Possessive Puckboy (Puckboys, #8)

by Eden Finley

So if I can have one thing in this life that makes me happy, I’m going to give it to myself. I’m going to own Connor Kikishkin.

“I’m not here to fuck with him. I’m here to make his life a living hell.”

Easton and Lachie are adults. They don’t need me. Knox doesn’t need me. No one does, and it sucks. Because I like being needed. It’s a drug.

It pisses me off that I don’t know if I want to fuck Connor or be Connor. I don’t want to want either of those options.

“When are you going to let this go?” I smooth out where his hold has creased the material on my sleeve. “That’s up to you. I know you’re not capable of an apology I’ll accept, but I’ll take cutting you off from everyone and everything you love as a consolation prize.” “You are so fucked-up.” “Yeah. And you made me this way.”

Though Miles Olsen says his pet rocks hate me too. Mainly when me or Easton score on him, but still. Even the rocks hate me.

“Really. So get out whatever you need to.” “I

“And if it turns out I’m every bit the possessive guy who acts first and thinks later?” The image of us in the locker room flips so that I’m in East’s position and Connor is pulling someone off me in a possessive, jealous rage. It’s a struggle to keep my voice even when I say, “Then you have to find someone who’ll appreciate being possessed. And some people really, really like it.”

“Connor … I am very gay and very attracted to you and very, very into the way you’re taking control. Please let go of my neck.”

watch in a daze as he pulls up his suit pants, throws his shirt on, and grabs his jacket. When he reaches the door, he’s careful to peek outside. The coast must be clear because he tosses me a quick “see you down there” and disappears out into the hall. I’m staring at the place for way too long before I remember I need to pack.

think back to that day in high school when I saw Parker and Easton talking. Possibly even flirting. I’ve always maintained that I stepped in because I didn’t like the way Parker was interacting with East. East had a future, one he shouldn’t screw up. But looking back now, is it possible that something, somewhere buried deep down, when my subconscious said “mine,” it was not, in fact, talking about East? Could something inside me have put a claim on a person without even interacting?

“Parker, if another man tries to touch you, I’ll break every bone in his fucking hand.”