Possessive Puckboy (Puckboys, #8)

by Eden Finley

The man I might have had the most stupid high school crush on that maybe hasn’t completely stayed in high school. Connor Kikishkin.

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.

Groveling? It’s so not me. Then again, have I ever really had to do it? No.

but even the thought of Mr. Hotshot makes my blood boil. In more ways than one, which I really, really hate. Especially when I’d been pressed to the wall. A flush of heat rolls through me again at the memory, and I face-palm at how much I hate my body. I can’t even hold a grudge right.

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.

Yet, the lost part of me, the part that has thought it’s been doing the right thing all this time when I haven’t been, tells me to do something for me for once. My whole life has been about everyone else.

“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.

This time, his smile does come out properly, and my gut swoops. It’s the same smile he wore back in high school, talking to Easton, and I don’t think I’ve seen it again since. All the air is pushed from my lungs, and I’m frozen for a moment in time, asking how something so simple can steal my breath.

“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.”

And why do I keep replaying the look on Parker’s face when he said all I have to do is find someone who likes my possessive side? The gleam in his eye, the small smile on his lips … the way his skin turned a shade of pink … or was that from the lights of the arena?

For whatever reason, when I think back on him saying that, I get the impression he meant he would like my possessive side, but that doesn’t make sense because he still hates me.

I can feel his stare on me from wherever he’s watching tonight. Perhaps the owner’s box, even though we’re away, or just a random suite. Either way, I know he’s watching. And it does something to me. Pushes me harder. Like if I can bring in a win for his team, then he’ll … like me? Forgive me more?

He needs to stop looking at me like that. All shiny eyes and wide smile. I’m so attracted to him it hurts. All this time I wanted his attention, I had no idea how tortuous that attention could be.

I’m caught totally off guard when Connor shoves me into the wall. Like the past two times, I go pliant, ready for his anger, that heated glare. But third time lucky, I suppose, because instead of a fist to the face, Connor’s mouth crashes with mine. I’m in shock for a few seconds, not able to comprehend what he’s doing. He’s kissing me. Not attacking. Kissing.

“Wish I was joking. Do you know how long I’ve fantasized about kissing you?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Y-you have?” “I think the reason I hated you the most in high school is because other than that one time where you threw me against the wall and called me Douche, all I ever wanted back then was your attention, and you never gave it to me after that day.”

I didn’t imagine it. There’s no way I could dream up a kiss like this. His hand comes up to cup my face, the warmth covering my cheek, kiss still soft, hesitant, and I know, in this moment, that I’ll never recover from being kissed by him.

“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.”

He licks his lips. “Nope. You just need to focus your overprotective possessiveness elsewhere.”

Thick thighs, big hands, the scrape of stubble. I don’t know if Connor is coincidentally ticking all of my boxes or if he created those boxes because of my unrequited crush, but I know last night and this morning will never be topped. There’s no point trying.

“What will we call him? Devil? Evil incarnate?” “How about ratakiki?” “I will end you.”

Dying over Connor getting jealous that the pet store guy is flirting with Larker

Watching that Sam guy openly flirt with Parker made old Connor resurface. I wanted to put Sam in his place, but the thing is, flirting with Parker is his place. It’s his right. I have no claim over him. My inner possessive caveman doesn’t understand that though.

and he’s … taking off his shirt. Oh my. There’re those abs again. I dry my hands, turning to watch while I grip the basin behind me. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and when his eyes hook mine, he lifts his hand and beckons me closer with two fingers.

Damn. You’ve got such a sweet face I want to see it deep-throat me.”

“Nope. What I really want is to take you somewhere. Knowing you smell like me.” “You really are a possessive fucker.” “Yeah, but you said you liked it.” “I did.” And I do. I really, really do.

It’s so weird hearing Easton call him overbearing because that’s not the Connor I know at all. Sure, he has his possessive streak, but it’s never once felt overbearing. The opposite, actually. Whoever Connor ends up with will never not feel wanted. Or like a priority.

I don’t know why it’s different with him, but it is. I want him to be mine to cherish, to dote on, to own, but at the same time, I’m too worried about letting that out. About being too much. Too fast. So I hold back that instinct to unleash on him. But damn, it takes nearly all of my focus to do that.

Connors feelings about Parker

“What are you doing to me?” I whisper. “Showing you that I might be the one on my knees, but I’m in no way the vulnerable one here.” “I see that now.” I really see that now.

Connor Kikishkin begging for me might be the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

For now, all I’m letting myself focus on is the regular orgasms with a guy who’s not only hot but also as affectionate as I am and that we’re having fun while we do it.

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

The longer he stares into my eyes without saying anything, the more self-conscious I become. I try to find words. Try to find something that will deescalate what I’ve said. But all that comes out is “I think I’m falling for you.” Fucking. Idiot. That is not deescalating.

“Did we walk into some kind of alternate universe or what? Connor’s getting into fights, ejected from games, and kissing boys, and Easton is the one with his head down, kicking ass on the ice.”

I’ll never get over the possessive way he kisses. Slow and in control. It makes my toes curl pleasantly.