Chapter 11 #2
I liked both of them. I remembered when they’d been hired because there’d been the usual screeching about DEI and whatnot.
When the Grizzlies had fallen apart last season and into this season, people had insisted Tori and Amy needed to be fired.
Instead, the pair had survived the firings, and despite all the continued screaming and misogyny online, I’d understood immediately why Emil had kept them.
They both had off-the-chart hockey IQs. They were solid leaders who communicated well and didn’t take shit from players.
Every man in a Grizzlies sweater respected the shit out of both of them.
And like, DEI? Really? They each had two Olympic golds playing with Team Canada, and Amy had a silver for coaching the same team. Tori had two MVP trophies from her university team, and she’d set a scoring record for that division that still hadn’t been broken.
Meanwhile my predecessor, Coach Brown, had two Cups and three conference championships from his career playing in the League.
That sounded impressive right up until someone mentioned he was healthy-scratched for the majority of those games, suspended for two of them, stupidly took a reckless penalty that led to a series-winning goal against, and he only scored two points between all of those playoff games.
Yet he’d been named head coach when Amy was right there?
DEI, my ass.
I shook my head as I waited for the elevator. I had no doubt there were articles and rumors about how I was also a DEI hire. Clearly I’d only gotten this job because I’d been the first openly gay player in the League. Clearly that was why I got any job or accolade in this sport.
Though the naysayers had at least stopped saying I’d be a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame because of my sexuality.
In the seven years since I’d retired, three players with far lower stats than mine had been inducted, but I’d been left off the ballot both years I’d been eligible.
So much for blowing my way into the Hall of Fame.
I was so caught up in my own thoughts, I didn’t even notice someone materializing beside me. Not until the elevator opened and we both stepped inside.
“What floor?” Hairs asked as he pressed the button for the fourth.
“Same,” I said. “Thanks.”
He nodded. Then he gave me an odd look. “Same floor as me and Devs.”
“Pretty sure most of the team is on that floor,” I said evenly, hoping he didn’t notice my oh fuck stomach flip.
He grunted in agreement and watched the numbers as the elevator took its sweet time ascending. “He’s a good D-man, isn’t he?”
“Who? Devs?” I shrugged. “He’s great. Excellent addition to the team.”
Another quiet grunt, accompanied by an odd expression I couldn’t read. He didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride, and when we got out on our floor, we headed for our rooms.
Which, it turned out, were right next to each other.
Devon’s sleeping in the next room? Fucking hell.
Good thing we’d be checking out this afternoon. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sleeping at all tonight. And good thing I didn’t need a pregame nap like the players did; I could just watch a movie or something.
Or jerk off.
While thinking about the man I can’t have.
Who’s apparently on the other side of this wall.
I deadbolted my door as if that might keep all the impure thoughts away or… I don’t know. Something.
Then I sat on the end of the bed, which of course had its headboard pushed up against our shared wall. Yeah, jerking off was probably inevitable. Because I was a horny, stupid dipshit who was going to destroy my career and Devon’s.
“There’s something here,” he’d said in that conference room, “that you keep coming back for even when you know you shouldn’t. Maybe you should think about what that is.”
I lay back and stared up at the ceiling. He was right. I knew he was. And he also apparently knew exactly what it was I needed while I couldn’t put my damn finger on it.
“Don’t. Text me.” My own words echoed in my ears. He wouldn’t. When he’d said he wouldn’t do something if I didn’t consent, I knew to my core that he was telling the truth.
But maybe I needed to text him, and not so he could order me out of my pants.
Swearing in every language I knew, I took out my phone.
What is it I need from you?
I kind of hoped he wouldn’t read the message yet. Or he’d leave me on read.
But no, the gray dots appeared almost instantly.
Fuck. Here we go.
You really don’t know?
No.
He started and stopped typing a few times. I shifted around, then sat against the headboard, still watching the screen. Finally, a message came through.
You’re submissive.
I blinked. What the fuck?
lol I’m not submissive.
Is that why you get so turned on when I tell you what to do?
My mouth went dry. And fuck me, but my dick started stirring.
You like it when I tell you you’re a good boy.
I don’t understand
Which part?
All of it?
It’s pretty simple. You like to submit. You like to give up control.
Or maybe I should say, you like it when I TAKE control.
What about the good boy thing? WTF is that about?
Praise kink.
***
lol It’s exactly what it sounds like. You get off on being praised. You like hearing that you did well. That you’ve pleased your Sir.
I exhaled hard, praying he didn’t hear me through the thin walls. There was a TV on in his room, and I just hoped it was drowning out any sounds coming from my side.
Yeah, you like that.
Doesn’t everyone?
Not like you do. You’re hard as a rock right now, thinking about kneeling for me and hearing what a good boy you are.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, realizing a second too late the thunk against our shared wall would be incriminating.
LOL Thought so.
Fuck my life.
You get it now, right? You’re a submissive with a praise kink? And I think you’re a masochist too.
I kind of wanted to argue with him, but too many memories flooded my mind. My scalp burning from his death grip on my hair. My ass stinging from every sharp slap or punishing thrust. The way every glowing welt and throbbing bruise the next morning had reminded me how hot we’d been together.
How am I 43 and just now figuring this out?
You hadn’t met a Dom or a sadist before, apparently.
You’re a Dom and a sadist?
Through and through.
And I think you’ve needed and wanted this for so long, that’s why you can’t help yourself.
I swallowed as I read and reread his messages. He was right on the money. How he knew me better than I knew myself, I had no idea.
We still can’t do this. But I guess the insight is good.
We shouldn’t.
WE CAN’T.
He didn’t respond. My pounding heart switched to a more panicked cadence. He was backing off, which was exactly what I needed him to do. At the same time, I wasn’t ready to let this go, no matter how much I should. Especially not when he was laying down cards I desperately needed to see.
Damn it, I needed to pull at this thread. Find out how deep this went—this submission and masochism and praise kink. Couldn’t we, like, steal away for a night and see this through? Explore it? Let me really get my head around what I was and what he did to me?
No. Of course we couldn’t. I was stupid for even thinking it.
The smart thing to do would be to take the information he’d given me and find someone else. He couldn’t possibly be the only Dom or sadist out there, and I didn’t imagine every single one of them was affiliated with a hockey team.
But God help me…
I wanted to kneel for Devon.