Page 64 of Forbidden Hockey
“Believe me, one day I’m taking your ass over that desk, pretty boy. But not today.”
I know he’s got grand ideas of chivalry. He thinks that if we’re in a bed for our first time together, it’s going to have more significance. I don’t give a fuck. I just wanna be owned inside and out by this man. I don’t care if he does it over his desk, in the washrooms beside the bar, or in the alley behind the restaurant. I want to be his to take, whenever and wherever.
Besides, sex is sex. We’ve done that as far as I’m concerned, the moment he put his mouth on my dick. Is this because he’s forty-something? Some … older person thing?
But I guess right now isn’t the best time anyway, with so many people in the restaurant.
As if to verify that paranoia, there’s a sound outside the door. We pull away, freezing. False alarm.
God fucking dammit. I wanna punch something.
“That’s your cue to go,” he says, but he’s smiling as his brutish hand comes down hard on the side of my ass.
“Mother—ow!” Maybe I’ll punch him. But then my eyes land on his neck and panic seizes me. “Shit, Trav. Uh, I went a little hard. Sorry.”
On the side of his neck sits a pinkish mark that’s definitely from my mouth. Honestly, though? It’s hard to feel too sorry about it. My fingers brush over it, enthralled. I want to lay down about a million more of these, mark him up real good. A bright red warning for everyone to keep their hands off him. It’s also about the only place I can put a mark like this and have it show up. Most of Trav’s body’s covered in tattoos, but his neck is tattoo-free on the left side.
He grips my hand, pulling the knuckles to his lips. “S’okay. That’s where my long hair comes in handy. Speaking of long hair, what are the chances you’d grow this out for me, pretty boy?”
I swear to fuck, my heart flutters. My cheeks heat, too, almost as if I’m getting shy, but I don’t get shy. Dear God. What’s happening to me? Trav turns my insides to mush.
“You know I always grow it out for the season.”
Trav shakes his head. “Let me make myself a little clearer.” His voice is low, just a deep rumble. He slides his fingers into what’s left of my hockey mullet after my end-of-season barbershop massacre until pain prickles the roots. “People can think you’re growing it out for the season, but that won’t be the real reason; it’ll be because your man wants something to hold while he fucks your mouth.”
Holy shit. The shiver straight through to my cock. How does he think I’m gonna walk outta here normally after that? My cock is about to die due to blood overload. Or something. Is that a thing? Feels like a thing.
A delicious sensation curls into my belly. “Yes. Yeah. Uh-huh,” I say, barely able to form words.
“Good. Glad we got that figured out.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips.
And I do my best to leave his office and not let on that I have the world’s worst fucking case of blue balls.
“Hey, Dirky. Did, uh, Dad say anything interesting to you?” Dash asks later when we’re at the house.
A lightning jolt of panic sets my heart off in a gallop. I do my best not to let it show on my face by keeping an even stonier countenance than I usually do.
“’Bout what?”
“That fucking hickey on his neck. The one his hair was hiding. Didn’t even notice it till the end of the day.”
Shit. I knew that was gonna bite us in the ass, but sounds like he thinks he only missed it earlier and not that it appeared mid shift.
“It’s kinda weird that you’re so involved with your dad’s love life.” I hate that I have to throw him off the scent in any fucking way possible. Is it because I feel bad? Actually, no. I know Dash inside and out. After he gets over the weirdness, he’ll be happy for us. I hate throwing him off, because I’m dying to tell him.
He’s such a terrible secret keeper, though. All I need is for him to accidentally out me to Hunter like he has with countless other shit.
Dash pushes me. “Um, yeah. Whoever he ends up with will be my stepmom or stepdad.”
When I say I’m biting my lip in half to keep from laughing my ass off…
Shit. Of all the things,thatdidn’t occur to me. If—in some wild stroke of luck—all this works out for Trav and me, I’d be my best friend’s stepdad. That’s fuckinghiiilarious.
I need to get my shit together and deflect him somehow, though, because he’s looking at me funny. He doesn’t already suspect me, does he? No, he’d be flipping out a lot harder if he did. Because, yeah, he’d be okay with it, but he’d still have a bird.
“It’s also fucking weird that you think he’d talk about his love life with me.”
“But you’re good friends. Honestly? I’m jealous of how close you are with him sometimes. You’re supposed to be my friend, but you hang out with him more.”
