Page 45 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

Luke

I give him what he wants, what he’s been begging me for, and by the time I’m done with him, he’s full of bite marks, hickeys, and cum.

His ass is bright red. I’ve left none of the stones of his body unturned.

I force him to drink water and other hydration drinks before I let him close his eyes.

I don’t know where he told his friends he was going, but he’s not leaving this bed tonight.

I’m watching over him after a sex session like that.

Fuck.

Even for me, that was feral. Wild’s my baseline, but Ace … watching his beautiful body bounce on my cock, begging for more, more, more. I couldn’t hold back. I became another species of human, and tore into him, ripping him open, putting him back together with pieces of me inside of him.

I should be as spent as he is, but I can’t sleep. Instead, I watch him breathe like I’m a fucking creep, waiting for him to wake up, shocked he hasn’t run yet.

Or maybe I’m just smitten.

Guys like me don’t get smitten, though. We don’t, because it lands us in trouble. I rub my face with my right hand because my left is trapped under Ace. Our hard bodies are contoured together, slotting perfectly, and I finally close my eyes long enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest.

“I missed you at my hockey game,” a croaky voice says in the semi-darkness, with only the campus lights from outside shining through the window to illuminate his profile.

“I thought you liked skin on my knuckles.” It’s bad enough having to see the giant bruises all over him. Watching him take hit after hit, sometimes limping to the bench, sometimes sprawled across the ice for a few seconds too long, frays my already splintered nerves.

“Meh, you’ll be fine.”

“You spoiled fucking princess.” I kiss his crown.

“I don’t love it, but you not there tears a hole in my chest. Can’t you wear gloves, or something?”

I hate wearing boxing gloves. Half the attraction is the scrape against the bag. But the catch in his voice, like me not being there actually does tear at him—I hate that more.

“Yeah, baby. I’ll wear gloves.”

God, listen to me. Who knew I could be such a dick-whipped, love-sick fool?

“Problem solved then.” There’s a pause long enough to suggest he doesn’t really believe that, maybe waiting for me to insert more about my boxing obsession. I don’t. He sits up.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“First to piss and then home. I have so much to do tomorrow, it’s ridiculous. Dad’s coming for a visit, and I love him, but seeing him’s a goddamn headache lately.”

None of that’s reason enough for me. If anything, it’s flashing warning lights that he needs me.

“Go ahead and piss, but your ass is staying here tonight.”

“Luke,” he argues.

“No. I’ll wake you up early enough, princess.”

Ace stares, jaw dropped, unable to parse out enough words to put together a response.

“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘yes, daddy’ said in that pretty purr I like, or do I have to have a conversation with you over my knee?”

Why the fuck would he think he’s going home after sex like that?

He was fine after last time, so I made that the new threshold, but tonight we went beyond anything we’ve ever done.

He’s staying right here where I can make sure he’s okay.

He could crash in the morning, and I wouldn’t be there to help him through it.

“You’re gonna have to let me go home after sex stuffs at some point,” he sasses.

“Excuse me?” Because no, I do not. I won’t take no for an answer when it comes to his safety, and he knows it.

“Uh … um, yes, Daddy…?” he says.

“That’s what I thought. Now piss and get your ass back here. You woke up my cock, and I’m gonna fill that swollen little hole of yours again.”

“What the fuck?” he squeaks, climbing off the bed. “How do you have more stamina than I do?”

I’m gonna have to tell him what I used to do, since I’m not letting him go, but now is not the time, nor is it all that important anymore.

“Hurry up. You don’t wanna make me retrieve you, baby.”

“I don’t have any cum left, Daddy,” he complains.

“That’s fine, nobody said you were coming.”

He groans, loud and suffering, and now I’m the one chuckling into the darkness.

“Wow, you have it bad, big brother,” Tate says, when I’ve checked my phone for the seventh time.

Ace has that brunch with his dad. He said he was excited to meet with him, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I remember all too well what happened the last time he fought with his dad.

I told him to message me as soon as he was done.

Until then, if I can stop fucking fidgeting, I’ll call that a win.

I’m trying not to do what I’d usually do and punch the shit out of a heavy bag until my hands are destroyed.

I pick at the tape and bandages.

All he had to say was that he didn’t like it, and I said I’d wear gloves. I’d rather not punch the bag at all if that’s the case. But fuck, I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t do something. How would Ace feel if I took up smoking again?

“ Luke ,” Tate says again, dragging out the syllables. “Earth to brooding weirdo.”

I jump. “What?”

“I said I’ll aim to bring a date to the next fundraising event. Someone respectable. Thought you’d be excited about that.” He rubs a hand over his face, letting it slide into his hair. By the state of his hair, he’s done that a few times.

Something’s off.

Have I pushed the issue too hard?

I was always too hard on him. By comparison to our uncle, I was the fun parent, but I’m about as fun as a brick wall.

I shouldn’t have thrust this on him. I’ve allowed Uncle Jasper to infiltrate and poison our future.

My faith is misplaced—subconsciously, because of all his damn conditioning, it’s been on Uncle Jasper.

I need to reroute that energy back to me and Tate.

Tate and I should have approached the will situation together, not with me treating Tate as an adversary.

Tate loves me. Of course, he loves me.

I’m not too much to love, because Ace loves me.

And Fuck, do I love him. Nothing else seems bigger than that anymore.

“I know we talked about the end of the season,” I begin. “But if you need more time, you should know that?—”

“No,” he says abruptly. “I’ll have it figured out soon.”

Something about his voice sends a wave of gooseflesh up my arm, and whatever thing I was gonna say to him, halts in my throat. Dies. I don’t know why. Now that I’m taking a closer look, Tate’s not himself.

“Can we save the lecture for another time? I’ve got a lot to do, so if you don’t have anything else to say to me, go find my hockey captain, and touch his dick or something.”

Tate’s not just struggling with shit, he’s protective of it. Whatever he’s got in the works, he doesn’t want me anywhere near it. Fine. He’s an adult … until it all explodes, then he’ll cry to big brother.

“Good idea,” I say. I stand, but as much as I want to storm out on his ass, I can’t. I wanna be strong like you, Luke. “You can come to me about anything, Tate— anything .”

He grunts in the way Ace claims is a VanCourt trait and dips his head back to his laptop.