My finger curls again, slow, deliberate. He cries out, clutching the sheets tighter.
“You gonna become the best center this team’s ever seen? Not Cole, not anyone else—you.”
“Yes, sir,” he gasps.
“Say it louder.”
“Yes, sir!”
“You belong to me on ice, too. Don’t you?”
“Yes, sir—”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I belong to you, sir! I’m yours, I’ll give you everything, I’ll do anything, just—”
Good.
My eyes burn as I drag a second finger in beside the first. Slow. Deliberate. Stretching him wider until his scream tears through the room, high and desperate.
His body writhes against the sheets, trembling, choking, wrecked—but he takes it. He always takes it.
“Perfect,” I twist my wrist until both fingers curl deep.
The words detonate through him, his sob turning into a moan, his whole body clenching tight around me like he wants to drag me deeper.
And I let him.
I give him more.
“You’re gonna give me every faceoff clean, aren’t you?” I growl.
“Yes, sir,” he gasps, desperate.
“You’re gonna skate through pain. Through blood. Through anything I put you through.”
“Yes, sir—fuck—yes.”
“You’re gonna keep your mouth shut with the press. No dumb rookie chirps that make me waste my time cleaning up your mess.”
“Yes, sir,” Elias breaks, his chest pressed flat to the mattress as his hips strain back against me.
I curl my fingers just a little—sharp enough to make him cry out, sharp enough to remind him who’s inside him.
“You’ll listen to me every single second on the ice. You’ll take every drill, every punishment, every order, until you’re the center this team deserves.”
“Yes, sir, yes, sir—”
“Louder.”
“YES, SIR!” His scream cracks, his body arching so hard the sheets rip under his nails.
Good.
“That’s it,” I rasp, grinding my palm against him while my fingers push deeper. “That’s my good boy.”
The words detonate through him. He’s wrecked already—hips shaking, cock dripping into the sheets, throat torn raw—but still he gives me every answer. Still he folds for me.
