Page 95 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“I mean it’s not just the way it is. You’re an athlete. You need sleep just as much as good nutrition and exercise. Go lie down until your next class, McKinnon.”
My mouth doesn’t work. It’s clear that’s not a suggestion, but I’ve never skipped a training session, even that one time I had food poisoning and had to run to the bathroom to puke my guts out between sets.
I could say no, I guess. But there’s a curdle in my gut at the thought. For once, it has nothing to do with whether he’ll fuck me, but because I know that his order comes from a place of pure concern. Telling him no is like telling him to fuck his feelings, which leaves me with three options: Do what he says, convince him otherwise, or lie.
I don’t want to do option one or three, but I don’t think I’ll have much luck with option two.
He’s still squinting at me as if he’s mentally plucking my every thought from my brain.
“I don’t trust you, McKinnon. I expect you at my place in fifteen minutes. That’ll give you the time you need to send a text to your hockey brethren, tell them you’re not coming, and walk—not run—to my place in a way that won’t out us to the entire campus.”
“But—”
“No buts.” His thumb brushes over my lips. “I’ll see you there, McKinnon.”
He turns heel, marching his massive form out the door. There’s always a moment when I think he won’t fit through the door, but then he does. Barely.
Wait, he has a class after this one, is he just gonna not go? Man, okay, Shep might be right. He isn’t the best professor when it comes to everything else besides being smart. But, d’awwww, he’s doing it for me.
Yep, fucking burly-ass teddy bear.
“You didn’t have to drag me to your place to watch me sleep,” I grouse when I trounce down the stairs, refreshed and ready for life again.
“I did. Tell me you would have obeyed me otherwise.”
I am sooooo not falling into that trap, so I flutter my long lashes and distract him with a goofy grin.
“Wat’cha got there, Daddy?”
Giving me a look that means he thinks I’m ridiculous, he hands me a cold glass of purple something instead of an answer. I’m not picky, so I take a sip. It’s berries, banana, and another flavor. Vanilla, maybe? “This is fucking good.”
Luke watches me with quiet eyes I can’t read.
“You’re making me nervous. If you’re pissed at me, could you just tell me?”
He crosses his arms, leaning against the counter. “I’m not mad, I’m frustrated.”
“That sounds just as bad.”
“It’s not. Come to Daddy, gorgeous.”
He’s never … fuck when he says that … shit, I might be short circuiting. I set the smoothie down and force my shaky legs to carry me over to him. Somehow, I know he’ll find my lips with his thumb. It’s the first thing he does before gripping me by the small of my back and pulling us together until our crotches meet. He’s hard, and so am I. It takes all my hockey god willpower not to rub against him, something that’ll surely earn me some kind of demerits in Luke’s reward and punishment system.
“How long till the pledge week shit is over with?”
“Saturday’s the last day.”
He shakes his head. “Ballerina tutus? Really?”
It’s not hard to spot the pledges all over campus in their attire. “Thought you’d like a parade of pretty princesses all over campus, Daddy.”
“Nuh-uh. I have my pretty princess, and he’s the only one I need. But that reminds me, open your neck, baby.”
I respond to his voice on command by this point, opening my neck for him. His lips attach themselves and they suck. Hard. The sensation barrels in a wave straight for my cock and there’s a bit of pain as he tugs with his teeth and renews the marks he likes to leave. When he releases me, there’s a delicious throb.
“You possessive bastard,” I say, rubbing over the wet spot on my neck where a hickey’s probably already sprouted. I don’t know what brought it on, but that was a burst of jealousy if I’ve ever seen one.
“If a bunch of cute first-year pledges are lusting after you, thinking they’re getting into your pants at whatever inane party your house throws Saturday, they’re wrong.”
