TRUTH OR DARE
973 Words
My brain was screaming enemy, but my nerves were firing like a short-circuited scoreboard. Why was my body leaning into him? Why did the heat of his mouth feel like the only thing keeping me upright?
His other hand slid down, his palm cupping the curve of my ass through my jeans. He gave it a firm, possessive squeeze, yanking me flush against his hips. I could feel the solid ridge of his thigh between mine.
"Stop," I whispered, my hands fluttering uselessly against his chest.
"You don't sound like you want me to stop," Michael chuckled, the vibration of his voice buzzing against my skin.
"Hey! Lovebirds! Get over here!"
The shout came from the living room. Miller was sitting in a circle on the floor with a dozen others, a half-empty bottle of vodka in the center. Liam and Chloe were there too, perched on the edge of the sofa, looking like they wanted to be anywhere else.
"Truth or Dare," Miller grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Unless the Knights' star defenseman is too busy getting his neck eaten."
"We're in," Michael said before I could bolt for the door.
He led me over, but he didn't sit on the floor. He claimed a heavy armchair, sitting back and pulling me down directly onto his lap. My heart nearly hammered out of my chest. I felt huge, awkward, and far too aware of how his thick thighs supported my weight.
As the game started, a girl from the cheer squad was dared to drink a mystery concoction, and a freshman had to admit his most embarrassing hookup.
The atmosphere was thick with tension, mostly directed at us. I could see the doubt in Liam’s eyes, the 'they're faking it' look that threatened to ruin everything.
Michael felt it too.
His hand slid up under my shirt, his fingers cold against my stomach. I jumped, trying to pull away, but he held me firm.
His thumb and forefinger found my n****e through the thin fabric of my undershirt, flickering over the peak with a rhythmic, agonizing precision.
I smacked his hand away, my face scarlet. "Rossi, quit it."
"I'm just being attentive, babe," he whispered, his voice a low, wicked drawl.
He did it again, his nails grazing the sensitive bud until I had to bite my lip to keep from making a scene. Every time I hit his hand away, he’d find a new spot, the small of my back, the inner curve of my knee. He was relentless.
"Alright, alright," Miller yelled, spinning the bottle. It slowed, wobbling before the neck pointed straight at us. "Axel. Michael. The crowd is skeptical. We need a real show of 'teammate solidarity.' I dare you both to give us a wet, hot kiss. No closed-mouth bullshit. We want to see the heat."
"The heat's been there for months," Michael said, his voice dropping into that protective, growling tone.
He didn't wait for me to agree. He cupped my jaw, his thumb forcing my chin up. When his mouth hit mine, it wasn't like the ice. There was no rage here, only a calculated, suffocating hunger.
His tongue slid into my mouth, slick and hot, tangling with mine in a way that made my toes curl inside my sneakers.
I forgot the room and even forgot about Liam.
I forgot that I was supposed to be the straight guy who hated this man. I reached up, my fingers tangling in the dark hair at his nape, pulling him closer as I tasted the vodka and the raw, masculine edge of him.
The kiss went on too long. Our breathing was the only sound in the room, heavy and jagged. My body felt like it was melting into his lap, the friction of the kiss sending sparks straight to my gut.
Someone cleared their throat loudly.
"Goddamn," Miller muttered. "I think I'm questioning my own sexuality after watching that."
"I'm literally hard just looking at them. And don’t question why I am hard since I am a girl," a Miranda whispered from the side.
I pulled back, gasping for air, my head spinning. I tried to shift my weight, my ass grinding unintentionally against Michael's lap as I tried to find a more 'casual' way to sit.
Suddenly, Michael’s hands gripped my hips like a vice, pinning me still.
"Stop moving," he growled, his voice thick and dangerously low. I looked down and saw the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes had gone dark and predatory.
I felt it then, the undeniable, rock-hard evidence of how he was reacting to me. A surge of pure, spiteful humor hit me. He wanted to play the dominant boyfriend? Fine.
I shifted again, deliberately rotating my hips against him, a slow, torturous grind. I leaned back against his chest, smirking when I heard him suck in a sharp, pained breath.
"You okay, Michael?" I teased, my voice a low hum. "You seem tense."
He leaned into my ear, his teeth grazing the lobe.
"If you do that one more time, Axel, I swear to God I will put my c**k in your hole right here on this chair. I don't give a f**k who's watching."
I felt a shiver of genuine fear and something else ran down my spine. I looked him in the eye, my pulse racing. "You wouldn't dare. Not in front of the team."
Michael’s hand slid between my thighs, his palm pressing firmly against the center of my heat.
"Try me," he whispered. "I’ve got nothing to lose, and you're the one who looks like you’re begging for it.”
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