Page 89 of Twisted Play
She dropped the tablet then bent over to fish it off the floor, making her sweater ride up her back, revealing a strip of pale, freckled skin, showing off her plump ass that begged for a spanking. Her fingers scrabbled against the ground, and I loved how nervous I made her, like a rabbit scurrying from a wolf.
Eva finally sat up, shoving her curls out of her face, skin flushed, her eyes worried, and her expression delightfullysoft. I looked more closely at her—she wasn’t wearing makeup, and she had faint bruises along her jawline.
Had they hurt her? Eva was mine to punish, and fuck these assholes if they thought they were going to hurt what was mine.
The team captain body checked Cole and stole his puck, laughing as Cole chased him across the ice. “Asshole,” Cole yelled.
“That’s the point of the game, dickhead,” Massi said.
Tristan, also puckless, swept in and stole it away. Massi swore and skated after him, only for Cole to swipe a puck from someone else and shoot it at Massi with a laugh. His joy was infectious—soon the whole team was laughing as they played cooperatively and competitively.
Cole skated in and tangled his stick with Massi’s. A moment later, he regained his puck. Any other day, his triumphant whoop would have made me smile. They were finally coalescing into a unit.
Thank god.
I never knew which Cole I’d get at practice—brilliant and charming, or sullen and selfish.
Yeah, Cole and Tristan got laid. “I’m not?—”
“Paying me to fuck the players. I know,” Eva snapped then lowered her voice as she stepped closer to lean against the boards separating the bench from the ice, speaking so only I could hear. “So it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to. Our deal doesn’t extend to what I do in my off time. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to do what Iampaid to do during these practices, which is take notes for you and Dr. Parker.”
My fingers tightened over the edge of the barrier, turning white under my tattoos. I didn’t want her taking notes. I didn’t want her acting normal. I wanted her on her knees for me, sweetly submitting. I didn’t bother examiningwhy I wanted that more than her ruin, or why I was so fucking jealous.
Fucking hell, she was a distraction. I turned her situation over in my head, examining it from all angles, reminding myself of why I tormented her in the first place—her father’s suffering. She was my revenge.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Eva take careful notes on her tablet as the players skated, their sticks knocking together, falling, slamming into the boards—nothing too rough, just a rowdy practice on a Sunday morning, two of my star players in the best mood they’d been in?—
Ever.
Fuck. Cole’s happiness meant so goddamned much to me, and I was fucking with it because I couldn’t get my mind off a beautiful student and how she looked on her knees.
But now wasn’t the time. I packed away my thoughts so I could focus on the immediate question—getting the team ready for the first game of the preseason.
“Tristan’s puck work is excellent this morning,” I said. “He’s always been a strong offensive player, but I’m glad to see him paying more attention to his defense. I’d like him to focus on puck work during morning workouts this week.”
Eva took a note in silence, allowing my previous indiscretion to drop.
“Cole is also doing well. He’d benefit from more teamwork—less showboating and more supporting,” I continued. I hated how distracted I was by her hips and those faint shadows on her face and neck. Where else had they marked her? “Are you writing this down?” I snapped, taking my ire out on her.
“Yes, Sir,” she said softly, and my cock hardened.Sir.
“Brat,” I murmured, the affection slipping out before Icould stop it. Every time she called me Sir, the reasons why I hired her in the first place seemed less important. Her father took everything from me, but watching her sink to her knees made me feel powerful in a way even the NHL never had.
Eva blushed so fucking prettily but didn’t say anything. If she knew what I was planning on doing to her during the rest of the process to train her to be my perfect sub, she’d flee, screaming in terror. Bondage. Discipline. Punishment for moving when I told her to hold still. Begging me sweetly for release. The whisper of a flogger slicing through the air before landing on her back. Her scream of surprise, followed by a moan of need.
Fuck.
The team filedout of the rink.
“Ms. Jackson, a word,” I murmured.
“Coach, I have?—”
“Plans?” I asked, my eyebrow up. “Are your lovers going to take you out to breakfast?”
She gulped, and the movement drew my attention back to the scrapes and bruises on her neck.
“Did they hurt you, malyshka?”
