“Y-Yes, Da-Daddy.” My face is on fire, having to admit to that, but I’d be lying if I said any different.
“You’re not the captain of the hockey team to me. You’re nothing but a needy princess, desperate to be put in his place. Isn’t that right, baby?”
“Y-Yes, Daddy.”
He keeps teasing, stroking over the bruises, petting like he’s taming something wild. Or watching it break.
“That’s what you are, isn’t it? Not some big man, just my hungry little slut with a perfect set of tits and a cock that begs for my permission.”
“Yes, Daddy.” I writhe on the desk like the filthy slut he’s saying I am. “I’ll be so good for you.”
“You will, or this is never going to see the light of day.” His hand sinks to grip my miserable cock, straining behind the zipper of my slacks. “Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I get rewarded with his lips on my neck, whispering over my tender pulse point. He sucks, and the tension breaks, shattering me into a thousand pieces. I cry out, quickly muffling myself by latching onto his neck with my teeth, but I don’t bite down. We’re still at school. God, how I wish we were anywhere else. There’s a burst of pain, heat, and wet as he marks me, sucking blood to the surface of my skin where it’ll bloom into a bright bruise.
Pleasure curls low in my belly. There’s a very real chance I might come from this alone if he doesn’t fucking stop.
“Daddy, I’m gonna … gonna?—”
He pulls off, taking his neck from my teeth with him. “No.” Just one word in his “daddy says so” voice.
Now that I’m aware of the rules, he returns to my neck, and I’m trapped between heaven and hell.
“You’re … you’re mean,” I whimper.
An evil laugh beats from under his lips. “I’m just getting started, McKinnon.”
When he’s satisfied, he pulls away, but I feel so owned, unable to stop my hand from finding the saliva-slick spot he left there. It aches with a permanent memory of his lips. Fuck. What would the team think if they saw their fearless captain like this? Stripped, begging, branded.
“That’s better,” he says, brushing gentle knuckles over my tight jaw. “How you should be—wrecked and aching for Daddy.”
I do feel wrecked, even though he barely did anything. What’s it gonna be like when he finally does? He’s reaching for my t-shirt, and I know what that means—time for me to go. “Please don’t make me go.”
“You have class,” he says, ignoring my pleas and helping me stuff my arms back into my shirt.
“Who needs class? I’m gonna be an NHL superstar.”
He raises a thick brow as he tugs the shirt down, covering my paintball injuries, but not the mark he left on me. “Are you? I was under the impression you hadn’t decided yet.”
“What do you mean? Of course I have.”
“Mhm. Tate said you haven’t signed with anyone.”
“I haven’t done that, but I will.”
He studies me, thumb under his chin. “Mhm.”
“That’s your second mhm. You don’t believe me,” I accuse.
“Why haven’t you chosen, McKinnon?”
“I have time,” I snap.
“Excuse me?” His voice has that dangerous glint again, but this time it’s for me. That tone? That’s the one that comes right before I get dragged back over his knee.
My throat dries right up. I can’t look directly at those two pieces of steel he calls eyes, but I manage to keep my lip firmly defiant. We’re still way too fucking new for me to spill my guts. I’ll moan for him, cry sexually frustrated tears for him, even behave for him. But that piece of me stays mine.
