Page 18 of The Puck Chase

“Goodnight, Sanders,” I yell back with a shake of my head, before I turn on my heel and start my walk back to Hockey Row.

If I thought the silence was deafening before, then it’s nothing compared to now, and my throat burns for more alcohol. Yeah, that’s what I need, I just need to get back to theparty and down a few more drinks until I black out completely. That will help erase these thoughts in my head.

Stumbling back to my house, I note it’s past midnight now, and though the number of people on the front lawn has dwindled, the house is still heaving. Well, with one notable exception of course, and I find my gaze dancing across the street to his house, finding it almost completely dark. Yet my eyes snag on a flicker of light coming from the far side of the house that’s just out of sight.

I am moving before I can even think of another thought, crossing the street and slipping down the side of the house as quietly as I can. My heart is thundering in my chest as the light gets brighter and brighter, and when I reach the garden, I see him. Daemon is sitting in a chair by a small fire pit, a bottle of liquor in his hand, and his eyes on the sky. If he heard me approach he doesn’t show it, no, his focus is only on the stars, and I can’t help but take him in.

Beneath the blanket of darkness and the flicker of fire, he looks like he was molded by God himself, and with that damn skull painted on half of his face, he looks like he was sent to ruin the world. Like metal to his damn magnetic force, I am once again pulled into his orbit. My feet move until they reach the empty chair at his side, and when I drop into it, he sighs heavily, closing his eyes without even looking at me, like it might make me disappear.

“You know I think they could drag me down to the furthest pits of hell, and you would still find a way to appear by my side,” he drawls on an exhaled breath, sounding more intoxicated than he did before, as he brings the bottle to his lips and drinks deeply, before he adds in a whisper, “I wonder if you’re punishment for all my failures.”

To my surprise he holds out the bottle towards me, and when I take it and bring it to my own mouth, his eyes finally meetmine. He watches as I take a deep pull from it, my lips now where his just were, and that feeling I can’t decipher is back again.What the fuck is happening to me?

I take a few deep swills, downing more that he probably meant to offer, before I hand him back the bottle and clear my throat. “And when we are in the fiery pits of hell together, are we going to be friends, or will you still be claiming to hate me to the Devil himself?”

His green eyes are sparkling in the firelight, as he replies, “I do hate you.” His words no longer hold the same conviction they once did, and it thrills me.

“Is that why you always run from me? Because you hate me so much?” I dare to ask, and his eyes darken, but not with anger, no, it’s something else entirely.

“I don’t run from you, I just don’t care to be in your presence,” he snaps back, finishing the bottle of liquor in his hand and then tossing it into the flames. “Speaking of not being in your presence,” he adds, rising to his feet and turning to leave without another word, like he can’t wait to get away from me.

I watch him for a couple of seconds, as he begins to make his way back down the side of the house the way I came, and before I can second guess it, I am on my feet and following him. We slip into the dark, narrow walkway that is separated from next door by a fence, and as if my hands have a mind of their own, I am reaching out and grabbing him, pushing him backwards, and slamming him against the house. I don’t miss the flicker of surprise that dances across his eyes, yet he doesn’t push me away.

“There you go, running again,” I breathe, fisting the leather jacket he is wearing, and the surprise turns to rage.

“What is your fucking problem?” he spits, looking angrier than I have ever seen him, yet still I feel him push into the hold Ihave on him, and my heart starts to thunder in my chest. “Can’t you just accept that not everyone fucking likes you?”

Oh, is that how he wants to play this? Like he doesn’t fucking like me? I can’t help but laugh, pushing him even harder into the wall of his house, and relishing in the way I can feel his own heart beating rapidly against my right hand. His words mean nothing to me right now, not when I can see the same look in his eyes that I am sure is reflected in mine.

“You were watching me tonight,” I say carefully, but his face is now nothing but a blank mask of fury. “Just like you were the other week, and just like you were that night you pretend to forget. You know, the one where you tasted my cum?” I add, leaning in even closer, inhaling the traces of whiskey left behind on his tongue.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grits out, his breath fanning against my lips, and my hand slides up of its own accord, testing how far he will let me go. How long will he let me touch him?

My fingers trail up his collarbone, the fabric of his shirt still between us, and I can feel the bump of his silver chain beneath my palm. I push it even further and dust my fingers along the edge of his darkened jaw. He doesn’t move, not a muscle, but there is no longer fury in his eyes, just wonder. My eyes eat up the intricate design he no doubt painted on his skin himself, and all it does is make my heart beat faster.

“Hmm, these lips spill such wicked lies,” I whisper, the alcohol fueling me in a way it never has before. It’s making me feel brave, it’s making me feel something I have been wondering, but too afraid to admit, as my thumb ghosts along his bottom lip. “I wonder how sweet they taste,” I add boldly, surprising even myself, and I watch as his eyes darken.

“I’m sure yours still taste like her,” he murmurs, an edge to his voice that I haven’t heard since the night we met, and it sends a jolt of desire down my spine.

I am so fucked.

“Jealous?” I taunt, my fingers still exploring the line of his jaw, and he scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she doesn’t interest me.” His words are sharp, and my eyes flick down to his lips as my tongue trails along my own.

“Oh, I know. In fact, I have another theory,” I tell him, a theory I think applies to both of us, and I am just the perfect amount of drunk to put it to the test.

“Is that right?” he asks, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, but his eyes seem to dance in delight, as I nod.

“Yes, because even if you pretend to forget the night we met, I remember every second,” I tell him truthfully, pushing my body against his. “Which means I remember you stumbling across me and that girl in your room. I remember you watching us. I remember how much you liked it, and I remember that you fucked her so hard that she had no choice but to choke on my cock in the most delicious way, yet your eyes were on mine, not hers. Why is that?”

It’s only now, at my recollection of that night, that I realize my cock is hard. I’m hard forhim, because of this interaction, because of his proximity, but that’s not what has me spiraling. It’s not me being hard for another guy for the first time in my life, no, what has me spiraling is that he’s hard too. His erection digs into mine, and nothing has ever fucking delighted me more. It’s long and thick, and I wonder if it’s weeping at the contact like my own. I wonder if it’s as desperate for my touch, as I am for his.

“Truth or dare, Forbes?” I force out on bated breath, and I know he knows what answer I want, what answer I need, yet still he makes me wait.

His stare searches my own, looking for what, I’m not sure, but whatever he finds, has him uttering one single word.

“Dare.”

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