Chapter 2 (2)- Maddox's POV

“What? You've never seen a man in heat before?” he says hoarsely.

I am watching a man, probably twice my age, try to fuck himself with a bunch of office feather pencils tied together. It's still thin nonetheless and I can see it in the way his left brow twitches that it isn't enough.

I take in his presence.

He's a full grown man but so thin. He's tall and white skinned. Laid back black thin hair and blue eyes, turning white and icy with each push of the pencils into his back.

I am running away from my uncle's bodyguards. They followed me down to the bar and I had to hide in this room with a door sign 'keep off' yet unlocked.

My uncle never treats me like a grown man. I want my fucking freedom.

This is freedom. Standing in the same room as this man, watching him battle with nature's heat. It makes my dick throb.

“I have a puck. Do you mind?”

“Yes,” he grunts.

“But it's my special puck so I've got to be the one to use it on you.”

He swallows at my words, and I don’t miss how fast his hand shot up to pinch his pink nipples.

“Then puck me.” He turns his back to me, clinging to the wall. "Puck me hard and—"

“Get the fuck up, Gordon. You can't keep napping a few minutes before matches like it's practice!”

I open my eyes to glare at the old shit.

I would have reported this coach right now for bullying if the old coach wasn't just kicked out a month ago.

"Your timing is really bad, Donald. You should work on it." I roll out from the bench, grabbing my towel.

He's glaring at me, cause I can feel the hot holes on my back. Probably because I called him by his name instead of coach.

But that title is earned, don't you think?

This man deprived us of breaking the Bull Boys three wins in a season record last week when he decided to sit me out and let Greg Mallory in. The same Grey Mallory infamous for bad goaltending last year's season.

Shithead!

“I am 47 years old, kid, with at least twelve grey hairs on my head. You can't call me by my name.”

I roll my eyes. "It's 2 not 12."

He scoffs. “Keep running your mouth and you won't play next season's match.”

I turn to glare at him.

Well then, one of us is not going to make it to the next season's match. And it's definitely not going to be me. Keep waking me up in the middle of my sweet dreams and you'd get kicked out of the team before next season's match!

These dreams of pucking that man have been haunting. For months now. After it actually happened.

Ever since that night, I have been going to that bar every night hoping I'd meet him again by chance but...

"Stop glaring at me and put your clothes on."

I roll my eyes.

In quick minutes I'm all set and striding down the hallway to meet the other players.

I may be the youngest in the team but definitely not the least important. However, recently, the team would rather bench me and lose a few matches than get mocked for having a hot-headed player in the team.

We're almost ready to go out into the ice when someone suddenly calls out behind us, “Hey, Rebel Were-Tigers!”

I swiftly whip my head back, hearing the familiar voice—the voice that has been haunting my sleep. And it's him.

“Apologies,” he says hoarsely, it seems like he has been juggling all the way to reach us. His eyes meet mine but he quickly shifts his gaze uncomfortably to the rest of the team. “I don't mean to waste your time or distract you.”

He then waves a paper in our faces. “I just wanted to say hi to the team and wish y'all good luck.”

“Why are you here?”

I don't know why the fuck i asked that even after clearly seeing that the paper says 'Team Handover'.

I mean, I don't know why I asked that question with so much worry. Like, why the fuck was he here? He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't know me. He shouldn't know this side of me that I don't wish for him to know.

He frowns so bad. He tries to sound superior and dominant when he says, “And is there a reason I have to explain why I'm here to you?”

'..to you,' sounds quite condescending. He's looking down on me.

I try not to remind him who I am.

"That's what I thought," he says then gives me distance like I'm plague and begins to talk with the other team players.

I get it. He wants to act like that day never happened. And I want to as well.

But how? Teach me, teach me how to act like I didn't oil my favorite puck up and try to fit it into his asshole.

My eyes uncontrollably trail from his thin long legs in coffee brown straight pants down to his feet in a Gucci high slipper. His white polished toes are all out in the open. What could be more seductive than those?

I would suck on them one by one if he gives me the chance to.

My eyes find his waist and confirm that they are tiny. Suddenly I crave to see how his ass held up in such cute pants.

He's caked up at the back, that's one thing I can guarantee 100%. I confirmed it.

How could a man be so fine?

"So, I'm Leslie Singerr, the new Vice President of the headquarters and your team has been put under my care. Also, one of your players, Maddox Gordon will also put supervised specially by me."

"What the fuck?" I say.

He looks at me, raising a brow. "Do you have a problem with your uncle's arrangement?"

I frown. Uncle? So this is all him?

Of course I have a problem. This man, Leslie is a distraction. And I need to focus on the game. The game is my life, the only thing I'm good at and my ticket to getting my father's inheritance from my uncle.

Leslie, yes! I have a problem because I've fucked you!

It's just four months ago and it still feels like yesterday. I touched an older man, we did things, I dreamt about it after that night and desired—i still desire—to do it all again with him. So yes, there is a problem. This is the problem.

"Please head to the ice everyone. You!" Leslie points at me with a big frown on his face, "You, back to the changing room with me."

I follow Leslie to the changing room and we're both alone.

He inches closer to me and the scent of his pheromones hit me hard. He smells like a wild cat. A wild omega.

Omegas are supposed to smell good like flowers and fruits. But he smells like dried rose and ashy wood. It turns me on.

"I don't know what you're thinking or why your heart is beating so stupidly fast but you're just a kid and you have a whole life ahead of you. Focus on the game," Leslie cautions me.

Surprisingly, I don't feel provoked.

No one cautions Maddox Gordon. No one tells me what to do. No one gives me a warning.

But Leslie just did.

Leslie sigh. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Did it hurt that night? After I pucked you. Did it hurt?"