Page 72 of Slew Foot
North Americans were so weirdly puritanical about sex.
But rather than reach for a plug or cock ring, or even the soft leather cuffs he’d bought the last time he was in Berlin and had sadly used far too little, he grabbed a small tin where he kept his spare earplugs.
He pulled out a pair, still freshly wrapped in plastic, then handed them over.
Rafe took them, the plastic crinkling as he clenched his fingers around them, but his gaze was trained on the drawer.
“What are those?” he asked, pointing to the cuffs.
Mickey thought they were fairly self-explanatory, but he pulled them out, hooking a finger in one and letting the other dangle. “Cuffs,” he said bluntly. “Sometimes I like to tie people up.”
“Oh.” Rafe blinked at him, reaching a blunt finger out to stroke along the supple leather. “Huh. Cool.”
There was nothing particularly sexual about Rafe’s response to them other than a mild sort of interest. He wasn’t hard or breathing more harshly. So it wasn’t like Mickey thought it meant Rafe wasintothe idea of being the one in those cuffs.
But then he asked, “And people like when you tie them up?”
Mickey’s mouth went dry because damn it, he was only human. And a part of him desperately wanted to open his mouth and tell Rafe yes, people did. And yes, it was good. And yes, Mickey would do that to him if he wanted and oh, Mickey’s instincts werescreamingat him that Rafe would be into this too if he gave it a chance.
The whole fucking point of restraining someone—for Mickey—was that they trusted him andwantedto be in that position. Trust and the surrender underpinned everything.
And while Rafe trusted him, he’d beenso clearabout it. So clear about being demi and being completely uninterested in dating a teammate and …
So Mickey merely cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes. I always make sure they do.”
“Huh.” Rafe traced his finger along the cuff one more time and Mickey could almostfeelit. A physical, visceral touch like Rafe had touched him instead. He shivered and clenched the cuff more tightly, the chain making a quiet metallic clanking noise.
He was suddenly acutely aware of how close they stood and that he could feel the heat of Rafe’s body. The room was dim with the lamp beside the bed on and with the door open, he could hear the rattle of the headboard and someone moaning down the hall.
He looked at Rafe and his thick arms and flat stomach andwanted.
But he merely clutched the cuffs in his fist and turned away to tuck them back in the drawer. Because that was the type of man he wanted to be.Respectful.
“Thanks for the earplugs,” Rafe said with a smile when he turned back. “G’night.”
“Night, Rafe,” Mickey whispered to his retreating back.
Mickey shut and locked the door behind Rafe, the images of his broad shoulders and narrow waist which swelled out into a truly impressive ass lingering in his head. Mickey didn’t even take off his sleep pants or climb on the bed, just pulled those pants down, fumbled for some lube, and fucked into his fist like a man possessed.
The images that had played out under his closed eyelids were a chaotic mish-mash of Rafe cuffed to his bed, naked and begging. In some of them, Mickey fucked his mouth, murmuring words of encouragement while Rafe looked up at him with those big trusting eyes. In others, Mickey turned him onto his stomach and took his ass, slowly and sweetly at first, then fast and rough when Rafe begged for it.
In every scenario there was a point where Rafe cried out, “Please, Mickey! Please, I need … I need to …”
And Mickey had crooned to him, told him to be good and hold out until Mickey ordered him to come. Rafe had responded so beautifully, soperfectly, that Mickey felt it deep in his chest, his eyes wet, his heart full.
In his bedroom, alone, Mickey came into his fist. His skin was sheened with sweat and he breathed harshly, his chest rising and falling like he’d come off a particularly long penalty kill shift.
Mickey bit his lip to keep from crying out and tasted blood, sharp and metallic on his tongue.
He staggered back, sliding down the edge of the mattress to rest on the floor and pressed his forehead against his knees, silently begging for the strength to get through this.
To somehow be the friend and teammate Rafe needed, instead of the partner, the boyfriend, the everything Mickey wanted to be.
The following morning, Tanner had to drive his hookup back to his place before going to practice, so as Mickey and Rafe walkedout to the car, Mickey psyched himself up for the conversation he needed to have with Rafe.
Yesterday, he’d told himself he’d apologized and there was no need to bring up his little outburst again. But after the events of last night and the tossing and turning Mickey had done for hours, worrying about the situation, he knew he needed to clear the air.
The minute they were in the car with the doors closed, he said, “I’m sorry.”
