Page 53 of Forbidden Hockey
“Except, you kinda did, pretty boy,” I purr.
He smacks me in the chest. “You’re lucky I find your whole ‘caveman possessiveness’ hot as fuck, and that I let my dick have way too much say, but you’re a fucking jackass for avoiding me—again.”
Tenderly, I rub my thumb over his bottom lip. “Every time I looked at you, I wanted you. Every time you were within reach, I fought the urge to drag you up here and claim every inch of you. I hated it, hated not touching you. But I had this asinine idea that staying away protected you, because I knew the moment I did it would be over for both of us.”
“Looks like you were only prolonging the inevitable, eh? We’re inevitable,” he whispers as if he’s just coming to that realization himself.
“Damn right we are,” I growl, forehead pressed to his. “And I’m done pretending I can resist you. I’m sorry I tried. I’ll never fucking do it again.”
He nods. “I have another condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to be able to touch you whenever I want, um, within reason, of course. I’ll be stealthy. Promise.”
“Fuck yeah, because I’m touching you when I want. Sneaking around’s the fun part of our arrangement.”
“We’re gonna have to keep it from everyone, even Dash,” he stresses. “If he knows, it’ll only be a matter of time before Hunt knows. He still drops by the house now and then. Are you gonna be okay with that?”
“I think it’s for the best. Gives us time to figure things out.”
“Mhm,” he hums, smile returning. I can breathe again. Huh, didn’t know I was holding my breath. I distract myself from the overwhelming feelings he fills me with by tracing the lone tattoo. It means something that it’s the only tattoo on his body. I’d like to see more. Like “Pretty Boy” stamped where I can see it.
“We, uh, we got that. All of us,” he says as if he might be in trouble for it. “Me and the guys after we won the Calder Cup.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, pretty boy…” I lean back and gesture to my body. I’m a coffee-table book of tattoos. “I love it. You should get another one on your ass: Not Yours—Owned by Travis Nolan.”
“Maybe I will,” he says with a wink, reaching for his pants. Yeah, I guess it’s time for him to go. Don’t wanna let him, though.
He dresses slowly, eyes on me as he pulls out his phone to call an Uber. Hate that. I should be the one driving him places. That’s my job now, to cater to his every need. If we ever get to go public with our relationship, he’ll never have to Uber again.
We have four minutes until his Uber arrives. Should I kiss him again? He decides for me.
Dirk’s hand wraps into my shoulder-length hair. He inhales first, and then his lips press to mine.
And fuck.
Thunder erupts.
I think he meant for it to be a chaste kiss, but there might be no such thing between us. We kiss until we’re breathless, until our lungs collapse in on themselves.
Chapter
Seven
Dirk
My best friend’s dad sucked my soul through my dick.I can’t stop that thought from repeating like a broken record as I sit with said bestie at the kitchen island at the house. I’m kinda digging the forbidden-ness vibes.
“What are you smiling at, fucker?” Dash says.
“Your face. What’s that face about?” Best way to get attention off yourself? Use what you know is going on in your friends’ lives.
He lifts one shoulder, a half-shrug. “Something Stace said.” He shovels more cereal into his mouth.
Speak of the devil, Stacey strides in, his eyes land on Dashie, taking stock of him, but also gazing with pure adoration. He encircles him from behind and kisses his crown.
“Cereal, Dash?” he shrills. “Lemme make you something more substantial.”
