Page 151 of Off-Ice Misconduct
I get to work splinting it with medical tape and two sterile padded strips. I’ve clocked the restrained way he’s breathing, so I search for more injuries, starting with his ribs. I tape those up and then use the flashlight in my kit to check his pupils.
“Eyes on me,” I grunt.
Moving the light side to side, I watch for a response. Equal. Good—for now. Concussion symptoms can be delayed. I’ll be watching his every move, his every breath until I know for sure.
“If your head hurts or your vision blurs, you tell me. Immediately, princess.” It’s a threat and a warning. He nods. “Do you feel nauseous?”
“No, but kinda horny if I’m honest.”
“McKinnon.”
“What? You’re so fucking scary right now. My heart’s racing, and it’s a major turn-on.”
“I’m a hair away from hunting Ryan down and murdering him, and you’re … hard?”
“As a hockey puck. Wanna check out my cock the way you did my nose?”
A violent hand—my hand—juts out, gripping under his chin hard enough to add bruises to the motif Ryan left on his face. “You need to behave.”
He moans and pants. “S-Sorry, Daddy. You’re only making it worse. All of this? I’m into it. Everything about it. I was serious about the touching my dick thing.”
If he wasn’t half-broken and maybe concussed, I’d have him bent over this table. But he is.
“Sorry, baby. This side of me has no interest in making you come. I’d rather hold your orgasm hostage.” But this time, it has nothing to do with seeing him suffer. Control. Mine. Caged. I need to have him on lockdown in every way possible.
“Oh … oh god.” His lip trembles as his teeth catch it, and he pulls in a sharp breath. His ribs remind him they’re broken. “Ow!”
“You need to relax, and forget about your dick, McKinnon.”
“I’mfine. I could totally still play like this if the game wasn’t already over.”
Hockey players are certifiably unhinged enough to play with broken ribs and noses while maybe concussed. They’re pain-tolerant mythic war creatures.
A dark laugh rumbles from the depths of me. “You belong to me, princess. I say what condition you play in from now on. Broken bones mean you don’t step foot on the ice, and I don’t care how much you complain about that.”
I wait. Wait to hear how he responds, because—unfortunately—a day could come where he decides I’m too much. But restraining myself when he’s hurt like this isn’t an option. It’ll never be on the table. It has to be what he wants, and he can’t just tolerate it, he has to connect with it.
Or we’re just a railway car racing toward derailment.
I’m frozen, watching him, tracking his breath, his movements, trying to pull the thoughts from his head.
Ace takes my hand, one of the ones washed in his blood, and presses it into his cheek, closing his eyes.
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “Wanted to see what that felt like. You’re warm.”
I squint. What the fuck does that mean? “You’re not making any sense, McKinnon.”
“I know, but … okay, this’ll probably make me sound crazier, but lemme give it a shot. So, you know that story about the beast? The one where he’s cursed, but he falls in love and then turns human again?”
“Yeeessss …”
“I was so pissed when he turned back into the human. How fucking disappointing.” He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, this is, like, the opposite of that.”
“Because…?”
“I got the beast.”
“Are you implying I turned from human to beast?”
