Page 88 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“Over the desk, McKinnon.”
“Fine,” he huffs. He leans across the desk, resting on his forearms. It puts that nice round ass of his on display for me.
“Three for allowing others to touch what’s mine, two for outing us to your friend without my permission.”
“I get more for the—ow! Fuck that smarts.”
Swish crack!
Swish crack!
I crack my retractable cane slash pointer stick—a replacement one since I broke the last one—across his gorgeous ass two more times. His face contorts with pain that must sting, but probably doesn’t even register on the pain radar of a hockey player. Beating him isn’t the point. This is so he’ll have hot little welts to sit on, a reminder of who he belongs to while he carries on with his day. Something we’ll both appreciate.
He writhes a little, stepping foot to foot after I’ve delivered the fourth. I make the fifth one count.
“Fuck!”
“Language, McKinnon. Get over here.”
He stands up rubbing his ass, but instead of the pout I expected, he’s beaming. Princess loves his spankings, and I’m more than happy to give them to him.
“You ended class early just so you could do that to me?”
A lot of good it did; he hasn’t come to me as I demanded. Guess I’ll have to collect him. Using the waistband of his pants, I pull him to me.
“That was supposed to temper you, McKinnon.” I’m not allowed to kiss him, which means I want to kiss him more than I want to shove my cock into him and claim his ass. That’s saying something. I rub a thumb over his bottom lip.
“Honestly? It hurt a little, but it kinda felt good. Like…” He bites his lip, searching for the words. “Like you were branding me. I like that.”
Is it just me, or are his blue eyes ultra blue today? Fuck me, this is getting ridiculous. But they’re what snared me over the weekend, filled with an ocean of vulnerability.
I sucked his cock.
What? He deserved it, and he was pushed to his orgasm denial limit. I’m a little harder on him than I’ve been with others in the past because I know I can be, but it was time to hit the relief button.
But now he’s talking about branding. He might mean it innocently, but he’s unaware of the madness that’s taken hold of me. I don’t consider a few cane strokes a branding, but a branding could be arranged. I’d get him tattooed at the crest of his neck, just under his jaw, where everyone would see it. I push the hair off his face and drink him in. Rosy cheeks, fluttery lashes that will someday be the death of me, masculine jawline.
And that lip. Jesus H.
“If you don’t want me to kiss you, you’re gonna have to stop biting your lip.”
His bottom lip springs from the teeth that had it trapped so damn fast, and some of the sun fades from his expression.
Guess that’s still a no.
“Are you really planning on making me wait two whole fucking weeks before you fuck me?” he counters.
“Longer if you don’t learn some manners, princess.”
“Sorry, Daddy.” He blinks, manipulating me again. “But c’mon. What if the world ends?”
“No.”
“What if time and space collapse?”
“No.”
“What if your dick falls off?”
