Page 29 of Phantom Faceoff (Daddies of the League #5)

Zander

One Year Later

Six months in the making, and everything is finally coming together.

Planning isn’t my strong suit. I’m all about spontaneity.

If I’m in charge of date night, our plans are made in the moment.

When I suggest Malachi let me tie him up, it’s mid-sex with my cock in his ass.

He likes that about me.

The spontaneity.

And the cock. He likes that, too.

But I have used every ounce of focus and determination I can muster up, and it’s finally time to let the cat out of the bag.

Five more minutes.

The Den has been under construction for the last two months, and Malachi has spent all of his free time hardcore Daddying me.

Which has involved a surprising amount of spankings coming from someone who says he’s not into giving punishments.

“Maybe I like your ass being a little sore and red before I fuck it.”

That’s a hot new development, and now even the lightest tap—like he sometimes does casually when we aren’t alone—makes me hard.

Because if Malachi spanks me, he’s going to fuck me after. It’s the only time he does.

Malachi knows there’s a new section being built onto The Den that’s opening today, but I convinced him to spend a little time with Julian while I went to practice so he couldn’t get here early. Julian knows to keep him far away until it’s time to meet up.

Speaking of practice, I’ve had to be a lot more active than just being an ace winger and taking directions from one of our captains.

It’s grueling at times, but I enjoy it more than I thought I would.

Even if I still feel a little unsettled holding Micky’s co-captain title.

We made it to the Frozen Four last season, but there was an accident that took Micky out for the remainder of our games. The team wasn’t up to the task of playing at the level we needed without him. We didn’t get our asses kicked right away, but it was inevitable that we fell behind.

Which is why my focus on the ice has been strengthening our player alignments. Our gameplay can’t hinge on one player or highly favor another. We need to be adaptable.

Tessa

We’re setting up now.

I grin down at the phone, watching as the other group chat bubbles come and go.

Julian

Be there in a minute. Grabbing coffee. Mal has yours, Z.

Malachi brings me a coffee and a muffin from our usual coffee shop every day after practice.

It’s one of his caregiving things.

Me

Thank you guys for all the help.

Tessa

Payment to be collected at a later date.

There really isn’t anything for me to do other than wait for Malachi and Julian. My job was more about throwing ideas around and convincing people to give me what I want. Now, I have to trust everyone else to put it together.

Something hot touches the side of my face, and I jolt hard enough to jostle the contents of the coffee cup. Malachi’s grip is firm, though, so it doesn’t spill.

“Ow, asshole.”

He grins full of amusement and affection.

“Love you, too, Wildfire.”

I draw him in for a kiss, moaning obscenely when his tongue— warm and sweet from his own coffee—prods around my mouth like a playground.

“Not fair.”

We break away at Julian’s pout, and while keeping one arm around me, Malachi slings the other around his best friend.

“Maybe it’s time for you to start looking for your own Daddy.”

Julian only pouts more, crossing his arms but leaning into Malachi’s chest.

“You won’t let me use the websites.”

“Because I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“How am I going to meet a Daddy if you won’t let me talk to any Daddies?”

The three of us have played around a handful of times, but as mine and Malachi’s dynamic has gotten more serious, we’ve found that so has our possessiveness of one another. Even casually, Julian has dropped referring to Malachi as “Daddy” because I expressed discomfort over it.

I felt like an ass, because he was Julian’s first, but they both assured me that my feelings were a priority. They restructured their relationship so Malachi can offer him support but not full on caretaking anymore.

“I might have a solution for that,” Malachi says, giving both of our waists a squeeze. “I looked into an event coming up. A camp for Littles. I thought maybe you could meet some like-minded friends.”

Julian’s eyes light up, though hold a bit of skepticism.

“I’d have to go alone.”

Malachi nods. “Zander doesn’t regress, and I’m not leaving him for a whole summer.”

Julian blows out a breath, but movement from inside the building interrupts whatever he’s about to say.

Tess pops her head out, sees the three of us, and grins. “Hello, loves. Right on time.”

Before anyone can complain, Tess grabs one of my hands and one of Malachi’s and pulls us toward the doorway.

“I worked really hard on this,” she whispers in my ear, earning her a look of suspicion from Malachi. “Appreciate me.”

I kiss her cheek. “Whatever you need.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

The rearranged record shop is more spacious with half of the store housing rows of CDs and vinyls with brand new listening stations that are much more Zander-proof than the originals.

The other half? It’s a wide open space with a small, gated off section of audio equipment and a slightly elevated, circular stage.

I use the term lightly, because it won’t likely fit more than two or three people.

It’s currently occupied by cords and instruments, namely a keyboard and something else with a lot of buttons.

There’s someone crouched at the keyboard, messing with something at the bottom, and when I throw Tess a questioning look, she nods enthusiastically.

“What’s this?” Malachi asks, still taking everything in.

“It’s a set up for live bands,” I say, fighting a blush when Malachi’s surprised eyes turn on me. “You love music, and Julian told me you’ve never gotten to go to a concert.”

Which I understand given his aversion to crowds. “So, I figured I’d bring the concert to you.”

The words are barely out of my mouth before Malachi ropes me into him and covers my mouth with his own.

“Happy anniversary,” I squeak as soon as I can catch a breath.

“I’d give you a reward,” he mutters against my lips, “but that’s not appropriate for prying eyes.”

I don’t get a chance to give him one of my ultra-creative solutions, because he kisses me again.

“Lucky for you, I just picked your gift up,” he says.

“That’s last minute of you,” I tease, flicking his mouth with my tongue. “I can think of a couple gifts you could give me later.”

“Mhm.” The sound rumbles out of his throat and goes straight to my cock. “You’ll like what I got you, Wildfire.”

It takes all of my willpower not to have him drag me out now and explain himself, but his gift isn’t finished yet. It’ll have to wait.

I take a step out of his arms, because that’s the only way we’ll stop roaming our hands all over each other, and that’s when his eyes slide back to the performance area and widen.

I couldn’t grin wider if I tried.

“What did you do?” He asks, barely above a whisper, and I know I’m dealing with full blown dorky, Malachi Blanchard. Daddy has been shelved.

“I may or may not have found a clusterfuck of ramblings you made about some indie artist you like. I also may have seen the sheer amount of playlists you have his music on. And I may—okay, I definitely —asked Tessa if she could work some of her newly acquired band manager magic to see if she could bring him here?”

Anytime I get to see Malachi’s eyes light with excitement, whenever he gets to be happy without the pressure of looking after someone else, my heart feels impossibly full.

“I love you,” he says, and gives me another quick kiss before pulling me out the door.

“What are we doing?” I ask. I kinda figured he’d abandon me for the musician. And I wouldn’t have been mad, because I’m the one who gave this to him.

But I won’t say no to whatever else he has in mind.

He takes me to the truck, pulling a box out of the bed and handing it to me.

“Oh, I get my present now?”

Malachi raises his brow and rests a hand on the back of my neck.

“Drop the attitude or I’ll let you walk in there with a handprint on your ass.”

I shiver and lift the lid of the box, revealing green and red parchment paper that I easily push aside—not rip out because littering will also get me spanked.

Beneath the paper is a green, white, and maroon jersey with the number “16” displayed in large numbers on the back. It’s not the team’s colors, and instead of my name above the numbers it says “Wildfire.”

I run my fingers over the letters, smiling softly as emotion bubbles rapidly in my chest.

“Malachi…”

He squeezes my nape, whispers in my ear, “look at the front.”

I turn it over, and the laugh I choke out is wet and wobbly. “Goddammit.”

In the spot that would normally have the team logo, Malachi has replaced with the words, “Malachi’s Boy.”

“I figure,” he says, lips brushing my temple, “that sounds innocently enough like boyfriend behavior.”

He’s not wrong. Most people won’t bat an eye at it. The team will chirp and rib me if they see it—and of course I’ll wear it around them just to show off anyway—but Malachi and I, we both know what it means.

“I love you,” I tell him, winding my arms around his neck. The box drops unceremoniously to the ground, but the jersey is clenched right in my fists.

“Happy anniversary.” He wraps an arm around my waist, the other hand on my neck creeping up to get tangled in my hair.

I breathe him in, and we stand there, intermittently kissing, until I pull back to lean on the door of the truck.

“So who’s getting fucked tonight?”

Malachi follows me, ducking his head to hold his mouth above mine.

“We both are.” His tongue pokes at the seam of my lips, and I part for him with a needy exhale. “Unless you don’t think you can keep it up that long?”

The challenge sparks the adrenaline in my veins.

“You’re on, Blanchard.”

THE END