Page 74 of Off-Ice Misconduct
I chuckle. “Do you?” It wouldn’t matter to me. Besides the fact that I’m equally as into women as I am men, I don’t care what McKinnon’s gender is. I’m just into him. But imagining him as a woman is not why I call him princess.
“No … but I like it when you call me that, in your wolf-like voice.”
“Noted,” I say, combing my fingers through his hockey mane. He needs to calm down a bit, or his dick might explode, and this lesson will go to waste. “What do you think you like about it?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to fantasize about it, and every time Fantasy You says it, I get an embarrassed thrill. Like, I’m clearlynot a princess, but I am for you because you make me. Oh god, I’m gonna come.”
My hand connects with his round ass. There’s a nice jiggle, but the sound is muffled by his clothes. “No, you’re not.”
“But eventually, yeah?” he whines.
“Gotta earn it, princess.”
“Fuck yeah, Daddy.”
I’ve got to work on his mouth, but he’s making this easy. If I’d known all Ace needed was a little orgasm denial, I would have made it part of the program on day one.
“Good, then we agree. I’m going to torture you, you’re not going to come, and you’ll learn that Daddy means business.”
He’s smiling way too widely for someone about to be tortured, which is exactly why he needs to learn. I tug on his sweats. “Take these off. Lay face down on the bed.”
McKinnon winks, stepping out of his sweatpants and laying them on the bed. He’s next, lying on his stomach, pillowing his arms under his face.
God his ass is perfect. He wiggles it to tempt me. “You don’t know what I’m going to do to you, don’t make it worse.”
He shows no fear. “I once played an entire period with a cracked radial bone. I think I’ll be fine.”
McKinnon can’t see me, but I shake my head anyway. “Your mouth and cocky attitude are gonna get you in trouble.”
“If this is trouble, sign me up, Daddy.”
Fuck, maybe I’m the one in trouble. I fish lube from my bag, and a knife.
“Whoa, what the fuck?” But he doesn’t jump up; he can’t be that worried about the knife. He continues to peer over his shoulder, watching me.
“I’m not going to hurt you with it, don’t worry, princess,” I say in a voice meant to mock him just a little. “I thought you were Mr. Plays Hockey with Cracked Bones, hmm?”
“What kind of psychopath brings a knife like that on a college hockey trip? Hey!”
I guess it’s a bit overkill, but I don’t like to go anywhere without this one. It’s got a fat, serrated blade with a hooked tip. Very handy if shit goes south, and for what I’m doing now.
There’s a loudriiiiipsound as I pull the cotton away from his plump ass just enough, so I can cut a slice up his boxers. It splits them open, exposing his crease. McKinnon’s got a nice trail of hair on either side—maybe we’ll have to wax this.
Or leave it.
I’ll decide later.
I help myself to his hole, poking my finger into the tear I’ve cut through his boxers.
“Mmmm,” he moans. “Yeah. Fuck.” His hips buck into the mattress.
I crack my other hand over his ass cheek. “Bad.Hold still.”
“But I like your finger. It’s rough,” his husky voice rasps.
“You need to learn self-control,” I mutter, but I snap open the lube and drizzle some over his hole, slipping a finger inside. A pleasure-filled cry heaves from his lungs, and his muscles strain, arms squeezing the pillow underneath him. It takes Herculean effort for him not to hump the mattress.
“Okay,” he breathes. “I’ve fucked around and now I’m finding out. Message received.”
