Page 19 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

Ace

“ Y ou’re in so much fucking trouble,” he growls. Does he know he does that? The growling thing? At first, I didn’t understand that there were words amidst the gruff sounds scraping against his vocal cords. But in just a few short weeks, I’ve become fluent in Luke.

“You just spanked me in an ice arena,” I add, just in case he forgot that part. “What if someone had come in here?”

“Then they would have seen what Daddy does to his little fucking brat when he disobeys me.”

The. Fucking. Shiver.

God, it’s delicious. I want more of that because I must be crazy, but I see no downsides. Right now, I’m pressed against Luke’s warm chest as his arms trap me in place, afraid I’m suddenly gonna disappear on him again.

It was short as far as spankings go—not that I’m an expert—but it’s done something to me.

Grounded me. Kinda wish I’d just found him and goaded him into it in the first place, then we could have been at this part so much sooner.

And there’s no doubt that this part wouldn’t feel as sweet as it does without the spanking part.

It’s, like, a whole package or something. I’m such an odd bird.

Whatever.

I’m glued to Luke now, and if he thinks he’s going anywhere for a while, he’s fucking mistaken.

“I should be furious with you,” he murmurs. “I should lock you up and never let you out.”

I rub my face back and forth against his chest, trying to bury myself further into him, rubbing his scent on me. He’s smells so fucking good. Like sweat, and iron, and man. A little patch of dark hair curls over the top of his t-shirt collar.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Luke’s thick fingers tug at the roots of my hair, cinching tightly, holding me exactly where he wants to keep me.

“Don’t tempt me, princess.”

I lift my head, loving that I have to look up to meet his gaze. He’s still too tense—was he that worried about me?—and his eyes gleam with something too dangerous to be allowed near my fucking fragile heart.

“I—” My voice catches. I swallow. “Are you taking the jacket away?” Not my jacket, but the jacket.

“I thought about it,” he admits, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip. Will he kiss me? Please, please, fucking kiss me. “Do you know what it means?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“You own my ass, Daddy.” I flush hot again. Is that gonna happen forever? Every time I say Daddy?

“I do.” He searches me for … something. What’s he looking for? He pushes the hair off my face. “What brought this on?”

My jaw locks. I don’t want to talk about my dad with Luke. It’s stupid anyway. Stuff we should have dealt with years ago. It’s not from lack of trying. We just got tired of arguing in circles, left to burn in purgatory.

“Just … father and son bullshit.”

He presses my nose. “Language, McKinnon. And it can’t be bullshit.”

Yeah, guess it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.

“Are you gonna make me talk about it?”

“Definitely.”

Huh. I thought I’d hate that. My nose wrinkles about it. But I don’t hate it. Maybe Luke can help?

“But not right now. You’re going back to your house to get cleaned up, and then you’re going to pull out your books. You have an essay due first thing Monday morning.”

I groan. I hadn’t planned on finishing that one—not that I’ll tell him that. “And where do we stand on the whole jacket thing?”

If he takes it away, I’ll die. I hope he knows that.

“Give it here, McKinnon.”

I’m forced to leave the safety of his arms to reach for “formerly” my letter jacket and hand it to him.

He slides it on me like he’s taking me to prom. Having it back after the threat of almost losing it does things to my insides. I want to chain it to my body.

Still haven’t gotten my kiss, yet, and it doesn’t look like it’s going that way. I guess what we did wasn’t sexual, but it was intimate. It felt like more. Am I misreading things? No. Can’t be. I don’t go around calling everyone Daddy and he sure as fuck better not be calling everyone princess.

“Why are you pouting now?” he says.

“Never mind.” I shove my hands into my jacket pockets instead of doing what I wanna do and climb back into his arms.

Luke’s fingers dig into the waistband of my jeans, pulling me toward him. He uses the thumb of his other hand to tug on my bottom lip. He’s done that a few times now.

“Don’t worry. These pouty lips of yours are taunting the hell out of me, but if I kiss them,” he says, voice dropping to a sinful octave. “You’re getting fucked, princess, and I can’t fuck you here, as much as I’d like to.”

His grip on my waistband tightens, and his hand moves from my lips, knuckles pressing against my lower belly, just above the ache he put there.

“Kiss me anyway,” I plead.

Luke chuckles, low and devious, his lips brushing dangerously close to mine without touching.

“Patience, McKinnon. When I finally take you apart, I won’t stop. I’ll leave you in ruins.”

He can’t talk like that or I’m gonna come in my fucking pants.

“Go write your essay,” he says, like he didn’t just threaten to rearrange my insides. “I can’t wait to read it. If it’s not done right, you’ll be reading it to me—over my knee with your bare ass in the air.”

Lord have fucking mercy on me.

Or don’t.

Or fuck. I dunno, just that I’m so fucked. And I think I’m gonna enjoy every minute of it.

Luke’s voice drones on somewhere in front of me, but I can’t focus. Convincing myself to come to class took Olympic-level mental gymnastics that the best life-coach gurus on earth would be jealous of.

The hangover didn’t kick in till much later, and when it did, it was a fucking doozy. It’s day two, and I still can’t move without the need to puke. Tiny little hockey players slap pucks against the inside of my skull. Maybe I went a bit overboard on Saturday, but no regrets.

Fucking Shep and Bender didn’t help either. Them and their fucking bickering early this morning. Bender couldn’t find his jacket before practice. He was tearing the house apart.

“Where did you last leave it, dipshit?” Shep said, like the unhelpful bastard he is, one arm around Huddy, hand resting on his shoulder while they lounged on the couch, coffee in the other.

“In. My. Room. Like I fucking told you.” He glares. “It was you, wasn’t it? Bet it’s in your room.”

“It wasn’t.” Bender stormed in that direction anyway. “Where do you think you’re going? Better not be going to my room.”

But Bender was already halfway up the stairs. Shep catapulted off the couch, coffee spilling everywhere, before he slammed the mug down on the table and bolted after him. He sounded like an elephant, loud feet thudding on every step, nearly splitting my head in half.

“Ah ha! I knew it,” Bend shouted from the top of the stairs. “Found it.”

“Fucking Christ, you two,” I said.

“It wasn’t me,” Shep said, coming back into the living room. “His drunk-ass probably left it in there the night of the party.”

God, just the memory of all that chaos as I try to keep my head up, pains me.

I rub my temples, peering down at the man at the front of the class. Is it just me, or have the lights gotten brighter? Luke’s fuzzy, just like the puck was at practice this morning. Practice suuuuuked by the way. All those loud sounds.

No way Luke doesn’t know my body’s trying and failing to reboot. We swaggered into class just in the nick of time, and some of us actually stumbled up the stairs to our seats. He didn’t say a word. If he thinks I didn’t notice his jaw twitching, he’s wrong.

Miraculously, I don’t get held after class, but I think I wanted to be. Walking away from Luke feels like leaving the house with that nagging feeling that you forgot something.

“You’re in a good mood,” Shep says.

I shrug. “It’s a nice day.” He knows something’s up with me, and it’s only a matter of time before he makes me spill.

“C’mon, let’s goooo,” Shep says to Bender. We’re walking across campus, headed for the house, but Bend’s lagging behind. He’s been a few steps behind since we cut across the quad. I glance behind, catching him fiddling with the zipper of his jacket, eyes focused just ahead of us.

There, several feet in front, out of hearing range, is Benjamin, the lead singer in one of the bands on campus.

“Stop rushing me. Are you like this with Huddy, too?” Bender snaps.

“Shut the fuck up about Hudson,” Shep says, getting louder. “Walking ten feet behind the guy isn’t gonna get you laid.”

“Not all of us care about fucking and fighting. Benjamin’s a romantic. You’ve heard his songs.”

“Singing about getting kicked outta hell ain’t romantic, dumbass.”

“He’s gonna hear you two if you both don’t shut the fuck up, geniuses.” We’re not actually ten feet behind him, Shep’s being a dick.

All that does is start a bickering match about being quiet.

“Sssh, I heard something,” Bend says. “Oh, no, sorry, that was just the sound of your over-inflated ego hissing out.”

He laughs. Shep’s restraining himself, wanting to lunge. I step between them.

“You guys,” I snap. “Wait, I actually do hear something.”

A sharp pop-pop-pop breaks the air. Splashes of color explode against the trees, the sidewalk. One lands by my foot.

“Run!”

We gun it for the house. As we crest the hill, the large porch within our sights, chaos erupts. Guys who were out soaking up the last of the summer sun before it’s officially fall, shout and dive for cover, turning lawn chairs over to use as shields.

Shep’s arms flail, back arching as a blotch of purple explodes against his back. “Mother fucker that’s gonna bruise,” he curses.

A symphony of pops fly through the air, followed by loud bangs as paint balls burst against wood.

Goddammit, we just repainted that shit. I’m going to fucking kill them.

All we can do is take cover while we get totally fucking ambushed, and thank the hockey gods they didn’t use rubber bullets this time.

But I take a hit to the shoulder that Luke’s not gonna like.

Later, paint-soaked and licking our wounds, we meet at the Alpha Kappa Epsilon round table to regroup.

“Fucking Beta Sigma,” Lars says.