Chapter 29 #2
“I was just telling Brantley about your cute obsession with him.”
I freeze, and my eyes lock with Michaels’s. “My obsession?” I croak, and then take another drink because how did my throat get so fucking dry?
Charlie gives me an innocent look, and I narrow my eyes. My sister suspects something, and she’s trying to force my hand. “You’ve been following Brantley’s career religiously since Whitmore U.”
“Actually, that’s true,” Marcus cuts in with a grin. “After his first time visiting Charlie, he started watching college hockey.”
“I–I wouldn’t call it an obsession,” I stutter. “Stitch just happened to be on my favorite team…”
Charlie tilts her head, giving me a questioning look.
“Stitch?”
Shit. I didn’t mean to call him by that nickname.
When I don’t immediately respond, Michaels answers for me. “It was my nickname when I played for the Canucks.” His stare is so intense that I have to look away.
“Do you even like the Canucks anymore?” Marcus asks, and I shoot him a warning look, which he completely ignores. “You don’t follow them like you used to. Did they suck last year or something?”
John snorts a laugh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t watch or play sports.”
Marcus grins and nods in confirmation.
When I finally look back at Michaels, his eyes are wide. “You stopped watching after my—”
I stand abruptly and catch the back of my chair just before it clatters to the floor. “I just need to use the bathroom,” I say quickly and try to look casual as I walk stiffly toward the hallway.
When I get to the bathroom, I slam the door and put my shaking hands on the counter, trying to calm my racing heart.
What the fuck is this?
But deep down, I recognize that I’m having a panic attack.
I swallow and turn on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face.
Then, I look at myself in the mirror, and my eyes flood with tears.
I don’t know why this is bothering me so much.
So I was interested in hockey. Big deal.
Growing up near Canada, I’ve always loved the sport.
But it wasn’t just hockey the last few years, was it?
Watching Michaels on the ice was intoxicating.
He was this heady mix of grace and raw masculinity.
He was contradictory in every way. Complete chaos and precise order.
And he only got better when he went pro—the way he manipulated the puck, his skates dancing around each other effortlessly.
And his personality was magnetic. Charming and cavalier.
He’d get this cocky half smirk when he taunted someone from the opposing team.
But he was just a good player. I wasn’t into him back then, was I?
My panic attack starts settling, but I jump when the bathroom door swings open. I turn to face Michaels, my backside digging into the edge of the countertop. He’s glaring at me, his pupils blown wide. He shuts the door with his hip and flicks the lock.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he growls. He smells like vodka and bad decisions, and my dick is so hard that it aches.
“Tell you what?” A warm tear slides down my cheek as the realization pours from my mouth like word vomit. “That I’ve been in love with you for years? That I watched every game, every interview, every bit of media footage just to see your stupidly handsome face?”
His expression changes to bewilderment.
“I didn’t understand before. No one but Fi had ever made me feel so visceral, but it was different. I didn’t know you then, so my feelings were illogical.” I wipe my cheeks. “And I didn’t recognize what I felt until the other day in Flurry.”
“You hated me.”
“I never hated you, but you showed up at my pub in the flesh, and I didn’t know how to deal with my emotions, so I focused on the only one that made sense, and I just made it into our whole relationship.”
“Which was…” His mouth is so close to mine that our lips graze.
“Anger. I was so mad that you’d gotten hurt, and no one seemed to give a shit.
And I was pissed that you’d allowed yourself to fall so far when I knew what you were capable of.
You’re an amazing fucking human, Michaels.
” His hazel eyes are hooded as they drop to my lips.
“Hockey pro or not, I wanted to see that spark again. So despite all the headaches you gave me, I never turned you away. I wanted to help you, but I didn’t know how. ”
“You wanted to fix me like everyone else,” Michaels says, his voice cracking.
I shake my head. “No, baby.” I lift a hand to run my fingers through his hair. “You were perfect. There was nothing to fix. You were lost. There’s a difference.”
Any control that either of us had shatters when he crushes his soft lips to mine. It’s not his usual sweet technique. It’s raw and harsh and punishing, and I lean into him forcefully, clutching his face until the tips of my fingers whiten.
He fumbles with the buttons on my flannel and eagerly pushes it off my shoulders. His fingers are rough against my over-sensitive skin as he slides them across my pecs and traces down my stomach.
It’s the first time that it’s just been us without Fi in the mix, and while I still feel an inkling of uncertainty, I’m so turned on that I’m practically sobbing into his mouth, my breaths stuttering painfully in and out every time he touches me.
Michaels pulls back with a playful nip on my bottom lip. “Bastian, baby, relax,” he soothes, eyeing the way I’m white-knuckling the counter. “What do you need from me?” He reaches between us and palms my hard cock through my jeans.
“I need to come,” I whimper. “I–I want you to…” What do I want? “I want you to fuck me. Hard.”
Michaels freezes and his eyebrows disappear under his flop of hair. I push the dark-blond strands from his forehead. He leans into my touch, his eyes intense and hooded. “Here? In your sister’s bathroom?”
I give him a deadpan look. “I shared a bathroom with Charlie for years. Do you think I didn’t jack off in it all that time?”
“There’s my grumpy bear,” he purrs.
I reach forward, grasping the collar of his shirt with both my hands and pulling us so close together that his erection rubs deliciously against mine.
“Don’t be cute,” I growl. “I said fuck me Michaels, and I mean it.”
His lips crash into mine with bruising force, and we fight for dominance, clawing at each other’s clothing. I manage to kick off my jeans, and Michaels’s nails scrape down my back as he squeezes one of my ass cheeks in each hand and lifts me onto the counter in nothing but my boxer briefs.
His lips move along my jawline and down my neck, sucking and nipping at my overheated flesh. He takes one of my nipples into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it.
I tip my head back, marveling at the way this man is undoing every ounce of control I’ve ever had with his hands and tongue.
“Fuck, look at that mess already,” Michaels murmurs, and I glance down.
My gray boxers are wet with precum, and I whine when he fists my cock through the silky fabric.
He hooks his fingers into my waistband, and I lift my ass so he can slide my underwear down my thighs.
My length slaps against my stomach, and Michaels licks his lips in appreciation.
“Don’t you dare suck my cock,” I warn. “Not unless you want this to be over very quickly.”
Michaels chuckles. “If we take too long, everyone will get suspicious.”
I shrug. “I’m done hiding stuff, Stitch. I want you to mark me and rail me. I want to smell your scent on my skin, and when we get back tonight, I want to watch you fuck Fi into a coma while I choke her with my cock.”
“Jesus, who are you?” Michaels murmurs.
I admire the way his muscles move and flex in the warm bathroom lights. He’s a little softer than he was when he played hockey, but still cut. I trace my fingers down his abs, which tighten under my touch, and tease the trail of hair that runs below his belly button.
“Take off your clothes,” I say with a smirk.
He complies, and when he’s completely naked, he mauls me again. I stand and lean into him, and our teeth clash and our tongues tangle. When our cocks press and bump together, I moan loudly.
“Fuck, baby, I need you inside me.”
“What about lube?” Michaels asks, his breaths coming in desperate gasps. I lick my lips as my eyes fall on a familiar lotion bottle next to the sink. Michaels follows my gaze. “Won’t that sting?”
“It’s the same stuff Charlie’s always had in her bathroom—it’s natural shit, doesn’t even have a smell.”
“Works for me.” Michaels places his hand firmly on my hips and turns me around so that I’m facing the mirror. “Bend over.” The authority in his voice coupled with the cold countertop against my torso makes me shiver as I obey.
He gives the lotion bottle two good pumps and then smears the cool liquid between my cheeks, his finger circling the tight rim of my asshole. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”
I shudder as his finger sinks into my hole, stretching me.
It already feels so full, and his cock is so big, I worry it might break me.
A spark of fear zips through my stomach as my brain backfires to the raw pain from my memories, but Michaels seems to sense my unease because he leans over my body, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “We’ll go slow at first, and I promise I’m going to make you feel good.”
I swallow and nod, and Michaels inches a second finger inside me. He pushes deep, and when he hits my prostate, it’s like lightning straight to my cock.
“Ohmyfuck!” I scream.
Michaels covers my mouth with a chuckle. “You may not want the entire house to hear us fucking.” I lick his hand, and he pulls it back. “Gross, Bastian!”
“Your fingers are in my ass, and that’s gross?”
He spanks me, hard, and I yelp and then groan when he scissors his fingers open.