5. TATE #3
His anger is sublime, though. Delicious.
I can taste it in the air. I can’t tear my eyes away from him, mesmerized, utterly transfixed.
There’s blood on his face, too, and if I were sure it was his, I’d lick it off him, but it could have come from the other guy.
Who knows what might be living in the other guy’s blood?
I guess Ryan could have something, too, but I don’t care.
If he has something, I want it, too. Our germs can mix for all I care.
His jersey’s torn, showing more ink underneath and the carved planes of his striated muscle.
I can’t wait to feel him, consume him, press my body against his.
He finally pauses, breathing hard. Glaring.
I stand up and stride around my desk, yanking the stick out of his hand, tossing it to the ground, then back him into the wall.
He goes, willingly, probably in shock. Crowding him, I place the pad of my thumb on his chin, just under his bottom lip.
His arms move, reflexively about to touch me, but he pulls back.
He remembered the rules.
“Did you hear a word I said?” he snaps.
“I heard every word you said, dollface.” I dip my head, inhaling his musky scent.
He reeks of sweat and blood and violence.
It makes my dick hard. I turn his head, and he lets me move it however I want.
Whatever spell I’m under when I’m near him, he’s under the same one.
I doubt Ryan’s the kind of guy who lets just anyone maneuver him like he’s a puppet.
I find that spider, the one who told me it was him, place my lips there and suck. Thank you, pretty girl. Girl, because I usually assume spiders are female. Once they mate, they eat the males, so chances are ...
“You can’t just … uh … mm-hmm. Tate,” he moans.
Fuck. He can’t say my name like that. My dick strains behind my zipper. “Want me to stop?” I whisper against his neck.
“I want you to …” His lids flutter. “Want you to let me touch you.”
I need full control. Touching gets out of control.
“Where?” I demand, pulling my head back to look into his blue eyes.
“Neck?” He raises a brow.
“No.”
“Torso?”
“Okay.”
His eyes widen—don’t think he expected me to say yes—and I dive for his neck again, intent on sucking a giant hickey of ownership into his flesh. When his hand slides up my torso, I almost don’t notice, but the wave of tingles hits, and I can’t fucking deny them.
I suck harder.
And my brain lights with plans.
From this moment forward, Ryan belongs to me whether he knows it or not. Whether he likes it or not.
Although he definitely likes it. At least, he likes what I’m doing to him if the way he’s humping my leg is anything to go by. His head leans back, hitting the wall, and his eyes flutter between open and closed.
“I’m not going to forget that I’m mad at you,” he murmurs.
Right. I guess we should clear a few things up, but I needed to put my mark on him after that fucking dead man on the ice punched him so hard his face turned into a purple balloon. I back away to take a look at my work. It’s much worse than his face.
Good.
“What the fuck were you thinking joining a deadly hockey league?”
“All hockey is deadly, and this is hardly a league,” he argues.
People in this part of my world aren’t supposed to argue with me. Ethan might ride the line, but when I give an order, he follows it. That’s how it’ll be with Ryan, I’ve just got to make him understand.
“It’s my league, and you’re forbidden from playing in it.”
“You can’t do that.”
I smirk. “Actually, I can.”
He rubs a hand over his sweaty face; it smears the blood. I still want to lick him. Maybe I can get him to wash his face, we make new blood, and I lick that.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Was he talking? Okay, I’ll admit I zoned out that time, but damn, he’s distracting. That pretty face, like a doll.
“I said, are you even going to tell me why?”
“Change into your street clothes. You’re watching the rest of the game with me. Oh, and wash your face,” I add.
“No.”
I frown. “No?”
“Yeah, no. If I leave this office, I’m getting back on the ice.”
My shoulders shrug as I marvel at him some more. “Good luck with that. I’ve already sent word. No one’s letting you back on the ice. They’ve already begun play without you.”
“Arrrgh!” He pushes me away. “Why are you doing this?”
Lunging forward, I grip his face in one hand. “Because if someone else touches you like he did, there’s gonna be a massacre on the ice.”
Ryan freezes, then shivers, a healthy mix of fear and arousal in his eyes. Good, he gets it now.
“Go change, dollface.”
He closes his eyes, gathering strength. “Will we at least talk about this?” His pretty eyes flutter open. That’s becoming difficult to ignore. They’re so damn beautiful, they almost sway me. Almost.
“Sure.”
“That is so not promising,” he mutters. He’s right. It’s not. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
I lick my lips, attempting to taste his anger in the air. I could spend a lifetime dissecting it, feasting on it.
He pushes me away again, this time storming out past my guards, who are staring at me as if I’ve grown a second head. I don’t let people talk to me that way. I never let someone push me around like that without retribution.
But Ryan seems to be the exception to everything.
“Make sure he finds his way to my seats,” I say, rubbing a hand over the now tender spot where he pushed me. If I’m lucky, I might have a bruise.
If I’m extra lucky, I leave here with a husband.