1. RYAN #2
But he proves me wrong. A mammoth hand grabs me from underneath my jaw, and it doesn’t have a problem cupping the whole side of my face in its iron grip. I don’t back down, sneering, every bone in my body screaming with challenge. Come on, do your fucking worst, you goddamn sasquatch.
He might kill me, but I don’t even care if he does. My body crackles with electricity as his tightens with unspent rage.
And then something else happens.
Arousal so hot it’s liquefying races through my veins. It’s almost too much.
Pulling in a sharp breath, I lick my lips, but fuck if I don’t catch the moment it hits him, too. A tight hitch of breath. He wants me as badly as I want him. And he doesn’t like that he wants me. I don’t know how I know it, but I can taste it in the air.
We breathe, ragged and in sync, for several long seconds as the cool air finds the gaps in my suit, clashing with the heat blazing over my skin.
There are scents of pine and petrichor, winding their way into my nostrils, and when I pull enough air in, I can smell him.
The faint salt of skin, something dark, dangerous, and maybe just a tad bitter.
Nothing sharp or sweet, just something unmistakably male.
“I know who you are. Ryan Savage. North Point’s hockey captain,” he says. “But you don’t know who I am, do you? Don’t pay attention to anything but your own reflection in the ice, I’d bet.”
I don’t answer that. He can think whatever the fuck he wants.
“You fucking asshole.” He squeezes my face tighter, and I grit my teeth. “I pay attention to the ice, because I only care about the fucking game. You’re a lowbrow coach. How did you merit an invite to this?”
Only there’s nothing lowbrow about him. I mostly want to get under his skin, but I wouldn’t mind knowing how he got in. Not that I believe for a second he’ll tell me.
Using my face as a leash, he drags me, then pushes, backing me into a tree. For some reason, I let him. I could fight him—it’s not like I’m not big enough to do any damage—but the way he can manhandle me so easily does something to me.
Is his cock as hard as mine is? Is his heart a half-swallowed lump in his throat? Doubtful on both counts, but this whole encounter is a wild delusion, so why not keep that energy up?
“I guess I can see why you’d be so distracted,” he says, twisting my face to the side, rubbing his solid jaw against mine. My breath hitches. “You’re pretty. Like a doll.”
“A doll? Fuck y—ahh!” His fingers poke into the tender spots along my jaw. “I’m not a fucking doll, jackass.”
“A doll,” he insists, carrying on through gritted teeth, “like the one I had when I was a kid, with the blinking eyes and long lashes.”
Okay, what? Is he for real? What’s wrong with him?
Whatever. Anyway, that’s just fucking absurd. I’m a six-foot brick house. The idea that anything about me could be doll-like is laughable. And something he said is way more intriguing.
“You had a doll?”
“Of course. Everyone should have a pretty doll.” The asshole’s still talking about me, isn’t he? He releases my face, trailing his hand down my neck. “I wasn’t very nice to my doll.”
Is that supposed to be a warning? Consider me warned. Consider me officially ignoring the warning. Tate doesn’t have to be nice to me. I’d like it better if he weren’t. I’ve never fucked for love, or even like. I don’t plan to start now.
His lips press to my pulse point as if he can’t help himself. It should be enough to make me forget about dolls; everything else I know is gone, wiped from my mind, but I can’t help my fascination.
“Wh-What did you do to the doll?” I breathe.
“I never let him play with anyone but me.”
“Of course, not. You would be a controlling prick.”
Just like my other insult, he lets it roll off his back, pressing more hot kisses along my neck, leaving a wet trail. My hand curls around the back of his neck, but it’s brief. He peels it away and slams it over my head. My fingers scrape against rough bark.
“No.”
“You get to touch me, but I don’t get to touch you?”
Once again, I don’t get a direct answer, and it’s driving me fucking crazy.
“The difference is I don’t want you to touch me, but you want me to touch you. Unless … do you want me to stop? Say the word, and I’ll stop.”
I wish with all my being that the answer was yes. “No. Please. Don’t you dare stop.”
“That’s it. I like begging. Prefer it, so you have to admit how bad you want it.” He pulls his lips off my neck. “Other hand up there, too. Keep them there.”
I barely bite back the yes, sir. It’s ingrained. My father demands to be answered with “Yes, sir,” and it’s a mandatory form of address at North Point Military Academy. But that’s not what I want here. Maybe I want him to fucking take me, but it’s my choice. Calling people sir isn’t by choice.
“Open your neck for me. That’s it. I want to taste you.”
Tate’s gentler than I expected. Than I want. But that’s part of his game, isn’t it? Take what he gives me, even if it’s less than what I’d demand were I in charge. I’d want rough. I’d let him fuck me raw against this tree, no matter how irresponsible that is.
“More,” I plead.
“Believe me, if we didn’t have to go back in there, you’d be leaving with fat hickeys all up your neck.”
So, he’s not gentle; he’s cautious.
That’s also reality knocking—I’m going to have to return at some point. Why did my leash have to get yanked so soon? Fuck, what am I doing? I should go. I’ve been gone long enough. Father’s probably going to be pissed. I drop my hands and push at his chest. He stops, frowning.
“I should go,” I say. I pull away.
“Wait.” His hand grips all the way around my wrist—I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do that to me before—and traps me in his arms. At least he’s touching me. I like it better when he’s touching me. “I know you were enjoying that.”
He stares, thinking, ghosting fingers over my nose, his thumb landing just under my bottom lip.
“I need relief, and you need to stop all those thoughts rolling around in your head,” he declares.
“How the fuck—”
“I can see them, Ryan. Those thoughts. The turmoil on your face. It’s fucking delicious. I could revel in it, but I’d rather have your lips around my cock. Wouldn’t you like that, too? Nothing but my cock to worry about, your sole purpose in life to suck it?”
My head nods as if it’s being controlled by some other unworldly force.
Or maybe that’s the excuse I need. This isn’t me.
I’m usually the one doing the manhandling.
I’m anything but an obedient little lamb despite the way I have to be around my father.
The last thing I want is someone controlling me.
And yet, I want to feel the edges of this man’s cage closing me in.
“Get on your fucking knees, dollface.”
They buckle, and I drop like a bag of rocks, knees hitting the solid dirt. Wait, did he call me dollface? Fuck it. I’m about to reach for his belt buckle, but then I remember—no touching.
He cups my cheek. “Good boy.” Good god, that’s hot, but not as hot as the clang of his belt and the metal ziiiip sound. “Open.”
I wish I could say that I hesitate, but I don’t, so hungry for his cock. But I’m not the idiot my father thinks I am, and it’s pretty damn clear that whatever urge has me craving this is the same one fueling him.
Adorable. We’re two fucked up kindred spirits, or some fucking shit.
There’s no warm-up and no warning, just his cock barreling into my mouth, almost taking out my damn teeth. He groans above me.
“Fuck, such a sweet, dirty mouth. I’m gonna fuck it so good. Fuck your throat raw.”