Beg Me Like You Mean It, Captain

Reid shifted his weight, pressing me harder against the wood, his thigh sliding between my legs to provide a solid, bruising pressure that made my vision swim.

He wasn’t even breathing hard; he was perfectly composed, a predator watching his prey unravel in real-time.

"Tell me," he whispered, his teeth catching on the lobe of my ear. "Tell me you’re mine in this space. Say it, and maybe I’ll actually let you cum."

I bit my lip, the copper taste of blood filling my mouth again as I fought the urge to give in.

The silence in the cabin was heavy, broken by the wet, squelching sound of his hand against my dick. I was drowning, the heat in my blood fighting against the cold logic of my mind, and right now, just like before, the heat was winning.

"I’m..." The word caught in my throat, a sob of pure frustration. "In here... I’m yours, Reid."

"That’s a good boy."

Reid’s grin was the last thing I saw before he picked up the pace, his fingers tightening in a way that told me the torment was finally over—and the real surrender was just beginning.

And just like that... my dick spurted out semen, my body vibrating to the tension, and my teeth clenched.

Damn you, Reid. Damn you... It feels so good.

Reid finally let go, and my knees buckled.

He looked at the semen on his hand and grinned.

"You should be more honest with your needs, Cap. It saves you the trouble of having a hard time." He stepped back. "Why fight it when you’re going to give in at the end?"

I don’t know, just shut up.

I walked past him, my shoulder brushing against him as I marched straight for the bathroom, and he watched my every step with that sleazy grin plastered on his lips.

Son of a bitch.

Thankfully, the night had no more surprises. I was very cautious when coming out of the bathroom, fearing he was just getting started. But he was already tucked in bed with his eyes closed.

It seemed like he wouldn’t touch me again, but I could never be too sure, so I was careful.

"Stop tiptoeing like a rat and go to bed, Cap." He suddenly said, and my brows knitted together.

"What did you just call me?" I asked, but he yawned, not even bothering to open his eyes and look at me.

"Good night, Captain." He said and turned the other way. I just stood there, baffled by his disrespect and a little baffled that he just planned to go to bed that way, but it was the best I could wish for in this situation.

I walked towards my bed and lay down, shutting my eyes and praying I would fall asleep as fast as lightning so I wouldn’t hear whatever crap he might say in a few minutes.

And just like that, I fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning feeling entirely too good. It was infuriating. My muscles weren’t stiff, the heavy, suffocating fever in my blood had vanished, and my head was completely clear.

I felt entirely rejuvenated—more energized than I had in weeks.

Was it the effect of Reid’s pheromones? It was infuriating, but I knew it was true.

​I looked across the small space of the cabin. Reid’s bed was already empty, the blankets tossed back with his usual careless disregard.

​I sat up, my hand instantly flying to my neck. The blister patch was still firmly in place, hiding the teeth marks he’d left on my scent gland.

Under my shirt, my ribs and chest still throbbed with a dull, faint ache from where his teeth had grazed me, but my body felt completely settled. He had crushed the heat right out of my system, exactly like he said he would.

​The third day, I thought, pulling on my heavy gear with steady hands. This bonding trip is over. We’re heading back to Seattle today.

Yeah, and I knew we had definitely done more than just ’bond’ on this trip.

​Twenty minutes later, I was out on the ice, the heavy air of the rink freezing the last of my drowsiness away.

The entire team was lined up against the red line, the blades of our skates digging into the fresh sheet of ice.

​"Listen up, you lazy bastards!" Coach Miller bellowed, his voice echoing loudly off the corrugated steel ceiling of the lodge’s private arena.

Since the weather was quite cold, we were using the indoor rink today.

Coach Devin was pacing back and forth in front of us, his breath blooming in thick white clouds, his face already turning an angry shade of red.

"I know it’s the last day of the retreat! I know you’ve already got your bags packed and you’re dreaming about your own soft beds back home! But if I see one person half-assing a drill today—if anyone skates like they’ve got lead in their pants—I will personally have your asses handed to you!"

​He slammed his clipboard against the glass, the loud crack making a few of the rookies flinch.

​"We have a game against Vancouver in forty-eight hours! You think they care that you were out here drinking hot cocoa and doing team-building exercises in the woods? No! They want to humiliate us on our own ice!" The coach’s eyes scanned the line, finally landing right on me. "Evans! Get your line together! It seems you’re back in top shape. Good! I want the breakout drill done at game speed. Now!"

​"Yes, Coach," I called out, my voice crisp and commanding, completely back to its usual authority.

​I turned around, skating backward toward the circle to gather the boys. Russo and Miller skated up to my sides, looking tired but determined. And right behind them came Reid.

​He moved with that same sturdy, effortless grace, his helmet visor casting a shadow over his smoky grey eyes. As he took his position on my wing, his shoulder brushed heavily against mine—deliberate, solid, and entirely too close.

​"Morning, Cap," Reid murmured, his voice low enough that it was completely lost under the sound of the whistle blowing.

He gave me a quick, up-and-down look, his eyes lingering on the high collar of my jersey that hid his brand. A slow, snobbish smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"You look real fresh today. Looks like that ’nap’ did wonders for your endurance."

​I gritted my teeth under my cage, my heart doing a stupid, involuntary skip before I forced my face into stone.

​"Shut up and watch the blue line, McCoy," I gritted out, gripping my stick. "Don’t mess up my pass."

​"Wouldn’t dream of it," he chuckled, leaning forward into his stride as the whistle blew again. "I always take care of my assets."