I crawl up his body, straddling his shoulders as I take my cock in hand. He realizes a second before it happens what I mean to do, and like an absolute perfect manifestation of everything I never knew I needed, Donovan sticks out his tongue as I come.
He catches half the mess in his mouth, and half falls to his face, across his freckles to mix with the blood.
Just like my art.
“Fuck, Donovan… look at you.” My fingers streak through the mixture as my body jerks. “My masterpiece.”
As soon as I say it, I’m moving. He pushes me down his body and flips us until he’s on top of me… and then like he’s been an absolute filthy whore the entire time he’s known me, he opens his mouth and lets the mixture of blood and cum dribble onto my lips. I do the only thing I can and stick out my tongue to takeit, lost in the possessive look on his face as he feeds me his pain and my pleasure mixed into one.
There’s an entire weight to what Donovan is doing, the way he’s looking at me… the way he’s willing to feed me back my own depravity with desire in his eyes.
If I ever questioned it before, I’m not anymore. I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair, dragging his mouth to mine so we can share a kiss that tastes like blood and cum and forever…
Because forever with Donovan is exactly what I want.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DONOVAN
I’m walkingon fucking sunshine as I leave the arena after practice, a shiny new bruise forming on my knee from a shitty shot I missed, but a grin on my face. My agent called earlier to let me know that the higher ups in Boston with the NHL team reportedly appreciated me ditching the gloves and throwing some fists the other night. Apparently, it showed heart and character or something. If not those two, then one of the buzzwords executives throw around when trying to measure talent without relying on numbers and data. I’m on their radar, though, which is all that matters. I’m fairly certain in the next few years I’ll be suiting up in their locker room instead of the one down here in the minor league, and that definitely feels fucking fantastic.
Not that I’m celebrating yet, though. My mom would shake her head and cluck her tongue at me if I were to get too excited in this moment where my jersey still has the green-and-gold Snakes logo on the front instead of the red-and-gold Copperheads. She always kept me in line when my expectations grew too big for my body to handle, reminding me that if I wanted it, then I needed to keep working hard. I tilt my eyesup to the midday sun that peers through the clouds and smile, because if she’s somewhere up there watching me, I hope she knows I’m heeding every little piece of advice and guidance she’d have given me as I move through the rest of this life without her.
I hope she knows I’m happy.
As I get into my Jeep my phone pings with a message on Instagram, and some of my joy is quickly turned to dread because I know exactly what it is. That same account has been leaving me messages about my mask, trying to taunt me into admitting who the artist is, but the last few have taken a bit of a strange turn into outright demanding to know who did the artwork. I haven’t responded to a single one, but that’s only served to rile whoever’s sending them up a bit. Putting the pieces together, I’m sure it’s Kyle Penton sending me reminders of his earlier threats, but I can’t prove anything because the account is basically anonymous and the profile image is just a black circle. Shit, even the account name hasn’t been changed to anything identifying, and simply reads as user324231. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? It proves nothing. I sigh as I open the message and read it, my blood running a bit cold as I frown at the screen.
Stay away from him, Myers. Don’t make me cause a problem.
I close out of the message fast and head to the account, clicking through settings and blocking whoever it is from being able to contact me. Then I open my texts and shoot one off to Oakley.
You said you’d handle it.
He immediately hits me back.
I did. He was warned.
Well, he didn’t listen.
Fuck. I’ll send another warning. Heading to practice. So sorry.
I send a thumbs up and put my phone into the center console of the Jeep before firing up the engine to head for Helping Hearts to pick Shiloh up after his class. I’ve grown tired of my protein bowls and have a real craving for pancakes, so I hope he’s hungry, because I intend to take us to Sal’s for some good comfort food.
I wind the Jeep through the streets of Boston, taking care to not get lost by following the GPS voice in my Google Maps. I can vaguely remember where the center is, but I’ve only been there once and I don’t want to risk taking a wrong turn and ending up out by Salem or something. I did that once when I thought I knew where I was going, and trying to navigate my way back to my apartment was a nightmare.
Luckily, I make it there in time to meet Shiloh as he walks out of the building, his body wrapped in the jacket I bought him and his hands stuffed in the pockets so the chill can’t touch his fingers. I grin as he reaches for the door, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a tiny bag containing a small present I grabbed for him back at the arena.
“Hey,” he says, as he hops into the passenger seat and pulls the door shut behind him.
“Hey yourself,” I reply, as he places his hands on the heater vents and sighs a happy sound. I give him a moment to sit in the warmth before I hold out the small black bag to him. “For you.”
“What’s this?” he asks as he reaches for it slowly, plucking it from my fingers carefully. He opens it and reaches in, pulling out the small metal Seaport Snakes keychain.
“Nothing special,” I comment as he smiles. “The shop just got them in, so I grabbed you one. I figured that since you’re such a big fan of the Snakes, you might want to be able to show it off proudly on your keys.”
“I’m a fan of one Snake,” he corrects with a slight smile, as he pulls his keys out of his pocket and loops the keychain onto his set.
I lean over the center console because I can’t resist, pressing my lips to his cheek. “Good enough for me. You ready to eat?”
