Page 93 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“Or you wait until the next opportunity—with no guarantee there is one—but I’ll knock that extra day off you earned for telling your friend about us without my permission.”
“I’m crazy, but I’m going with option two. I hope it relays how badly I want you to fuck me. Any chance I can earn more days off?”
“I give you an inch, you take a mile.”
“Just wondering, Daddy.”
He shrugs as I continue to play with his cock, rubbing my thumb over the head. “Maybe. Just focus on being a good boy, that’s all you need to worry about.”
“Can I stay with you for a bit? Or am I getting kicked out right away for barging in?”
Right. I was in the middle of dinner. It’ll probably be cold by now. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay, fed, and hydrated.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“The shit we do is intense, McKinnon. An adrenaline rush. Sometimes there’s fallout.” I watched him like a hawk on the bus all the way home, and texted him a few times once we were back.
I run fingers through his shaggy hockey hair, wanting to kiss his crown so bad. Just a little press of my lips. He said other places were okay, but I haven’t yet, as if it’s too sacred a thing.
“My whole life is an adrenaline rush. I doubt you have to worry, but if it means I get to stay, then worry all you want.”
“I plan on it, punk—with or without your permission. Me taking care of you after sex will never be negotiable.”
He wiggles backward as if I’m a pillow he’s trying to snuggle into. “You’ll never hear a complaint from me about that one.”
19
Ace
“Good evening, maggots,” I address the crowd of shaking pledges. All fifty of them are on the ground, knees sunken into the cold mud in the backyard of our frat house, hands interlaced behind their heads. Some of them are first-year hockey players who are pretty much guaranteed a space in our frat, so long as they can pay the dues and participate in frat week. We’re unofficially known as the hockey fraternity, and we bring in recruits later than most of the houses do because of our grueling hockey schedules.
We’re not suuuuuper mean, but we keep the hazing tradition because everyone agrees every year—we vote and revote on it—that it was during the hazing we bonded with who eventually became our tightest friends, and solidified deeper bonds with friends we came here with from high school. It became a fond core memory, and we liked surviving it. We still have a large frat paddle that we casually leave in view, but it hasn’t been used since my parents went to this school. Which means it’s neverbeen used on me, but I’ve always been curious what it would feel like. Wonder how I could sneak it over to Luke’s?
Fuck, focus, McKinnon.
But focusing is harder than usual, because I’m harder than usual.
A week ago, Luke declared “open season” on my ass—his wording, not mine. The fucker totally did it to increase the already out of control arousal burning through me at every second of every day. It worked, too. Every time we meet up, I’m wondering if this could be the day. Even the times he’s “held me after class”, I envision him tossing me over the desk, ripping my slacks down—the ones he still makes me wear for class—and shoving his juicy cock in.
I mean, that last one’s unlikely, I know that, but in my horny, twenty-four-year-old male mind, it’s battling for second place on my list of top five ways I’m hoping he’ll take me. Fuck, the things we’ve done already. He’s the filthiest fucker I’ve ever met, and I’m loving every dirty second.
And.
And.
God.
There are other things in play I can’t explain.
Like, so, he’s been calling me princess this whole time. It began as a way to make sure I knew my place, but—and he’ll deny this—it became an endearment. I melt a little every time he says it while experiencing lust like never before. But over the past week, it’s changed again, and I don’t know how to articulate it. He’s also added the word “my” to it. My princess.
“Doesmyprincess like to have his hole licked?”
First, yes, his princess does. Second, the “my” thing … it makes me feel his in a new way. An elevated way. I consider myself his property, but this is like that with feelings.
Shep fucking called it weeks ago, but I didn’t want to admit what the bubble in my chest could mean. And I’m so damn mad about it that I’ve lived in denial. But Luke just … does it for me. He’s all I can think about.
Mom always told me she fell for Dad in a heartbeat. I thought all that stuff was either bullshit, or shit that only happens to people like my parents. Y’know, once in a lifetime kind of shit.
