Page 54 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“Believe me, I know, and I’ll keep my boundaries current, but no. Mind not changed. I might be crazy, but I kinda love-hate the torture.”
“In that case, no touching your dick without my permission, understood?”
He sighs. “Yes, Daddy.”
I wrap my arms around him, knowing I have to release him soon. I don’t want to. “I tell you that you can’t touch your dick, and you purr like a kitten. I expected complaining, tantrums, epic brattery.”
“I’m sure all that will come, but it’s hard to complain about anything right now, Daddy.”
The early October chill is out there somewhere, and, without my Mackinaw, I should feel it biting my bare skin. Instead, it’s just the rise and fall of his chest, the boom of my heartbeat, and his fingers clenched tightly, bunching my t-shirt.
13
Ace
The game with North Point’s tonight, but all I can think about is Luke. Luke. Luke, Luke, Luke. There’s a new feeling, thrumming a constant buzz through my veins like a superpower. I can do anything, be anything, wow. And is it just me, or does the air smell better? Is that because the weather’s changing? Dunno. Didn’t notice it last year. But on the way to everything this week—classes, practice, training—I’ve stopped to appreciate the wonders of the fucking world. The birds, the trees, the frost-bitten blades of grass. It’s all new, leaving a taste of awe in my throat.
Speaking of my throat, Luke’s artwork’s fading. I want new ones. Did the guys grind my gears about them? Yes. They’ve tried wearing me down, tryna find out who, but I told them “wild Benduovr hookup”. I’ve alluded to the fact we may hook up again, since I know we will.
“This weekend, I expect chapters one through ten to be read and annotated. There will be a quiz on Monday morning,” Luke’s gravel voice says, grating against my relentlessly aching cock.
Wait, shit. The weekend. I haven’t run the weekend by Luke. I’m supposed to ask him for permission to attend parties. My brain had already stamped the party as “in the clear” when Coach didn’t mention any surprise fundraisers. He finally emailed out a list but warned us there could be more.
But I still need to clear it with Luke. Funny bubbles pop in my tummy.
Class drones on, and I’m intently listening to the sound of his voice but not hearing a word. Luke’s dreamy. Especially when he wears his mountain gear to class. Tall hiking boots, cargo pants, and a red and black checkered flannel rolled up to the crests of his biceps. He’s allowed a little of his beard to grow back. Not a lot. Only enough to dust over his perfect jawline and infuse it with top-tier masculinity.
Fuck, and he’s all mine.
But the only way I’m gonna get the chance to talk to him before the game without triggering suspicion is if I get in trouble in class.
But Luke’s a sadist. Real or not, he’ll delight in using it as an opportunity to keep me in orgasm denial hell.
Yeah, that.
It’s been three days. I’m a twenty-four-year-old male used to masturbating multiple times a day. But, fuck me. Knowing I’m being good for him has an appeal I never thought I’d enjoy. It’s like he’s always with me, one of those massive hands wrapped around my cock.
I pull out my phone and answer text messages like I’d rather be doing anything else, when really, watching what I now call “The Luke Show”, uninhibited, is the highlight of my damn day.
“McKinnon, since you have the attention span of a gnat, you’ll stay after class.”
Perfect.But I can’t let on that I’m happy about it, so just to be on the safe side …
“Maybe if something interesting was going on, I wouldn’t have trouble paying attention, sir.”
Several gasps echo around the room.
Shit, was that too far? Fuck, might have been too far if that look on Luke’s face is anything to go by.
“Don’t worry, what I have to say to you after class is going to be plenty interesting.”
More bubbles. More fuzziness.Sigh.Fucking epic.
Class files out, but I remain seated. He shuts the door behind the last student and turns to face me, studying the smirky smile lighting my face. There’s a split second where I think he’ll lay into me, but he crooks a finger instead.
“Get your ass down here, McKinnon.”
Gladly. I grab my bag and race down the stairs, dropping my duffle, and turn into a flying squirrel as I leap for him. He wraps his arms around me.
