Page 72 of Breakneck Hockey

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” Which makes me just as … I don’t know because I’m following him like a damn puppy with the hope of getting to suck the asshole’s dick.

Sutter’s abduction package includes the “mysterious location” option. It’s a fancy hotel and all, but I’ve never been here before.

“Why not your condo, Sutter?”

“I thought it would be more inconspicuous if we kept doing the hotel thing.”

“What makes you think there’s anything inconspicuous about us?” It’s true that people don’t always recognize us out of our hockey gear, but we’re big and we stand out. Neither of us looks like we belong or can afford to rent a room in this place. We look like a couple of thugs. Joke’s on them, we could probably rent the whole hotel between the two of us.

“From the sounds of things, Milton had spies in places we frequented. I thought if we kept switching up hotels, we’d reduce the likelihood of that.”

“Meh. Worth a shot, I guess.”

Clearly, Sutter was here earlier. His overnight bag’s already in the room when we arrive. He came prepared just like the boy scout he is. “Rope?” I ask, digging through the duffel.

“You seemed to like it before,” he says, swiping it out of my hands. “Stop snooping.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I’m fucking into that shit. Tie me up, spank me, use me.”

He sheds his jacket and shirt so he’s half naked, and then kicks off his boots, stepping closer, his socked feet digging into the carpet. “That reminds me. Your ass has it coming for my credit card, Alderchuck.” His voice just lowered to octave,I’m gonna fucking ruin you and you’re gonna love itand my insides melt.

He smacks my ass. “Wait here.”

Predictably, Sutter locks the chain lock on the hotel door. He then proceeds to jam a butter knife horizontally into the doorframe.

“Is that really necessary?” I ask.

He doesn’t feel he has to dignify that with a response. Clearly—to him—it’s necessary. Once that little ritual is over, he’s back, his beautiful angular face taking me in, deciding what he wants to feast on first. Don’t know what it is about Sutter. On the ice, I’m set to kill him. Off the ice, I roll over and submit.

What I should do is deck him for being an assuming asshole, but my heart might pound its way outta my chest instead, alive with anticipation. I can’t move. All I can do is wait, transfixed by the warring energy surrounding us.

“You’re a fucking brat, Alderchuck,” he says, a powerful hand gripping under my jaw, the fingers curling over the bone, digging in enough to leave bruises to add to the ones I got from the game. I watch the snake on his shoulder, the one that bleeds onto his right pec muscle. The head rises and falls with therhythm of his diaphragm. His unhinged eyes lock on me like an eagle spotting its prey from a distance.

I’m not going anywhere. Even if I tried, he’d find me.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“Oh, kitten. Never challenge me like that unless you’re ready to pay the consequences.”

I am, though. I so, so,soam. I lick my lips and imagine myself cracking my knuckles. My name isn’t Brat Cat on Benduovr for nothing. “You’re a lotta talk, Sutter. I shoulda gone back to the team’s hotel with Otterhamm?—”

I don’t get to finish that sentence. I’m pinned on my front on the bed. A hand reaches around my front while I buck and writhe. It’s not the most strategic fight I could put up. Deft fingers pop the button of my jeans, and a sharp tug yanks them down along with my boxers, exposing my bare ass. Chilled air lights up a wave of gooseflesh.

And look, I have one hell of an ass, and I know it. It’s from all the hockey playing. Skate drills are no joke. It’s round as a plump peach, barely fits into jeans, spankable as fuck. The kind that’s begging to be shown a lesson, or so I’ve been told by a few people. Apparently, Sutter agrees.

Crack!

His meaty palm connects to my bare ass. Sharp pain blooms across my left ass cheek. Sutter’s a fucking southpaw, I’m over his lap so that it’s easier for him to spank with that hand.

“Ow, fuck. Sutter!”

“Stop squirming.” Using his leg over my animated ones, he traps me in place, laying it on thick with alternating smacks to each cheek. Oh my fucking God ithurts. I mean, it’s still nothing I can’t handle. Any spanking he could give me won’t hold a candle to the beatings I take during a game, endlessly smashed by boulders on hockey skates. A spanking is just a spanking, but it’s the principle. Brats live and die by that principle.

“When I get up, I’m so gonna kick your—ow! C’mon, Sutter.”

He spanks me till I’m bucking and then he gives it a rest, rubbing the heat building over my increasingly tender cheeks. Tingles shoot straight to my groin. It’s not the pain per se, but the act, the being spontaneously tossed over his lap and spanked like there’s no tomorrow. That gets my dick going. As if I wasn’t already desperate enough for him.

“You’d think this would curb that mouth of yours.” Sutter doesn’t hold back on the second round. He gives it to me, handing me my ass, which is, no doubt, coloring a nice shade of pink.

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