Page 124 of Forbidden Hockey

“Murder.”

“Travis.”

“There it is. Full name.” I’m not crazy—he does that when he’s pissed at me. Maybe he doesn’t realize he does it? “Do you want me to lie?”

“No, I just wish…” He trails off.

“Wish what?”

“That your lust for vengeance would … stop.”

“He’s my son.”

“I know.”

We’re left to stew in that silence for a while, but at least he’s in my arms. And I don’t wanna ask it, but the growing need to ask him burns in my throat until I have no other choice but to say something or incinerate.

“If I go ahead with what I’m thinking, do I risk losing you, pretty boy?” A cannonball-sized cavern bursts through my chest. My fingers dig into his arms.

Dirk sits up so he can look me in the eyes. “What did I fucking tell you, Trav? You’re it for me. I’d be pissed at you, sure, but I’d still marry you in jail or whatever. Why does everyone think the answer to a little strife means leaving?”

I know he means it. Can feel his conviction with every fiber of my being. Doesn’t stop my fingers from digging deeper.

He lets out an amused laugh. “Would you let me leave if I tried? Honest answer.”

“No. I’d give you some space, sure, but then I’d haul your ass back to where you belong. With me.”

“Hot,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, then trailing more hot kisses down my neck.

Fuck, I’m riled up now, from all of it—the Robin bullshit, Dash and Stacey, the thought of losing Dirk for one second, those searing kisses—and I need release. I pop the button of Dirk’s jeans.

“Get your ass on my cock, pretty boy,” I growl.

“But the chair arms—gah, okay!” he says when I fumble with his pants.

“These need to come off.Now.”

He stands up, shucking his jeans and boxers off in one go while I yank my desk drawer open, scramble for lube, and whip out my cock. It’s hard and ready for him. I give it a couple of short strokes before dousing it. He stares, licking his lips.

“Right here, pretty boy. It’s ready for you.”

I make him climb on; his thick thighs have to straddle the arms, and we’re too horny to bother with foreplay. He lines himself up with my cock, bearing down as he slowly sinks onto the shaft, swallowing my dick with his ass.

We moan in sync when he’s sheathed inside.

“Fuck, Trav. Feels so good to have you in me, but I dunno how I’m gonna?—”

I thrust up. He lets out a pleasure-filled cry. Yeah, he doesn’t have much leverage in this position, but I do. I’d much rather he didn’t, giving me all the control, having him at my mercy.

“You just have to hang onto me and take it, pretty boy.”

“God, oh god,” he sobs.

Gripping his ass, I move it in time with my hips, pistoning upward.

“Lift your shirt, I wanna see your nipples, wanna see you get shy.”

He obliges me, even though, yeah, he does get fucking shy. That blush isn’t just from exertion. He holds his t-shirt up with one hand, using the other to hang onto my neck.