Chapter 19
Ethan
We enter the hotel room in Toronto, and my traitorous cock immediately perks up. I clench my jaw. Haven’t you done enough?
I’m supposed to be punishing Jax, but I can’t recall precisely what for. My gaze shifts to the man in question. He’s already gazing at me with a smug smirk. Oh yeah, that’s right—he was being manipulative, taunting me with his best friend.
I scoff and turn away, placing my luggage on the bed farthest from the door.
He follows and sets his bag beside mine. He toes off his sneakers, drapes his jacket over the back of a chair, and removes his shirt.
Trying to stay strong—because all I want is to cuddle the little shit, who’s now shirtless, displaying my marks—I toss his duffel onto the other bed. “You’re sleeping over there.”
I decided making him choke on my cock wasn’t a punishment, not to Jax, so I’m going in a different direction.
“Seriously?” He throws his hands in the air. “I might as well leave. Sleeping separately from me and denying me your affection is not a punishment; it’s abuse, legit emotional abuse.”
A threat and an accusation all rolled into one; he knows how to hit me, and I lose my temper. “Who told you that? Google? Certainly not a psychiatrist.”
He stares pointedly until guilt flushes my face, forcing me to glance away. Me and my fucking mouth.
Awkward silence fills the room. I unzip my baggage and begin unpacking as he does the same.
I hang my suit then stop. You know what? No, I’m not in the wrong here. “It’s funny how you keep track of everyone else’s abuse but your own.”
About to pull off his sweatpants, fingers on the waistband, he hesitates. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Your level of possessiveness—if I can’t have you, no one else can—is astonishing. You’re willing to jeopardize my entire career, all I have, because you’re not getting enough attention.”
“All you have?” Brows raised, he presses his lips together and slowly nods. “Wow, Coach. Did you take a giant leap back in time?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I drop my bags on the floor, desperate to get into bed, and loosen my tie. “I meant besides us—you and Aurora.”
Honestly, it was a slip of the tongue. I’m struggling, grabbing at anything to keep from falling to my knees for Jackson O’Reilly, the captain of my team.
It sounds silly, even shallow, but that’s exactly who he is—to everyone else.
I’m his coach, he’s my player, and no matter how much I try to fight it, he affects me wholly.
Tonight’s clusterfuck of a game proved that, along with his inability to keep his hands to himself.
He retrieves his shirt from the floor and yanks it over his head. “I’ll get my own room or crash with someone. I’ll keep my distance. That way, your reputation as a hard-ass straight guy remains intact.”
“I am straight.” There I go again. The words fly out of my mouth, a knee-jerk reaction, and I’m not even sure they’re true.
“Hilarious,” he deadpans. “Did you forget I sucked your cock? And you liked it?”
“That’s you.” I jut my chin. “You’re the only man I’m attracted to.” I pause then correct myself. “You’re the only man I’ve ever been attracted to.”
“Good to know you’re at least attracted to me.”
He reaches for his jacket, and, being a mature adult, I snatch it and chuck it between the bed and the wall.
“Like fuck you’re staying elsewhere.”
If he goes for the door, I may tackle him. I’ve lost all control.
He cocks his head. “See? You’re as possessive as I am. The difference is I want you.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I don’t care who knows or sees. I’m begging for you. Not just your attention, you. Why is that hard for you to understand?”
How is he so open with his emotions and desires? He pours his heart out easily.
“Maybe because it’s never happened before…” I shrug, palms up. “You. Aurora. Any of this.”
“Because you never let it.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and tugs at the strands.
“If you don’t want me destroying your career, then tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do with this?
” He slaps his chest. “This constant ache?” He takes a step back and gestures towards the door.
“You want me to leave or stay? I’m done playing games—it’s only fucking with my head. ”
If he leaves, his panic will only escalate. I know because mine will too. We won’t sleep; we’ll either seek each other out or do something reckless.
Tears well in his eyes. I snag his shirt and draw him into my arms.
“Stay. I’ll fix it.” Heat spreads through my veins and ignites every nerve ending, my body intensely focused on each point of contact. “Give me this season. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”
He doesn’t answer, and the ache, as he put it, deepens.
I tangle my fingers in his hair and lean in to kiss him. He turns his head.
I grip his jaw and force his face to mine. “Kiss me, Jax. Feel how much I want you.”
He remains tense, his gaze averted. Now I’m the one being punished. My pulse quickens, a frantic drum against my ribs that echoes the rapid beat of his own heart.
I sink my teeth into his bottom lip, biting down until his hips shift and he groans.
Jax doesn’t do anything half-assed. It’s all or nothing, in or out. He loves with his entire being and seeks the same in return.
It’s not enough to hear that I love him—he needs to feel it in his bones, wear it on his skin. He wants to replace the pain of longing and loneliness with the pain of my love and lust.
I can do that, but first, I need to be sure of one thing. “I’d never hurt you—not purposefully. You know that, right? If you want me to stop, I will. Always.”
He sucks his swollen lip into his mouth, his pupils dilated, and nods. “I know.”
“Take your shirt off and hold your wrists out,” I demand.
He complies, and I yank my belt free from my pants.
Using the buckle as the center, I swiftly fashion a double figure-eight then slip the leather over his hands to bind his wrists. When he shows no signs of revulsion, I jerk the loose end taut and rethread it through the clasp.
“Holy shit.” He tests the restraints. “What are you going to do?” His voice holds no fear, only a curious edge.
This is the punishment he’d craved, the one he anticipated. I shouldn’t have second-guessed myself.
I shove him in the chest, and he falls onto the mattress, landing flat on his back.
“Make sure you remember who you belong to.” I kick off my shoes and unbutton my shirt. “Keep your hands above your head.” I shut off the lights and strip to my boxers. “If you don’t, I won’t let you come, and you will sleep in that bed alone.”
***
Jackson
The curtains are drawn tight, the room pitch-black. Ethan rummages through his bag, and my heart rate spikes, adrenaline shooting through my veins.
“Um…if you’re searching for lube—” I stop mid-sentence at a sound I’ve known for over a decade, a sound that inhabits my dreams: the tearing of hockey tape.
“If you run your mouth, I’m taping it shut.”
Keep my hands above my head, don’t touch him, and don’t talk. Got it. “I get to be the pillow princess tonight?”
He covers my smile with stick tape. “I swear, you’re a brat just so I’ll punish you.”
Damn, he’s catching on.
I was pissed earlier when he tried to force me to sleep alone. My emotions are a mess. The worst thing he can do is ice me out, because I will destroy everything. The idea of being without him triggers that furious scream inside me, the ticking time bomb.
Being away from Aurora doesn’t help. Ethan’s right—the craziness has escalated. The darkness lurks just under the surface of my skin, waiting to be unleashed. Only his rough touch pacifies it.
The mattress dips, and my mind quiets, acutely focused on what he might do next. He settles between my thighs, his fingers finding my waistband, and I raise my hips to help him remove my sweats and boxers.
His hard body comes over me, our legs entangled, his clothed erection pressed to mine. He grabs my chin, tilts my head, and kisses my throat. His beard rasps against my skin, and goosebumps erupt on my chest.
“Can I mark you here?”
That deep rumble goes straight to my heavy balls.
I nod, lost to him. I’d let him do anything as long as he kept touching me.
His teeth sink into my neck, a searing brand. Endorphins flood my system, heightening my senses, and my hips flex, grinding against him.
“You like that, don’t you? You like it when I claim you?” His body dips and applies more pressure to my aching cock, but it also makes it impossible to find friction.
It’s maddening.
My reply is a throaty groan, thick with need.
Players will suspect something when I show up tomorrow with a bite mark—not that I give a fuck. I’ll wear it proudly. Seems Ethan is okay with assumptions and rumors swirling around but draws the line at me clinging to him on the team jet when I’m insecure.
“I love you, Jax.” His hot breath ghosts over my skin.
“I think about you all day.” His fingers thread through my hair.
“I want you as badly as you want me.” His mouth trails south, kissing, nipping.
Then, his fist tightens in my hair, and his sweet pillow talk turns harsh.
“You’re. Mine.” Each word is punctuated with a sharper bite. “Don’t forget it.”
The praise-pleasure-pain is a balm to my black soul.
Since I didn’t win last night and caused him trouble, he probably won’t allow the collarbone tattoo—but I’m absolutely getting it after the next game.
Lazily, he moves down my body, coming to rest between my legs.
He palms my shaft, and the air catches in my lungs. Wetness runs down my length, and I realize he’s spitting on my dick. Fuck yes.
I’ll die if he sucks my cock. Okay, maybe not die, but I’ll definitely shatter the world record for the fastest orgasm. I can’t imagine anything better than blowing my load down Coach’s throat. Just the thought has me leaking precum all over his fingers.
He strokes me from base to tip, his grip firm and rough. His thumb circles my slit and swirls precum over the crown. “You want my mouth, beautiful boy?”
His touch…his words… I respond with a whimper.
Soft, pillowy lips engulf the head of my cock, and my hips jerk.
Holy fuck. This is real. I’m getting a blow job from Ethan.
He gently applies suction and curls his tongue around the ridge. I let out a stifled moan and fight to stay still, desperate to plunge farther.
Sucking cock is self-explanatory, and he quickly finds his rhythm, taking me deeper with each pull. It’s fucking incredible, and I tilt my head back and shut my eyes. I’m so close…
Then, the suction disappears, and my eyes pop open.
No!
“You wanna come for me, baby boy?” He strokes me hard and fast while massaging my tight balls then stops.
Jesus, I might die after all—death from edging.
My angry dick throbs. I grip the bottom of the wooden headboard to stop myself from grabbing his thick hair and forcing him to end my suffering. The leather belt digs into my wrists from the effort of holding back.
Hard-fast-stop. “You gonna be good? Like you promised?” Hard-fast-stop.
I clench my thighs to prevent from releasing in his hand.
Here’s the punishment I crave—the one where he edges me senseless and we both get what we want. I can pretend to be friends during the day if he wrecks me every night—but only with the team. Everywhere else is fair game.
I babble incoherent words behind the tape: Yes. I’ll be good. Please let me come.
“You taunt me with Grant again, and I’ll make you beg for it with my cock shoved down your throat. Understood?”
That sounds fan-fucking-tastic, but okay. I whine and rock my hips in reply.
His lips return, his fist working my shaft in tandem with his mouth. It’s rough and sloppy, and I swear, his goal is to suck the cum right out of me.
I shatter in seconds, spiraling into oblivion. I shoot rope after rope of cum onto his tongue, the back of his throat. It doesn’t stop.
My muscles jerk, and I’m so strung out, I’m incapable of speech. My brain is utterly blank. I’m dazed, lightheaded, breathless. My entire body tingles, each nerve ending vibrating, and a low hum resonates in my ears.
The hockey tape rips free, and I come back to planet Earth, realizing he’s hovering over me. He grasps my jaw, squeezes my cheeks, and my lips open automatically. He leans down and spits into my mouth—spits my own cum into my mouth, mixed with his saliva.
One more way of him marking me, owning me, and my spent cock twitches back to life.
He brings his hand to my throat. “Swallow.”
I obey, my Adam’s apple grazing his palm.
“Good boy,” he praises, dark and satisfied.
The high of the orgasm begins to fade, and I’m ready for another—an Ethan high. I need him.
“You want more?”
I nod, my eyes meeting his, unsure if I’m allowed—or able—to speak. I want you.
“You’re insatiable.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Can I fuck this pretty mouth?”
He’s becoming less inhibited with his dirty talk, and for once, that word doesn’t cause my stomach to roil, doesn’t provoke the violent rage in my chest. He’s rewiring my brain, linking words and actions to pleasure and love that were once associated with pain and fear.
I part my lips.