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. Mr. Hockey Captain. Mr. King of the School.

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 … know nothing outside of what I’ve done for the last fifteen years. I’m only twenty-six, and I feel like I’m a fifty-year-old parent with dependents who rely on me.

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.

What’s he going to do? Give me no ice time? Force Coach Macklin to make me a healthy scratch all season? Run me over with the Zamboni and call it an accident? Anything is possible.

team. I care entirely too much about Connor Kikishkin, but not in a loving way. It’s more of an I want to create a Pop! figure of him so I can get stabby with it kind of way.

“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.”

I walk off to the sound of him mumbling something about looking forward to only having one brother from now on. Please. As if Duchene will kill me. He likes torturing me too much for that.

It would be so easy to kick him while he’s down. Literally. Right in the thigh.

I drank so I could forget the conversation I had with Duchene, but the thing I can’t remember is how I got home. Figures.

I could become a hermit and have rocks for friends. 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.

“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.”

“Nah, you’ll be fine. Like I said, all you have to do is find that one person who likes possessiveness in a partner. Then, you focus all your toxic behavior on them. Win-win.” “I’d rather not be toxic at all.” Parker lifts one shoulder. “Eh, a little toxicity can be fun.”

Maybe that can be my next project? A hookup app for people who don’t want a relationship but also want a bit more than a quick fuck. A snuggle-bunny type of arrangement. Overnight boyfriends. Fuck like rabbits, then curl up and go to sleep before bouncing the next day.

That kiss turned everything upside down, but considering my life was already upside down, does that mean it’s now the right way up? Or maybe my life is in the universe’s tumble dryer at the moment.

“I’m down if you are.” My head snaps up to meet his gaze. “What?” “Cuddling.” His lips twitch, and he holds out his hand. “Show me what all the fuss is about. I don’t think I’m ready for anything else, but cuddling, I can do. Or maybe I can’t. I guess we’ll wait and see. Maybe I’ve been a closeted cuddler this whole time, but because society says it means more and could give my hookups hope of being the next Mrs. NHL Player, I’ve never risked it.”

“You actually unpack?” “Weird, remember?” “Nope. If you’re weird, I’m weird too, and I refuse to let Easton and Knox be right about that. Unpacking stops the wrinkles. The wrinkles, Parker!”

when you said those words, I had a weird flashback to high school and how I never thought someone like you could ever say something like that to me. I almost want to invent a time machine so I can go back and high-five myself. I’m working through my shock, that’s all.”

“If you killed him, I’m probably going to have to defend his honor, and that sounds like a lot of work for me.”

I 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?

“With how much he smelled like cum this morning, I wouldn’t be surprised if he says his first foray into the gay world was with a bukkake celebration.”

“Welcome to the queer space. I’ll need to make your membership card, but don’t worry, it’ll say, ‘We’re all overthinkers here.’“

“I’m great. We’re buying a scabby little mutant baby.”

“What will we call him? Devil? Evil incarnate?” “How about ratakiki?”

“I think hooking up with you know who has made him … reckless.” He lowers his voice. “He’s talking about blowjobs and going hard against Lachie tomorrow night. I’m scared my big brother might … actually be cool.”

The media that spreads hateful things about queer athletes will never see it from our point of view, so I need to stop thinking we have to cater to those toxic sectors. Aww, my first thoughts of we and us when referring to queer people and spaces. I really am embracing this. Go me.

Easton’s going to push me into the deep end without a life jacket, and Lachie will be there to witness me drown. Fun.

He kept trying to sneak into my room, but a drunk Connor is about as stealthy as a herd of elephants.

“If I lose you, your daddy’s going to break up with Daddy Connor, and I don’t want that to be my fault. Daddy Connor will fuck up on his own eventually, I promise. Then you and Daddy Parker can change that horrible name of yours and live happily ever after.”

Third children are the worst. They have to be. It’s science. To stop the world from overpopulating, the third child always has to be the catalyst to make parents stop reproducing.

“I’m sorry if my comments about your potential sex life were offensive. Here at Kikishkin Incorporated, we don’t have personalities or make jokes, so we were as shocked as you that those words came out of my mouth.”

“High school me would be shocked to know that Connor Kikishkin begged me to finger his ass.” “High school me would be shocked as well.”

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

“When I say we’re dating,” he says, stroking my cheek, “I mean you’re mine.” “Okay.” I’m way too excited about that. “And you’re mine too?” “Yes. I’m still working myself out, but I’m having a lot of fun doing it with you. I don’t want to stop.” I don’t want him to stop. Ever. “I’m good with that.” More than good.

“I really hope you weren’t lying about liking possessiveness because if you were, we’re fucked. Tripp mentioned finding you attractive, and I wanted to rampage.”

I’m keeping you.”

Sex is awesome, but I’m quickly realizing that cuddling is the best. It turns out I’m a real cuddle whore. I can’t get enough.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think, and now whoever that guy was knows, and if we’re hoping to keep this thing quiet, I really shouldn’t be allowed out of your apartment. Or in your office. You should chain me up to your bed and leave me there forever.”

“Can I go die of embarrassment now?” “Nope.” Parker rubs my back. “Because you’re way too cute to die.” “Cute?” I exclaim and pull away again. “I am not cute. I’m big and strong and⁠—” “Impulsive?”

I don’t think I can be trusted with our secret. All I want to do is tell everyone you belong to me, but that comes with big consequences, so I understand not doing it, but I’m finding ways to fuck it up anyway. Telling Tripp your name, walking in on a business meeting naked⁠—”

“You reckon old people with dentures give good blowjobs? If you think about it, if they take their teeth out, they’d be all gums. Maybe I should tell the team’s dentist to stop giving me dental implants whenever they get knocked out on the ice from now on.”

He eyes me, trying to figure me out. Join the club, Parks. All I know is now that he’s said I can’t blow him, I want to prove that I can. Stubborn streak? Apparently, it’s an old Connor and new Connor trait. Check that off the list.

I said what I said. You do make me a happy pile of mush.”

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.

“Can’t you let me crawl away into my avoidance cave and⁠—” “Answer the question.” “Fine. Yes. I want it. I want us to work out and be end goals and keep making each other happy. I selfishly want the Connor Kikishkin who I built up in my head to be mine and the real Connor to be even more mine. I want you to keep looking at me how you always look at me, and I want to keep being there for you while you find the best version of yourself. I want it all too much, and that’s why it scares me.”

“I have feelings for you, Parker. I’m falling for you. I want all of those things and more, and from this point forward, you’re mine. Not only in the claimy, possessive, caveman sex kind of way. In every way. Got it?”

“Wait until I meet your mom. I’m going to have her planning our wedding from hello. She’s going to be all ‘ex-boyfriend who’ because she’ll know that no one is good enough for her son but me.”

Hey, turns out I’m bi is easy. I’m no longer in love with hockey isn’t.

“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 wake up, inhaling the smell of Connor’s skin, wrapped around him for the third day in a row. He really is a snuggler, and I’m an affection whore who can’t get enough.