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Who did this man think he was to tell me what I could or could not do? To manhandle me in such a manner? To force me to listen, bend me to his will? While I was furious about his pushy ways, a small part of me responded to the firmness of his mannerisms, the direct way he spoke, and the lightening in his gaze when he looked down at me. There was no anger there just determination and calm. How did he remain serene during such a confrontation?
“Is this how your company treats those it’s sent here to help? Layton Foxx will hear of this assault.”
“Tell him, it matters not to me. You’re out of control. And I am here to rein you in. If that means I must sit on you to do so, then so be it. Also, just to clarify, this is not an assault. This is restraining a man who lost control of his temper.”
I flung a string of expletives at him. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Stick and stones” which pissed me off even more. My mind scrambled for words to throw at him, my anger bubbling madly.
“Do you wish to continue this, or shall we get up off the floor and talk things over like mature gentlemen?” he enquired.
“Fuck you,” I snarled and bucked up to unseat him. He was ready for the move, his weight shifting forward to bring his face an inch from mine, his hands still tight around my wrists. “Perhaps you enjoy holding me down, is that it?” I threw out, assuming the taunt would send him into a fit of discomfort. Tell any straight man that they’re acting gay and they tend to react in one of two ways. One is to chuckle and say, “Finally!” if they’re an ally, the other is to lose their shit if they are not.
“Perhaps you enjoy me holding you down?”
Clever man. Tossing that back at me. Little did he know just how much I enjoyed forceful men in my bed. But this was not my bed, it was my rink and it was time to show him that I was not afraid of being called a queer boy who liked men on top of him. I’d been called much worse.
“Perhaps so,” I snarled and lifted my head from the floor, putting my lips to his then running my tongue over the seam. He stiffened but for a moment and then lapped at my mouth in return, sweeping his tongue over mine, claiming my mouth in a way that it had not been claimed in years. He tasted of strong coffee and control. I kissed him back just as forcefully, battling him for domination, anger and lust pulsing through me as the kiss went on and on. It was him who broke off the showdown between us, his dark eyes afire and his lips slick and puffy from our power struggle. A struggle that he had been winning…
I stared at him, stunned to my core then licked my lips. His gaze darted down to my mouth, and a sizzle of awareness sparked to life deep inside me. I cursed it, tried to deny it, but there was no escaping the fact that his taste had turned me on, just as his calm but forceful way had shaken me from the red haze that sometimes overtakes me.
“That was unexpected,” he said, releasing my hands and scrabbling off me to his feet. My erection was hidden behind two cups and hockey pants. His was clearly defined in his trousers. Seeing that thick length made me twitchy. I sat up just in time to see his ass heading out the door. I thought to call out something nasty to him just to lure him back into the room so we could fight more. Not that it had been much of a fight. He’d had my number before we had even engaged properly, but still, the confrontation…the tussle for control… that had been pleasant. Too pleasant.
“So, uhm hey, everything okay in here?” Taz asked as he peeked around the door.
“Oui, all is fine. Go away and let me be.” I waved a hand at him.
“Okay, just checking. Sacha kind of scares me in that big, strong, silent, stoic Russian way.”
Sacha. So that was his name. I rolled it around my mouth to see how it felt. Taz stood there staring at me, waiting for something but I didn’t know what.
“Is there still a reason you are here gawking at me like my head were on fire?” I asked as I continued to taste the man’s name. It was pleasant, not unlike the flavor of his mouth and the weight of his body on mine.
“Nope no reason at all. Just waiting for the explosion.”
“Pah, go away. There is no explosion. I am sitting here meditating.”
“Right. Meditating. Okay, well, uhm, I hope you find your Zen buddy.”
He ambled off leaving me to sit there with my hard dick and sweaty ass, contemplating the softening that had settled over me as Sacha held me to the floor, a settling of the tempest inside that I’d not felt in several years, if truly ever. That scared me yet intrigued me.
I sat there on the floor thinking until my dick was soft, then slowly pushed to my skates and plodded to the changing room, my gaze on the floor. No one said anything to me as I entered, which was wise. I’d plastered on my ‘Angry Alfie’ face and the team knew not to disturb me when I was in a pique. Well most of them did…
“Hey, you doing anything next Wednesday night?” Goog asked, dropping down beside me, shirtless but still in pads and hockey pants.
I threw him a glare. “I will be feeding my fish.”
“Well, after you feed your fish, come over to the studio. Sam is putting on a show and all the money he raises from the sale of his paintings is being donated to the local LGBT youth group’s upcoming rainbow designers of the future fashion show.”
Ugh, the sneaky shit. He knew I could not turn down the chance to help gay youth. “Just buy me a painting and I’ll send him a check.”
“No, that’s not how it works. People will show up to meet with us, the players, as well as enjoy great art. I mean, not to brag, but my husband is really talented.” Goog glanced down at the gold band on his left ring finger. It was still new and shiny.
“Yes, he is a good painter. Fine, I’ll be there but it will only be for a short time. Tell Sam to have champagne on hand.”
Goog grinned as if I’d just handed him a vial of Maurice Richard’s talent. “You’re the best. Thanks, Alfie!” He slapped my shoulder and hustled off to whisper to Taz, heads together, planning something but I had no idea what.
I brushed aside my plotting friends and returned to mulling over the Russian who had pinned me to the floor and the sweet flavor of control that I’d tasted on his tongue…
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