Page 121 of Forbidden Hockey

Trav’s teeth bite down, rough, sinking into my lower lip. It throbs in time with the heat in my ass cheeks from the lick of his belt. Copper tang floods my mouth, and I chase his hand with my ass, sticking it out, wanting him to slip something—anything—in there. Preferably his cock.

“Mhm, you want it, don’t you, baby? Want me to wreck you?”

“Yes. Please.”

He lets go, pushing me over the bed with one solid shove to the middle of my back. My hands land palm down. I’m already panting. He kicks my feet apart, dropping, teeth plunging into the tender part of my thigh. I cry out, my ab muscles clenching. He’s quick to soothe the fresh mark with his tongue.

“A mark for every day I was gone,” he says. “Will that be enough to get through to you?”

I’m still catching my breath; I may never catch my breath around Trav. He doesn’t give me time to answer, teeth sinking into the tender area on my other thigh. A bite. Hard. I scream.

“God fucking dammit, Nolan.”

There’s a devious chuckle from behind me. He’s not done marking me. He won’t stop till every inch of me is covered. Guess it’s gonna be t-shirts at the beach this fucking summer.

“Tell me,” he snarls, licking and sucking over his artwork. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You. Fuck, I’m fucking yours, Trav,” I sob, choking on words, and spit, and blood. “I’ll always be yours.”

Trav takes me apart, piece by fucking piece, making good on his promise to ruin me until there’s nothing left but want. My miserable cock throbs hard, desperate for his touch, but I don’t get it yet. He bites and sucks, bites and sucks until the screams rub like gravel against my raw throat. There’s a click and then stark wetness between my cheeks. Two rough fingers spiral their way inside. I rest on my forearms, so I can perk my ass up higher.

I’m high on sensation. My ass throbs, my thighs, my lip, even my throat’s all scraped up, and my lungs burn, but now he’s adding pleasure to the mix, intent on carving his way into my psyche.

He buries his cock between my cheeks—not into my hole where I want it most—and he leans over me, gripping my throat in one hand, not to choke me, to claim me. His hips move a little, just enough to make me whine.

“Beg.”

“Please. I need … need your cock so bad. Please. I want you inside. Hurt me. Use me.”

Trav pulls back and, in one smooth thrust, slides in halfway. “That’s it, relax, pretty boy.”

I bear down, he pulls out and slides in again, this time all the way, his hips meet sharply with the marks he left with his belt on my cheeks. When he’s in, he pauses, the whole world sighs. Everything’s right again. But that’s all the peace between us. He pulls back and drills his cock into my ass.

His grip on my throat keeps me locked in place, pinned under the weight of his possession. All I can do is take his cock. And I do, over and over. A growl is all the warning I get, teeth sinking into my shoulder, and he fills me. We collapse on the bed, with him still inside me. I feel him everywhere, so owned, so his already, but he curls around me, the sheets cool by comparison to our slick, hot skin.

He buries his lips into my hair, pressing a kiss so gentle, you’d never suspect him of doing all the things he just did to me. He wraps a hand around my still hard cock, not playing with it, just holding it because it’s his, too, just like the rest of me.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet, not by far,” he murmurs. “How’s your … everywhere?”

I laugh. “Sore, but fucking good. This is what I wanted, to feel you. I needed that.”

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Travis

With my cock inside of him, I slowly stroke him to the edge, and back off. I take my time, worshiping all the places I hurt, and then stroke him some more. When he finally comes, his limbs are limp. But I’ve got two weeks of pent-up desire for him to make up for. He’s not getting off easy tonight. I flip him on his back and fuck him some more, until my name’s unrecognizable on his lips.

Only then do I allow him to sleep as I rub aloe into his sore muscles.

Somehow, all that violence? Turned my irascible realist into a ray of fucking sunshine. He could compete with Jack this morning for the Little Miss Optimist title.

“Oh, here, Penny. Let me get that for you,” he says, opening the door for her, letting her into the kitchen.

“What happened to your lip?”

Dirk’s eyes take on a hazy film as if he’s imagining what I did to his lip last night, and more.