Page 41 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

Ace

“ G ood evening, maggots,” I address the crowd of shaking pledges.

All fifty of them are on the ground, knees sunken into the cold mud in the backyard of our frat house, hands interlaced behind their heads.

Some of them are first-year hockey players who are pretty much guaranteed a space in our frat, so long as they can pay the dues and participate in frat week.

We’re unofficially known as the hockey fraternity, and we bring in recruits later than most of the houses do because of our grueling hockey schedules.

We’re not suuuuuper mean, but we keep the hazing tradition because everyone agrees every year—we vote and revote on it—that it was during the hazing we bonded with who eventually became our tightest friends, and solidified deeper bonds with friends we came here with from high school.

It became a fond core memory, and we liked surviving it.

We still have a large frat paddle that we casually leave in view, but it hasn’t been used since my parents went to this school.

Which means it’s never been used on me, but I’ve always been curious what it would feel like.

Wonder how I could sneak it over to Luke’s?

Fuck, focus, McKinnon.

But focusing is harder than usual, because I’m harder than usual.

A week ago, Luke declared “open season” on my ass—his wording, not mine.

The fucker totally did it to increase the already out of control arousal burning through me at every second of every day.

It worked, too. Every time we meet up, I’m wondering if this could be the day.

Even the times he’s “held me after class”, I envision him tossing me over the desk, ripping my slacks down—the ones he still makes me wear for class—and shoving his juicy cock in.

I mean, that last one’s unlikely, I know that, but in my horny, twenty-four-year-old male mind, it’s battling for second place on my list of top five ways I’m hoping he’ll take me. Fuck, the things we’ve done already. He’s the filthiest fucker I’ve ever met, and I’m loving every dirty second.

And.

And.

God.

There are other things in play I can’t explain.

Like, so, he’s been calling me princess this whole time.

It began as a way to make sure I knew my place, but—and he’ll deny this—it became an endearment.

I melt a little every time he says it while experiencing lust like never before.

But over the past week, it’s changed again, and I don’t know how to articulate it.

He’s also added the word “my” to it. My princess.

“Does my princess like to have his hole licked?”

First, yes, his princess does. Second, the “my” thing … it makes me feel his in a new way. An elevated way. I consider myself his property, but this is like that with feelings.

Shep fucking called it weeks ago, but I didn’t want to admit what the bubble in my chest could mean. And I’m so damn mad about it that I’ve lived in denial. But Luke just … does it for me. He’s all I can think about.

Mom always told me she fell for Dad in a heartbeat. I thought all that stuff was either bullshit, or shit that only happens to people like my parents. Y’know, once in a lifetime kind of shit.

I was happily living in denial, though, until Luke started in with his “my princess” thing.

Because instead of just his property—a thing I totally wanna keep going—I feel like I’m his in the “belonging with him” kind of way I’ve never entertained with anyone else.

When he says it, I can’t pretend this is just my “kinky sex exploration” era, because of fucking, goddamn intrusive butterflies that explode in my chest, leaving me awestruck and speechless.

No way Luke hasn’t noticed. He notices everything.

But he hasn’t talked about it, and so I don’t talk about it.

I’ve upped the denial factor, too, focusing on “behaving myself for Luke”. I’ve been well behaved enough to achieve sainthood status, not wanting to lose my chance to have Luke inside me, but also because if I can focus on that, I don’t think of anything else.

Eat. Behave for Luke. Play hockey. Sleep. Repeat.

Pledge week is something I enjoy, but it’s taking the life out of me this year. I want to be with Luke. But I refuse to let anyone down.

“Shep, Bender, and Hudson will give you items you’ll live in for the next seven days. They’ll stink by day three, you’re responsible for finding ways of reducing the smell.”

As the guys hand out the frilliest pink tutus and laciest pink panties we could find, I go over their life for the next week, which will be spent doing all the house chores, cleaning up after us, working our parties and events, and this year we’ve offered them to Delta Gamma sorority as well, to remain in their good graces.

“You’ll refer to anyone in either house as a Lord or Lady, and we’ll refer to you as maggot or whatever other degrading thing we come up with in the moment.

Any lapse in etiquette will be met with punishment or possible dismissal.

Each brother is expected to receive the Alpha Kappa Epsilon House tattoo upon acceptance—this is non-negotiable.

If you can’t commit to this, you have one minute, starting now, to get up and walk away, no questions asked, or consequences. ”

We don’t usually have any nos at this point. They’re already aware of the tattoo and it’s considered an honor, but it’s a good reason to give them a final chance to walk away. Pledge week isn’t for the faint-hearted.

At the end of the minute, no one has left.

I detail their life for the coming days, threading in some over-the-top language to instill the fear of God into them over what we “might” make them do.

“Alright, maggots. Your time starts now. See Aaron and Hudson for your assignments.”

My little speech was only thirty minutes long, but damn, I could use a nap. Won’t happen, though. The team has an early morning practice in thirty minutes. We had to arrange this during Holy Fuck o’clock to make it work with our schedule.

Thankfully, it’s not long before I have a coffee handed to me by one of the pledges and a little satchel of snacks to eat post-practice—perks of pledge week, house members are treated like kings. I rub my eyes and take a long sip of the hot brew.

“Alright, boys. Let’s roll out.”

Two days later, I’m sitting up tall in my seat, paying rapt attention to the sexiest human alive as he uses his now “confirmed as a cane” pointer to underline things he’s talking about.

He’s more than smart, a genius. So what if he’s a little unconventional?

Maybe they should hire profs with less convention and more skill—that way we’d all get A’s.

I’m lulled by the sound of his voice. My body’s an exhausted heap of muscle and achy bones, but listening to him stretches my lips into a serene smile.

I know I demolished his pop quiz, and he’ll probably whisper something to me about it or send a text that’ll have to carry me through the training session the team has after this.

A loud crack snaps me out … whoa, did my eyes flutter shut? If they did, Luke can’t blame me. His voice is like the calming rain on a dim spring evening.

“Since you think it’s okay to fall asleep in my class, McKinnon, you can stay after to write some lines for me. Everyone else is dismissed.”

I do my best to clear the sand from my eyes as rough hands manhandle me out of my seat. I expect to be set before a notepad and paper, but instead my large form rests against an even larger form.

Mmmm. I love it here.

“You smell so fucking good, Daddy,” I murmur. Wait. Shit. I bolt upright, snapping out of my sleepy haze. Who did I say that in front of? Who did I say that to? Heart racing, I dart my gaze around the classroom. There’s no one here, just Luke.

“They left a few minutes ago, and I was left wishing I really was a werewolf so I could carry you somewhere you could sleep.”

But he couldn’t, so he let me sleep on his shoulder. Fucking hell, that’s flipping teddy-bear vibes—not that I’m stupid enough to say that to his face, but dayum. It’s all butterflies again, and a shyness I’ve never felt with anyone but Luke. How does he do this to me?

“Yeah, it’s … sorry. Um, I think you said something about lines? Or was that hopefully just part of a nightmare?”

He chuckles. “I said it, but only so I could get you alone for a few minutes. You’re run off your feet, princess.”

“It’s November and pledge week, and just the way it is,” I explain. “I’ll be fine.”

Luke shakes his head. “No.”

I squint. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean it’s not just the way it is. You’re an athlete. You need sleep just as much as good nutrition and exercise. Go lie down until your next class, McKinnon.”

My mouth doesn’t work. It’s clear that’s not a suggestion, but I’ve never skipped a training session, even that one time I had food poisoning and had to run to the bathroom to puke my guts out between sets.

I could say no, I guess. But there’s a curdle in my gut at the thought.

For once, it has nothing to do with whether he’ll fuck me, but because I know that his order comes from a place of pure concern.

Telling him no is like telling him to fuck his feelings, which leaves me with three options: Do what he says, convince him otherwise, or lie.

I don’t want to do option one or three, but I don’t think I’ll have much luck with option two.

He’s still squinting at me as if he’s mentally plucking my every thought from my brain.

“I don’t trust you, McKinnon. I expect you at my place in fifteen minutes. That’ll give you the time you need to send a text to your hockey brethren, tell them you’re not coming, and walk—not run—to my place in a way that won’t out us to the entire campus.”

“But—”

“No buts.” His thumb brushes over my lips. “I’ll see you there, McKinnon.”

He turns heel, marching his massive form out the door. There’s always a moment when I think he won’t fit through the door, but then he does. Barely.