Page 57 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“Like I’m good.”
I blink, throat tightening. “You are.”
He shuts his eyes for a second, like maybe that word hurts more than the raw skin. Then, without warning, he pulls me against his chest. I don’t say anything, letting myself fit there, against him, so he can breathe me in.
“I want to tell you something,” he murmurs into my hair. “But not yet.”
“Okay.”
“If I tell you now, I’ll ruin this. You’re happy, and I’m not ready to be the reason that changes.”
My chest aches, but I nod. “Yeah, I get it.”
“You can touch your dick tonight, McKinnon,” he says, swiftly changing the subject.
“But … I thought?—”
“There will be plenty of other opportunities for me to play with your dick.”
“That’s not nearly as fun.”
“How long are you willing to wait?”
“However long you tell me to, um, so long as my dick doesn’t fall off.”
“There are no known health consequences to ‘blue balls’.”
“What? There’s gotta be.”
“Nope. Look it up. Anything you’ve heard or read in your dirty sex books is a myth, fiction, or facts made up for erotic pleasure.”
“I don’t have dirty sex books,” I insist. But I may have read one or two that may have said something about that. I may have believed it.
“You will be miserable, though, that’s not made up.”
I let out a pathetic sound—something I’ve started to do a lot since meeting him—and finally rest my head on his shoulder like I did the other day. I like it here. “I wanna wait.”
“Okay, but if that’s what you want, it’s off the table now until the next time I decide.”
I’m probably gonna hate myself later, but I can’t find it in me to care right now. “Yes, Daddy.”
“I might decide I don’t want you coming for a whole month.”
My jaw works, trying to find words. “But, but, you won’t, right?”
“Believe me, I would. Your suffering gets me going like you wouldn’t believe. It pleases me so much that you’d willingly suffer for me, princess.”
There go my lungs. One of them burst. It has to have. Preen doesn’t encompass what my insides are doing. Combined with the sea of butterflies doing gymnastics in my stomach, I don’t know how I’m standing upright.
That’s why I do this, all of it. The feeling I get when I know I’ve pleased him. I’m flying, and I’m not even on the ice.
He toys with my bottom lip again. Ever since I told him he couldn’t kiss me, he’s become fascinated with my lips. Obsessed with them. Before that day, when he was definitely gonna kick my ass to the curb, I wanted him to kiss me so damn bad. Fuck, I was begging him. I wanted the intimacy of it.
But all it took was that split second of recoil. All my internal protective mechanisms kicked in, slamming the intimacy door shut.
Hell, I wasn’t even gonna let him leave me. I would have clung on, been annoying as hell, because I know the truth he won’t admit. He wants me. Heneedsme.
But needing someone doesn’t stop them from leaving. It would have been bad enough as it was, but at least we hadn’t kissed.
