Page 179 of Pucking Around

“She didn’t seem to be protesting,” I add darkly.

“Oh, shewillprotest,” he huffs. “When I rip them out of those fucking jerseys and spank their asses raw. Come on.”

I go still, eyes wide as I look at his retreating form. I don’t understand what’s happening here. Why is he inviting me to come along? Why isn’t he pushing me away?

When he realizes I’m not following, he spins around. “You broken, Mars? I said let’s go!”

“Go where?”

“Home. I swear to fuck—you gotta drive, man. I’m too big of a mess. I’ll crash the car.”

Home. He wants me to drive him home.

We grab our bags from the locker room and duck out the team entrance into the parking garage. Compton follows at my side, helping himself to the back of my truck as he tosses his gear bag in the back. I do the same, unlocking the doors. We both climb in, engine roaring as I pull out and head towards the exit.

“This was all his idea!” His arms are crossed as his knee bounces in agitation. “I swear to fuck, when we get home, we’re gonna tie him down and blindfold him while we tag team Rachel until she begs for mercy.”

I focus on the road, my hands tight on the wheel. “Blindfold him?”

“Yeah, Cay likes to watch,” he mutters. “Well, let’s see how he likes being in the room and not seeing a damn thing. Add a gag too. I don’t want to hear his dirty talk tonight. I want him on his fucking knees!”

I drive us onto the interstate and Compton pulls out his buzzing phone.

“Oh shit,” he hisses.

“What?”

“It’s Cay. He’s trying to video call me. Fuck!”

We both know there’s only one reason Caleb wants to call using video. “Answer it,” I growl.

The bright lights of downtown fade behind us as we head out the stretch of road towards the beach. Compton presses the green button on his screen and the call connects. “Cay, what the fuck?”

“Hiya!” comes Caleb’s falsely bright voice. “You guys almost home? We’ve been waiting here forever.”

Bullshit. They only had a twenty-minute head start on us at best.

“Cay, don’t fucking do it,” Compton growls.

“Don’t what? Start without you? Too late, pretty boy.”

“Where is he?” I say, trying to keep my eyes on the road. “What’s happening?”

“I think he’s on the stairs.”

“Yep! Just needed to get a few things from downstairs,” comes Caleb’s voice. “Ice, candle, chocolate sauce. I can’t decide what I want to start with. I’m thinking the ice. I bet our girl loves a little temperature play. Gonna rub a cube over her clit and then suck it, warm her right back up, make her moan my name—”

“Fuck!” Compton yells, slamming the door with his fist. “When we get home, your ass is getting tied up in the fucking shower, water oncold!”

Caleb just laughs, because apparently, he has a death wish.

“Oh, no you fucking don’t,” Compton yells. “Cay! That’smyfucking room!”

“Yeah, Hurricane says your bed is the most comfortable. You comfortable, baby?”

I hear her muffled voice and my heart hammers in my chest. I need her like I need air. Need to get to her. I press down on the accelerator, the truck roaring as we drive up and over the long bridge crossing the intercostal waterway.

“Touch her in my bed, and I’ll kick your ass!” Compton shouts. He’s losing control. “Oh—fuck—” His voice is suddenly breathless as he sinks back against the seat.