want him to push me off, I want to stay right here, so I approach carefully.
“Are you going to admit it?”
“Admit what?” The smirk on his face tells me everything. He can’t hide this smug glee. His hand reaches out to trace the faint bruising still on my face from the rubber bullets. “All I’ll say is the next time they hurt you, they’ll have more to worry about than a sinking ship. Up.”
I groan. “Why? I wanna play.”
“Office hours are to help you; they’re not for fooling around.”
“You need to watch more porn.”
“Now, Ace.”
Ace.He just called me Ace. I’m shocked enough to climb off his lap and sit in my chair. He slides another essay prompt my way, and I’m already thinking about what I’ll draw for him.
Wait, I know.
A cartoon penis in a cape.
10
Luke
I’m in trouble. So much fucking trouble. It shouldn’t have taken every ounce of my willpower to shove him off my lap, but it did. I spent the hour afraid to move, afraid to breathe too hard in case I let my coiled muscles loose, pouncing him, ripping down his pants, and fucking him over the desk.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I reanimate. A pained exhale drags from my lungs, and I’m fucking tempted to do something about the situation I have going on in my pants. Instead, I rub a hand over my face, leaning over my desk, arms braced against the wood, hoping it’ll ground me.
It doesn’t.
My body’s still on fire with the phantom pressure of him on my lap. The weight of him. His unique McKinnon scent. The way his thighs bracketed mine, rocking his hips, not in a calculated seduction, but like he couldn’t help himself. He was aching, and now I am too. All the while that mark, the one I sucked onto his neck, stared at me.
It wasn’t just a claim, it was a warning.
But today, he captured me, and that’s a problem. This was supposed to be clean and controlled, but Ace’s chaos enveloped me and dragged me in, blew my rules to smithereens. Our cocks touched and he knew it. He tried to tease me, break me.
I want him more than I want to be a good man. I’m already halfway to hell as it is. I’m wrecked on the inside, working my fingers to the bone on the heavy bag to obliterate all traces of him, but it’s not working. Tracing the knuckles, I stare at the places the blood’s seeped through my hasty tape job. He saw them, touched them. He was curious but left me to my demons as if some sixth sense was whispering to him that my battered hands were his fault. That I’ve chosen him, but wish there was a way I could choose anything else.
My fist slams into the desk. The stale mug of coffee jumps, and I glare at the papers he left until I spy something. Another drawing—me in a cape.
Well, me as a penis in a cape.
I smirk and snatch it up, adding it to the growing collection in my bag.
“Mind if I join you?” Tate asks.
Since my afternoon boxing session didn’t do shit, I’m having an evening boxing session. There’s barely any skin left on my fucking knuckles, but what else am I supposed to do? I have to get rid of these feelings I have for McKinnon. With my reason standing in front of me—Tate—it should be easier.
