Page 99 of Off-Ice Misconduct
He tastes like sin. He tastes like my undoing.
Now that I can kiss him whenever I want, that’s all I wanna do. My tongue demands entrance, and he’s perfectly pliable beneath me. All that muscle, all that force, it’s mine. He breathes me in as I take his mouth, kissing away anyone who’s dared kiss him before me.
“You’re early,” I murmur, pressing more kisses to his face and on his neck, all the places I’ve wanted to for weeks.
“I missed you, I think. I don’t know. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’ve never been bored at a party in my life, yet there I was, trying to have fun, and I couldn’t. This is fucking weird for me.”
“You sure it’s not the lack of alcohol?” I say, between the kisses I press to his painted green collarbone. I made him promise he’d only have a drink or two, without telling him why. Because if I conjure up the courage to fuck him, I’m not doing it with him halfway from consciousness.
He shakes his head. “It’s not that. I just, fuck, Luke, you gonna make me say it?”
“Yes. If I have to admit to shit, so do you.”
“Ugh. Fine. Life is fucking colorless when you’re not with me.”
How many ways can we say the L-word without saying the L-word? I might start writing them down. But it gives me the courage I’m looking for. I grip one of his bare thighs, wrapping it around me, shoving my hand up the ludicrous leaf skirt he’s wearing. My hand meets scratchy lace, covering a thick erection.
“You wore them.”
“Um, yeah. What Daddy wants, Daddy gets,” he says, cheeks heating, barely able to meet my eyes.
I slipped a box into his duffle bag after class on Friday with a note inside:
Daddy wants to see you in these, princess.
They’re thong and specially made for men so they can hold all his bulk. Lacy pink, of course. I’ve been dying to see my princess in lacy pink.
“I’m gonna destroy you, puck bunny.” Fuck it. I need to have him. “Get your ass upstairs. We’re washing this green shit off of you.”
“You don’t want to fuck the Lord of the Jungle?” he says.
“I’m not fucking an overgrown Peter Pan.”
“Weird, everyone else wanted to.”
“That’s it. You’d better fucking run, McKinnon.”
“Gah!”
I get a spank in on his nearly bare ass, and he’s a flourish of leaves and forest green as he stampedes toward the stairs.
I followed Ace into the shower. He thought we were gonna have some sexy times in there, but he thought wrong. I’d made him remove the special panties, so they weren’t stained green, and helped him scrub until he no longer resembled a flipping orc.When I was satisfied, I made him put the panties back on, and then I turned him over my naked thighs for a spanking that shaded his bare ass sixty-two shades of red.
“There, your ass matches your panties now, baby,” I’d said proudly.
“Oh, what would I have done without your able hand, Daddy?” he said sarcastically enough that I knew he was being sassy, but not far enough over the line that I pulled out my wooden paddle. I did give him “the look”, though, the one a brat intuitively knows means it’s time to zip it and behave.
It’s stuff like that, slowly solidifying my confidence that he’s a brat after all.
Now we’re naked on my bed with only the lacy panties between us, my arms full of Ace, and I’m just savoring. The scent of him, his searing hot skin, the way the bulge in his panties hasn’t changed. And he’s being good, oh so good. I’m sure he wants to rub against me, he must be the horniest he’s ever been, but he doesn’t, tracing fingers over my tattoos to distract from his raging hard-on and blue balls.
All I have to do is roll him over, lube him up, and fuck into him until he sees the promised lands, but I fucking can’t.
This has got to be irony or hell. Maybe both.
Because no matter how much I threaten that I’d find his ass if he tried to leave me—and I would—I only really want him if he wants me too. Right now, being owned is a fantasy of his. Often, the fantasy’s better than the reality.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says.
