Page 27 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

“I don’t have dirty sex books,” I insist. But I may have read one or two that may have said something about that. I may have believed it.

“You will be miserable, though, that’s not made up.”

I let out a pathetic sound—something I’ve started to do a lot since meeting him—and finally rest my head on his shoulder like I did the other day. I like it here. “I wanna wait.”

“Okay, but if that’s what you want, it’s off the table now until the next time I decide.”

I’m probably gonna hate myself later, but I can’t find it in me to care right now. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I might decide I don’t want you coming for a whole month.”

My jaw works, trying to find words. “But, but, you won’t, right?”

“Believe me, I would. Your suffering gets me going like you wouldn’t believe. It pleases me so much that you’d willingly suffer for me, princess.”

There go my lungs. One of them burst. It has to have. Preen doesn’t encompass what my insides are doing. Combined with the sea of butterflies doing gymnastics in my stomach, I don’t know how I’m standing upright.

That’s why I do this, all of it. The feeling I get when I know I’ve pleased him. I’m flying, and I’m not even on the ice.

He toys with my bottom lip again. Ever since I told him he couldn’t kiss me, he’s become fascinated with my lips. Obsessed with them. Before that day, when he was definitely gonna kick my ass to the curb, I wanted him to kiss me so damn bad. Fuck, I was begging him. I wanted the intimacy of it.

But all it took was that split second of recoil. All my internal protective mechanisms kicked in, slamming the intimacy door shut.

Hell, I wasn’t even gonna let him leave me. I would have clung on, been annoying as hell, because I know the truth he won’t admit. He wants me. He needs me.

But needing someone doesn’t stop them from leaving. It would have been bad enough as it was, but at least we hadn’t kissed.

Because the memory of his kisses would have been devastating. It would have ruined me.

Luke can take me apart in any way he wants to, but not that one. I won’t survive it.

He releases my lip, but not me. His fingers slide into my hair, slow and deliberate, curling tight at the root.

He doesn’t yank, not yet, but there’s no question I’m not going anywhere.

He holds me there, in place. No, in my place.

His hand tightens, and my heart stutters.

Then his eyes flick down to my mouth—forbidden territory—dark and steady.

Not having my lips seems to make him a bit feral, but he resists the call.

“But I’m a fair Daddy. Be a good boy, and I’ll be obligated to spoil my princess. Watching my well-behaved princess enjoy his reward might please me more than his suffering.”

I’m leaking, can he see? Leaking through my boxer briefs. It takes all my restraint not to rut against him. Instead, I inhale his musky man scent, resting my lips against his neck, deep in horny heaven-hell.

“Not gonna lie, being a brat is fun, but I love being your good boy, Daddy.”

Ryan Savage is as big a monster as I am.

He’s a solid player, but damn, his ego. Didn’t think they made helmets large enough to fit an ego the size of his.

He kinda looks like he eats nails for breakfast. And from the amount of size he’s put on in just one year, maybe that’s what they’re feeding them at North Point.

He was a lot smaller last year when he was a reasonably sized right winger.

He’s an interesting case. I don’t know the full story—it wasn’t made public—but he was in the draft and he played in the NHL for a season.

He was ripped out, gone for years, and then suddenly appeared at North Point.

I’ve speculated, but that’s all I have. I know he was a bit of a playboy, and that he ended up in the news and the penalty box a lot.

But none of that’s uncommon, and so long as you’re still scoring goals, your team usually finds a way to keep you.

“Hey, McKinnon,” he says in a voice that’s way too fucking sultry for the ice before he wins the damn faceoff, making off with my puck.

Asshole.

Fine, he got me with that once, but never again.

As far as skill goes, we’re evenly matched, but North Point’s generally bigger than us, besides me, and play a more physical game. There are a lot more penalties when our teams play because they’re dirty.

And, okay, okay. Maybe we’re dirty too, but they’re dirtier. I swear!

“What were you doing out there, McKinnon? Flirting?” Coach says when I come in for a change.

That’s all I need, for a rumor like that to get back to Luke. “No, Coach.”

“Take control of the puck next time. It’s not just scouts out there, McKinnon.”

Not like I wasn’t trying. Why’s he being such an asshole?

He likes to win, but he’s not usually this much of a dick about it.

And yeah, I get it—fundraise, fundraise, fundraise.

Every game this season is gonna be about showing everyone that we’re the best hockey team out there, worthy of supporting.

But there’s something … personal in his tone.

I go after Savage as soon as I’m back on the ice as retaliation for him getting me chewed out by Coach, slamming him into the boards.

“Take that, yah fucking pigeon,” I chirp, skating off to plough through center.

I’ve got blood in my mouth before the end of the first. Would Luke still wanna jump my bones if I were missing teeth? I mean, I can afford fake ones anyway, but it might be cool to sport the gap for a minute. I don’t lose a tooth, though. It’s just a busted lip.

Savage has some kind of burr up his ass, staring at me, chewing his mouth guard like it’s candy. It’s almost like he knows I have something to lose.

We head into the second, strong. I put every ounce of energy into ignoring him and showing off for Luke. He promised me he’d be somewhere in the stands, but he wouldn’t tell me where.

The puck drops, and it’s mine. The North Point Firehawks hack at my fucking ankles—where’s the goddamn ref for this shit?

—but I prevail, sailing up the funnel, passing back to Shep before, wham!

Into the boards. I push the guy, who shockingly isn’t Savage, and he fumbles, but catches his heavy body before it hits the ice.

But Savage is causing shit across the ice. He?—

No.

He did not just touch our goalie. I’m about to abandon the play to go over there and teach him a fucking lesson, but Bender beats me to it. It’s stick, gloves, helmets, fists. Bender and Savage circle each other in a clockwise direction, throwing punches till the refs break them up.

For some fucking reason, we get the penalty. Clearly, the ref didn’t catch the shit Savage was doing to Lars.

Shorthanded in our zone, we fight for possession. The puck just has to fall loose, and it will, we just?—

It lands with a loud crack in the curve of Shep’s blade. I’m center left just past the blue line and their defense. A second crack announces the puck’s arrival to my stick, and I’m gone.

See yah, bitches. This goal is mine.

I break away like a demon. Even the goaltender knows it’s over.

Because it’s me. I don’t miss these shots.

“This one’s for you, Daddy,” I murmur under my breath as I take the shot, sinking it sweetly in the upper corner.

“Yeah!” Arms out, stick high, I celebrate. The crowd explodes. “Eat it, losers. Get ready to dust off your golf clubs by March!”

The game becomes one retaliation after another, but when Savage goes at it with one of my rookies—with the dirtiest fucking hit in the universe—I snap. I spin, toss my stick, and chase after him. I don’t just fight him; I send a message.

You do not mess with my fucking rookies like that.

Or the Scorpions.

The rest of the team joins me, hopping over the benches, grabbing a dance partner to beat the shit out of.

Fucking Freshman Andy better have his pen out, because maybe I fuck up off the ice sometimes, but never on the ice. Win or lose, Captain Ace McKinnon makes them proud to say I was theirs.

By the time the whistle blows loud enough for me to hear it, my lip’s bleeding—again—my knuckles are raw, and I can barely see out of my left eye. But we held the line, protected our rookies, and our pride. We fought like hell and earned every inch of ice we bled on.

So yeah, if you’re thinking of donating? You’re not just funding a hockey team. You’re backing a brotherhood, a battlefield.

A legacy.

And me? I’m making damn sure it’s one worth remembering.

The after party with Delta Gamma’s mellow compared to that bloodbath of a game.

It’s usually a massive event, but with it pared down to keep our end of the bargain, there’s room to walk, mill around the pool—that we’ve already closed down for the fall and winter—and compare battle wounds without having to yell over the noise of the crowd.

Things are chill until Wendy barges into my space. “Where’s Ryan?”

“How am I supposed to know? I’m not the guy’s keeper.”

“The whole point of this smaller shindig was so he and I could hook up.”

Mmmm, not quite. I’m not his pimp, and I don’t do match making.

All I did was set up an event. If they meet and like each other, that’s up to them.

But arguing with her will get me nowhere.

The better option is attempting to find Savage and drag his ass over here.

Wendy’s a pretty girl if a little persistent, I’m sure they’ll hit it off for at least a night.

Sigh.

“Lemme see if I can find him for you. Gimme a few.”

Great. Not only am I fucking horny and craving a damn beer, I’m on a manhunt for a man I couldn’t care less about.

I meant what I said to Luke, I don’t drink during the season, but what I mean by “don’t drink” is I don’t get shitfaced.

I have a social beer, which is what I would have had if he hadn’t banned me.

I guess I could still have one—what’ll he do, spank me?

I want him to spank me. But, ugh, I want to tell him how good I was, more.

Well, that’s a fucking plot twist.