Page 51 of Forbidden Hockey
“This is gonna be sweet torture, isn’t it?”
“If I do it right.” And I will. Bet my eyes are twinkling.
“Sadistic fucking bastard,” he says on the breathiest exhale.
I raise a sharp brow. “Say that again. I dare you.”
Dirk fumbles for the words that might get him out of trouble, and I see it play out on his face as he slowly realizes there are none. His mouth works uselessly, his chest giving him away, rising too fast, every breath sharp and ragged. It’s best he says nothing, so I help him out, dragging my tongue slowly along the wet patch on his boxers. A startled, broken whimper falls from his lips. I press my nose against his length, inhaling him.
Mine.
“You ready for my mouth, pretty boy?” I murmur against the fabric. “I don’t think you are. I think you’re too used to fast and dirty. No one’s made you wait. No one’s made you earn it.”
He makes a strangled sound. “Please.”
I don’t even like thinking about him with anyone else, but I do like the thought that I’m the best he’ll ever have.
“I know, baby.” I tug the waistband down, letting his cock spring free, flush and leaking. And is that … yeah. It’s a tattoo on his right hipbone. I’ll have to investigate later, the rest of him’s too distracting. “Look at you. You’re desperate. All that bravado, and now you’re trembling for me.”
“F-Fuck, Trav?—”
I lick him once—just once—and he lets loose a cry that echoes off the walls. I slap his thigh hard enough to leave a paw print.
“Quiet.” He bites his lip, clawing the back of the couch, obeying my order not to move his hands. “Good boy.”
I take him in my mouth, slow, deep, until he bucks up. I pull off. He growls in frustration, head slamming back.
“Behave,” I warn. “You wanna come? You beg for it.”
Dirk’s chest heaves. His eyes are wet. Tears already? I’m gonna taste those tears when there are more of them.
“Please, I’ll b-be good, I swear. I’ll … fuck. I’ll do anything.”
Pressing my tongue to the head of his cock, I taste the salt there, dragging it slowly down the shaft like I’ve got all fucking night. His fingers clamp down harder, struggling to stay where I put them. He won’t last—I’ll make sure of it.
I suck him in again, working to bring him to the edge. His thighs tremble, shuddering with unspent arousal.
“Please, please, please,” he begs.
“Please, what?”
“Please don’t stop again,” he whispers. But then his voice gets louder, more broken. “Please, Trav, please. I’m losing my mind. I need to come. I needyouto make me come.”
A low rumble burns in my chest. Oh. I like that. Him needing me to make him come.
But he already knows how this is gonna go. I pop off his cock just as he’s hit that sweet edge. His back arches as he works to get his breathy pants under control, more tears streaming down his red face. I don’t give him much of a break, swallowing him again. His breaths come in sobbing little gasps—I could get off to those alone.
I pull away again.
“No—!” He breaks so sweetly. “I can’t take it anymore. I’ll die, Trav. I’ll fucking die.”
“Hmm, don’t think anyone’s died from a little edging before,” I muse out loud.
“They have. I’m sure of it. Look it up. Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he chants when I take him in my mouth again. His body trembles, his voice a shredded mess.
“I can’t … please,” he sobs.
I rise from between his spread legs and mop up the tear trail under his left eye with the pad of my thumb, then push it into his mouth, so he can taste what I do to him, too.
