Chapter 2 Oliver
Oliver
He’s doing livestreams now.
And I’ve never felt guiltier or more turned on.
He asked for requests, and everybody wanted something different. I was too afraid to request anything, lying in bed under my covers, lit only by the faint glow of the Christmas lights in my window.
I watch him turn and spread his ass for the camera, like someone asked.
All I can do is watch.
My cock is hard as a fucking diamond between my legs, but I’m trying not to touch myself because I’ll come way too fast.
I tap out a comment.
Hercules2210: So hot. Do you give and receive?
Niko—Dragonfly—nods at the camera and answers me.
“Yes and yes. I do whatever the fuck I want.”
My problem has been simple, for my whole life.
I always know too much.
When you’re a quiet, shy, smart kid growing up in a world where everyone else is loud, you see things.
Notice things.
Witness things when you really shouldn’t.
When I was younger, I never knew that information could be more dangerous than a weapon. But I know it now.
Niko Berlant isn’t just trying to fight me because he’s purely psychotic.
He’s fighting me because I know something about him.
And for some reason all I can do is stare at him.
His slash of black hair falls to one side of his face.
The glacier blue of his eyes focuses on me like he’s aiming to kill.
Niko has the kind of eyes that always look like they have a tiny bit of eyeliner along the top row of lashes, yet it’s all completely natural; thick, dark rows of lashes above deep-set, sleepy blue eyes.
Bedroom eyes.
The kind that every intensely hot model is blessed with, and the reason I knew he had a real shot at becoming one.
He’s gotten more tattoos, too. I’ve seen them in his videos, and they’re hot as fuck, even if I think it’s crazy to get tattoos on the back of your hands.
Seeing him like this produces a reaction in me I haven’t felt in nearly a year, since the last time we were out on the ice. The weight of his body on mine causes every nerve in my body to activate. Close contact, after going for so long without enough touch.
And I’ve been hard since the moment his hands landed on me.
Not surprising, because I swear I could get hard from a goddamn breeze blowing on my pants in the right way lately.
I need sex like I need air, and I don’t care if I fuck someone or get fucked, because that’s how desperate I am to finally get rid of my own torrid little secret.
I’m a virgin, yet everyone thinks I’m a hookup king.
All false rumors.
Because I’ve never done a goddamn thing.
Niko still keeps his legs straddled around me, pinning me as I struggle to prop myself up on my elbows. He’s still trying to assert dominance.
The other Onyx guys have noticed us by now, and they’re walking over.
“What the fuck?” Noah says from the other side of the room as he heads over. “What’s going on here?”
“Get off of him,” Roman roars, not far behind Noah. Roman enjoys acting like every Onyx member’s personal bodyguard.
But it’s like Niko doesn’t hear them at all.
The feral look on Niko’s face is still aimed right at me. As the crowd forms around us, I’m almost expecting him to start choking me.
“Still won’t get off me?” I ask. “You trying to fight me or force yourself on me, Niko?”
I try to move my arm a little more and he jams my wrist back down against the hardwood floor.
I wince a little, turning my head.
One of the big speakers that fills the room with music is right next to my face, and Niko leans over me, talking near my ear.
“Keep acting like you could take my cock. Know what it’s like to have nine inches inside you?”
“Jesus, Niko.”
No. I don’t know what it’s like.
Really fucking wish I could find out.
“So you have your little piece of information,” he says, peering at me. “But are you going to tell your frat bros what you did to me?”
I need to get him the hell off of me.
If he moves his ass a little lower, there’s a risk that he’ll feel how hard my cock is, just from this.
He cannot know he has that kind of power over me.
I struggle underneath him. “Get off of me.”
“Hey!” I hear Weston shout, and I see his arm come down around Niko’s torso, trying to pull him off.
Niko is uncontrollable, though.
He leans close to my ear again, talking so near to me that nobody can hear him above the bassy music.
“Do they know you fucking drugged me at our final game? Slipped that molly in my electrolytes because you just had to get your win? Made it impossible to play hockey, Ashford.”
He really still thinks it’s true.
It’s bad blood from nearly a year ago, and he’s still convinced I was the one who drugged him. Whoever the fuck dosed him with ecstasy during the final game of the season caused him to lose the game, to me.
He acted like I was the one who did it.
Both of us knew I didn’t. I had no access to drugs. Even if I did, I would never drug anyone for any reason.
But… the molly also made him say things to me, after the game. Things I will never forget. And that’s just another reason he’s straddled over me now like he wants to rip me apart.
He finally removes his hands from my arms.
My skin stings a little where he was holding me down, and the pain feels like its own little prize.
Maybe it means something’s deeply fucking wrong with me, but I’ve always welcomed certain kinds of pain, on the hockey rink, in the gym, or anywhere else.
It can make me feel like I’m alive in some fucked up way, after being a wallflower for the greater part of my life.
Pain, pleasure… any of it.
I just always want more.
Niko manages to grip my wrist tight one more time before Roman’s hand closes around him, prying his hands off of me.
Weston’s hands wrap around his torso again and together they pull him off.
Niko’s gaze stays trained on me even as they hold him back.
“Are you okay, Ollie?” Weston asks, clearly panicking a little.
Weston’s been looking forward to tonight, after all, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the half-brother he never knew is like a rabid animal.
“I’m fine,” I tell Wes as I sit up, massaging the raw spot on my wrist and then reaching up to brush my fingers along my jaw.
Someone holds a hand out to help me up and I stand, pulling in a breath and trying to center myself.
“That isn’t going to fucking fly here, Niko,” Wes tells him.
I step out and tap his arm that’s still restraining Niko. “Weston, it’s okay. This is just leftover beef from when we used to play hockey.”
“Looked like a lot more than just hockey beef.”
Yeah.
It’s a whole lot more.
“I won the last game against him back in high school,” I explain, “and Niko hasn’t let that go. He always was a sore loser.”
I fake a smile, and I can tell that Niko would have lunged at me again for saying that if Roman wasn’t body blocking the two of us right now.
I reach over to the table where I left my glass of whiskey. There’s something sweet behind the bitter, bracing alcohol, and even though it kind of tastes awful, I embrace the burn.
The warmth of the liquor in my throat lessens how much I notice the pain in my jaw and wrists.
“Are you done?” Weston asks Niko.
Weston is wavering between wanting to be welcoming to his brother and wanting to show concern for me.
Unnecessary, but nice.
Wes is always nice. If Roman’s our bodyguard, then Weston Knox is like the jock frat dad of Onyx.
“Yeah. I’m done,” Niko says.
He’s lying. I know Niko better than his own brothers do. And there is not a chance in hell he’s done with me.
I nod at Weston. “It’s good. Really.”
The rest of the crowd has gone back to normal now, and Weston nods back at me, watching for a while longer to make sure I’m fine. He and Roman stay nearby, glancing over at me every few moments.
“This is why you should have just said hello when you saw me,” I tell Niko.
The adrenaline in my veins settles a little.
“You said you wanted to talk,” he says to me now, pulling me out of my thoughts. “So talk.”
“Right. Um, yes. Welcome to Onyx House,” I say.
When Niko looks at me, his gaze makes me feel the same way the whiskey does. Burning into me, but in a way that makes me tempted to go back for more.
Now I’m fucking stumbling over my words, the moment we’re not fighting anymore.
Because social norms are much more difficult than pain or pleasure.
“Didn’t realize you were accepted to Crimson College,” he tells me. “They look fondly on guys who drug people?”
“There isn’t a shot in hell you still believe that,” I tell him in a flat tone. “Even back then, you knew it wasn’t me.”
“Saw the security camera evidence. You were the only one who went into the locker room before I went to grab my drink.”
“Well, then, somebody did it earlier. I didn’t fucking drug you, and I would never do something like that. How many times did I tell you that back then? Am I going to have to keep saying it now?”
Back then, Niko paid off a security guard to show him cam footage from the hall outside the locker room, and in the video, I was the only person seen going in before Niko, right before the game started.
To him, it seemed impossible that anyone else would have done it.
The truth is that I was only in the locker room for a minute to check my phone, but never had any chance of proving that to Niko.
“You got the chance to easily win the most important hockey game, and while I was under the influence of the lovely little drug called ecstasy, you got what you wanted.”
I hum. “You told me I was pretty.”
“Because you’re pretty, Oliver.” He pauses for a moment, looking down at the open buttons at the top of my shirt. “Do you have freckles like that all over your body, or just there?”
The back of my neck heats, and my cock throbs again.
I’d finally gotten my hard-on to go away, and now it’s back like a goddamned needy dog.
I adjust my shirt and jacket, pulling it a little further closed.
“Thanks.”
He pulls in a long breath of air. “I said all sorts of dumb shit that night, Ashford. Who gives a fuck?”