Page 37 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

My eyes drift away from play—trust me, this play is so slow it’ll be fine for a second—and to Luke. He’s not smiling, exactly, but his face has softened. He’s talking to one of the guys. Easy body language like he’s totally fine.

What the actual fuck?

I can’t deal with whatever bullshit this is right now. I’ve got a team to— whoa . There goes the puck. I spent so much time staring at Luke, I’ve turned into the pylon. Shit. This guy’s gotta be new. He’s way too fast to play for Portland. He hammers that puck in the net. Yeah, that one’s on me.

Coach’s scorching glare nearly singes my fucking hair off when I hit the bench.

“Want me to get you a lounger, McKinnon, so you’re comfortable while you’re watching the game the rest of us are playing?”

Dick. But fair.

And Luke? Still nothing. His stone grill is back, and this time I know I’m not wrong. He’s studiously avoiding me. Luke doesn’t even go this far to avoid me in class. Something’s up.

The storm inside me explodes during my next shift on the ice. The next time I’m out there, I pick a fight with Rookie the Rocket. The guy’s fast, and his stick slashes my shins with satisfying accuracy.

And you know what Luke does? Yeah, nothing.

Coach is getting pretty sick of me, but I manage to score a couple of goals, so he resists the growing urge to bench me.

The rest of the game is like that, and none of my fury abates by the time I’m stripping off my gear in the locker room. I’m still vibrating with rage, confusion, and something dangerously close to heartbreak.

I leave my stinky-ass equipment for the crew and wrap a towel around my waist. The torn boxers stare me in the face.

Why am I doing this?

Because I got obsessed, that’s why. He made me feel things I didn’t plan for. Maybe I thought he was into me more than he is, and my ego’s busted. I hate all this shit. I need bed and a beer, so I can pretend I don’t feel like I’m coming apart.

Ugh , but my bed is with him.

After the world’s best shower, I study the torn boxer shorts again. They’re daring me. It’s such a fucking stupid thing. They were supposed to make me feel like he was with me. Right now, they don’t.

I miss those rough hands of his on me, his lips sucking marks over my body, his presence. The ache in my ass this morning had me cursing his name, but at least I felt him.

That’s what I need. Luke coursing through every fiber of me.

“The fuck are you wearing, Ace?” Shep snorts. “Did your underwear lose a knife fight?”

“Uh, must have ripped during the game,” I lie.

“I’ve got extras. You want a clean pair?”

Shit.

Luke was pretty damn clear about only taking them off to shower. And I want to please him, earn his praise.

“Nah, I’m good.”

He frowns. “Why you bein’ weird?”

“I’m not, okay? Just leave it.”

Shep does not “just leave it”. He knocks into me with his shoulder, the childish bro-jock thing we do when we’re pissed and can’t let something go. After a game is the worst time for this shit. I’m guilty of it, too. I shove him right the fuck back.

“Fuck off, Shep.”

“Fuck you, Ace.”

It’s a wonder our towels remain intact during our off-ice shoving match. Bender pulls me off Shep as Justin pulls Shep off me. Coach and Luke barrel in.

“What’s going on in here, McKinnon?” Coach asks me directly—it’s part of being team captain stuff.

Also, part of being team captain is refraining from senseless fights, but know what?

I’m not gonna pretend I’m perfect, nor will I throw Shep under the bus.

I did this shit; I’ll take responsibility for it.

“I apologize, Coach. Won’t happen again.”

Luke steps forward. “I think I know what’s going on. Come with me, McKinnon.”

I look between the two brothers. Coach looks ready to explode at Shep, so … yeah, I’ll take door number Luke.

I follow him down the hallway, hyper-aware that all I’m wearing is a towel and my shower sandals.

We head across the hall to the visiting coach’s office. “Shut the door, McKinnon. Lock it,” he adds.

I do all of that, but when I face him, it’s with my arms crossed. I’m not in the mood for him if I’m being honest.

He pats the desk with that big hand of his. “Sit.”

“Why?”

“Because I fucking told you to, princess.”

A shiver tingles down my spine. Goddammit. That still works.

I slide my ass onto the desk. Thin towel, bare ass, zero chill. My thick legs spread naturally, and the towel couldn’t hide a needle, let alone my quickly forming boner.

I lift my chin, taking the high road, arms crossed like armor.

I will not snark at him. Probably. I also won’t notice the way he’s removing his blazer from his overly large body.

He sets his steely gaze on me while he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves.

That’s not supposed to be hot, but it’s so damn hot my lungs forget how to work.

“I’m trying to decide whether I should turn you over my knee and spank your ass or suck your soul through your cock.”

I hold up my hand like I would in class. “Do I get a vote?”

“What do you think?”

Sighing, I recross my arms.

He steps closer, knocking my legs open wider, stepping between them. He taps my crossed arms. “This means no to me. I’m not into lack of consent, McKinnon, so either uncross these and I’ll continue, or keep them crossed and I’ll respect your boundary.”

Fuck.

There should be a middle option. The kind where he makes me, and I pretend to fight it, but we both know I want it.

It takes all my willpower to uncross my arms. Not because I don’t want him, but because I do, and I need him to know I’m still mad. Dropping my arms to my sides, I resist the urge to put them on him, planting my palms on the desk.

“Good boy,” he says softly.

Heat flashes up my neck, and I glance away. He doesn’t let me, tilting my chin up with a single finger.

“You don’t get to hide from me. I upset you, and I want to explain.”

He squints, twists my head to the side, analyzing my upper browbone where that butterfly bandage cuts into my skin.

“Fucking hack job,” he mutters. “I’m fixing this as soon as we’re back in our hotel room, where I have a proper first aid kit.”

Breath catches in my throat. “You brought one for me?”

“Yes.”

It’s no big deal. Just a few bandages and probably some antiseptic. Just a man who wants to patch me up himself. My mouth opens, but no words come out.

“I saw that your friend noticed our conversation and thought it best that I was extra cautious. That’s all, princess. I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“But on the ice?—”

“I’m a hard ass.” That … yeah, that tracks. “And watching you get hurt up close like that? I was losing my fucking mind. It took every ounce of my willpower—something I don’t have much of when it comes to you—to stop myself from dragging you off the bench. It was three agonizing periods.”

Oh.

Oh.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “No need to apologize. We’re doing things that make you far more vulnerable than you’re used to.”

Can I lean my forehead on his massive chest? Because I need to. I do it anyway, letting my head sink against his solid form. He smells so good. Like sweat and cologne and safety.

“Yeah, maybe.”

He’s not leaving. He’s staying.

His hand gently squeezes my neck, grounding me.

All the anger dissipates into nothing, and the anxious crashing waves even into placidity.

It’s not just the storm of the game or the utter turmoil that raged through me earlier, either; it’s everything—the mountain of responsibility, Dad, the unfathomable hole in my chest Mom left when she died.

Weird.

I wasn’t even thinking about that shit, but it’s always there, I guess, haunting the fuck outta me.

“Better?” he says.

“Yeah, Daddy.”

His lips hover by my crown, dangerously close to pressing a kiss there.

I’m not even scared he will. He’s already proven trustworthy.

Maybe I thought for a minute he wasn’t, but it turned out not to be true.

In fact, I’m the idiot. I cared about having his attention a little too much.

Was it just a vulnerability thing like he said?

Or something else? I’m shelving that to unpack later as well.

Right now, I just want to feel. Follow his instructions wherever they lead, whether it’s reward or punishment.

“Alright, hands on the desk, McKinnon.”

My hands are on the—oh. They’re around him.

Didn’t notice I’d wrapped myself around him like a fucking baby koala, um, if a baby koala was the size of a black bear like I am.

Before I can ask why he wants them on the desk, he’s removing my shower shoes, arranging my thighs, gripping under the hamstrings, and planting my bare feet on the desk.

The towel breaks open, exposing my leaking dick.

It’s a good thing I’m flexible with these fucking positions he wants me in, but fucking hell, the way I’m on display for him…

“Daddy’s decided he wants to suck your cock.”

“P-Please.” I’m not above begging.

A rough finger toys with my hole. “But we’re gonna have a conversation first.”

“N-Not fair. How’m I …ahh … supposed to—fuck! How am I supposed to talk, Daddy?” I’ve said it before, that finger, it’s so, soooo, fucking good. It’s all scraped up like sandpaper. The gentle way he toys with the sensitive skin around my hole sets off an ache in my desperate cock.

“Find a way or I stop.” Evil bastard. I nod, which is cheating because it’s not real talking, but I’m all about the loopholes. “Does Coach define fighting in the locker room with teammates as naughty?”

Not in those words, but he hates it. He says fights should be on the ice with the other team. Those fights he’s all about. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Then why should I suck your cock?”

Is this a test? See how far my willpower goes before I break? But let’s see if I can’t test his as well.

“Because I’m pretty, Daddy.”