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“Uhhmm,” I whimpered, and a thick drop of pre-cum spilled from my cock.
“Did I tell you to come?” George snapped.
The sudden coldness hit me instantly. Panic flared in my chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sir. I’ll do better.”
“Too late.” George stepped back completely, pulling his weight away from the couch. He shoved me off the armrest, sending me tumbling to my knees on the floor.
I looked up, confused and trembling. George reached for his heavy leather jacket on the counter, throwing it over his shirtless shoulders. He didn't head for the door; instead, he stepped back into the shadows near the cabin’s galley, leaning his massive frame against the bulkhead. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and stared down at me through the rising gray smoke, his face an unreadable mask of absolute authority.
“Finish yourself, get dressed, and leave,” he commanded, his voice ice-cold. “You are not ready.”
“I am! I... I promise, Sir. You can still fuck me.”
“Don’t speak until spoken to.” His commanding voice forced my eyes to drop back to the floor.
“You want my cock, you have to earn it,” George said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Finish yourself and leave. And don’t make me repeat myself.”
The cool drafts from the portlight hit my naked, hot flesh. Stranded on my knees on the cold hardwood, tears ran down my cheeks as I slowly reached down, grabbed my throbbing cock, and started to stroke. George stayed in the shadows, his dark eyes tracking every single movement of my hand, forcing me to finish under his terms.
My hand moved mechanically, the shame burning hotter than the ache between my legs. George watched from the dark, handsome, unbothered. His cigarette glowing like a predator’s eye, his expression an unreadable mask of absolute authority. Every stroke felt exposed, performative. My cock was still painfully hard and slick with pre-cum, but the humiliation of jerking myself off on the floor while he stood there, wrapped in his jacket and completely detached, made my throat tighten.
I came with a broken sound, my fluids spilling over my fist onto the hardwood. Thick ropes of cum painted the dark boards between my knees. My body shuddered violently, aftershocks rolling through my limbs as I gasped for air.
“Clean it up. Use your mouth,” George said quietly. No praise. Just a flat command.
I hesitated for only a second before bending forward, cleaning my own mess off the floor with trembling lips. The taste was bitter and degrading. When I finished, I stayed frozen on my knees, my eyes downcast and my chest heaving.
George stubbed out the cigarette, stepped forward out of the shadows, and swept my scattered clothes off the floor. He held them out to me. With trembling hands, I grabbed the fabric and began dressing under his watchful eye.
“George—” I turned toward him, my voice cracking.
Before I could break his rules further, he stepped in and pressed a thick finger over my swollen lips, silencing me instantly.
“You’re still not ready for my cock,” George murmured, his voice low and steady in the quiet cabin. “When you know you are, you know where to find me.”
Chapter Ten
George
I yanked my number 72 jersey off the hook, throwing it over my shoulder pads. I was humming the hook to SexyBack under my breath, or at least, I thought it was under my breath until a heavy hand slammed into my locker door, nearly taking my fingers off.
"You're awfully fucking cheerful today," Sam grunted, adjusting his cup.
"Am I?" An involuntary smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.
"I take it that psycho, Santiago, finally got off your back."
"I’m handling it," I said, keeping my voice level. I sure as hell wasn't going to tell Sam that 'handling' Santiago meant pinning the bitter pre-law student against my mattress until he begged.
"Good. Because I need your fucking head in the game today, Brooks. No distractions."
"My head is always in the game, Sam."
"It better be. We aren't just playing some random squad today. We don't want to get embarrassed in front of him."
I stopped adjusting my cleats. "Who?"
"Mackenzie."
