7. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Beckett

Two days. It's been two goddamn days since that night, and I still can't get it out of my head.

I shouldn't have let my mind wander to Novotny while I jacked off. He's my player, for Christ's sake.

Off limits.

I shake my head, disgusted. I'm supposed to be the responsible one here. The adult. I can't have these kinds of thoughts about him. Even if he does go out of his way to get my attention as if he craves it.

And yeah, no matter how much I try to keep my distance, there's no denying he commands attention when he's on the ice because he's good.

Really good.

I'm not sure why he hasn't signed with the Islanders yet. Well, outside of the fact he needs to mature. Though, he wouldn't be the first NHL player needing to grow the fuck up.

But there's something more to Novotny, as if he can't help himself. I just can't put my finger on it.

He's got this raw, unbridled energy that's both captivating and concerning. It's like he's constantly teetering on the edge of control and chaos, and part of me wants to be the one to rein him in.

Fuck. I can't think like that. It's inappropriate, unprofessional.

I run a hand over my face, feeling the scratch of stubble, then turn my attention back to the team and pace along the sidelines of the gym, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.

As they go through their off-ice training, I reflect on how things are going so far in my new role. Being back in the hockey world, even from the coaching side, has been both invigorating and challenging.

I'm finding I enjoy it more than I anticipated. Working with the team, helping them hone their skills and strategies, is surprisingly fulfilling. Even with the occasional headaches—aka Novotny—I feel like I'm settling into a good rhythm here.

Speaking of the bratty goalie, he's spotting Reed on the bench press. There's a seriousness to him, a protectiveness in the way he hovers over his friend. Like a few days ago in the locker room when Reed had tensed up. Novotny instantly moved closer, putting himself between us like a shield.

What else don't I know about him? What other depths are hidden beneath that flashy, flirtatious exterior?

My phone starts buzzing again.

I thought I was done with Noah, but changing my number didn't help because my ex is apparently more resourceful than I gave him credit for.

I delete his texts without reading them, just like I did last time. And the time before that. It's the only way I know how to cope.

"Hey, Becks, what's got you grumpier than normal?"

I grind my molars, not in the mood for Novotny's brattiness. "Are we going to continue to have this problem? Do I need to go to admin because you keep disrespecting me?"

Reed whistles, egging on his friend, but I just cross my arms and stare down the Titans' goalie.

Novotny just walks to the leg press as if my threat means absolutely nothing to him.

I turn back to the rest of the team and pace the length of the gym as they work through their drills. "Pick up the pace, gentlemen! Every single one of you needs to be in peak condition this season."

Knight and Walsh are locked into their workouts, Reed half-focuses between his and keeping an eye on me. I make sure to respect the large bubble of personal space he needs.

"Zach, watch your squats. You're leaning forward too much. Knees are crossing over your toes."

The look he shoots me makes my skin crawl. Or I should say the void in his eyes. Then he just turns away, dismissing me.

Nieminen called him the resident psychopath.

Can't say I fully agree. Sometimes he appears robotic, cold even, but other times, I catch a brief glimpse of something else. Regardless, there are times—like now—when he's putting off that "steer clear" energy.

"We done yet?" Novotny places his hands on his hips and juts his chin toward the clock on the wall. "Some of us have things to do. You know, lives that don't involve Soduko."

My spine straightens and eyes narrow. "You've got thirty more minutes left."

He just rolls his eyes, that infuriating little smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth as he reaches for a set of free weights, his well-defined muscles flexing as he starts in on a set of bicep curls.

I let my gaze linger for a moment too long on his impressive upper body—the way his shirt stretches taut across his broad chest, the veins tracing along his forearms, the tantalizing curve of his perky ass . . .

"See something you like, Coach ?" He's watching me in the mirror, one eyebrow arched, a knowing little smirk on that irritatingly handsome face.

Fuck.

I set my jaw and turn away, barking out orders to the rest of the team, determined to pretend that charged little moment never happened. And luckily, the brat keeps to himself for the rest of the session.

After dismissing the team, I walk to my office and flop into the chair. But the moment I catch my breath, the blond chaos demon with those ice blue eyes enters the office, a full-on devilish smirk plastered on his face. He walks in like he owns the place, sitting on the edge of my desk, invading my personal space.

I lean back in the chair. "What can I help you with?"

"Oh, come on now, Becks. You know what I want. Just like I now know what you want."

"Watch yourself, brat." My voice comes out as a deep rumble, a tone he responded to last time.

A blush starts to creep up his neck, but still, he quirks a brow, challenging me. "What are you going to do about it, Coach ? You going to put me in my place?"

I stand, then get in his face, placing my arms on either side of him, bracketing him in. "Be careful what you wish for Viktor. You might just get it."

"Promise?"

"You can't handle me."

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "Bet I can."

He's goading me, and I need to back away, but a mixture of frustration and arousal is lighting up my veins, and if I don't do something, I'll combust.

Quickly walking to the door, I slam it shut and lock it, then turn back to him. "On your knees and crawl to me. Now."

He hesitates for a minute, then drops and crawls over like a fucking cat. And when I say cat, I mean, with that mischievous expression plastered on his face. Oh, he's dead wrong if he thinks he has the upper hand.

Novotny comes to a stop right in front of me, sits back on his heels and looks up, his blue eyes meeting mine through thick lashes.

I reach down and fist his wavy blond hair as I pull my cock out with my other hand, then slap him across the face with it. "Didn't know you were such a slut."

Instead of answering, his tongue lashes out and swipes along my cock. My fingers tighten in his hair as I shove myself into his mouth, pushing deep until he gags. My pulse races at the sound and I start fucking his mouth until he's drooling. "Still think you can handle me, Chaos?"

When his hands start to slide up my thighs, I push all the way in until I bottom out, then hold him there with both of my hands around the back of his head. His throat tightens around me and my balls pull tight.

But I stave off my orgasm. I'm not done teaching the brat a lesson.

I yank him off when he starts slapping my legs, but not right away, then chuckle. "What's the matter? Didn't you say you could handle me?"

He gasps for air, his chin covered in saliva, cheeks streaked with tears. "Y-yes . . ." His voice is raspy.

I push back into his mouth, and fuck it roughly, my balls smacking against his chin. Using his hair for leverage, I continue to drive into him, my grunts mixing with his sloppy, wet gagging. My orgasm is close, my body tensing, and I pull out, not wanting to come down his throat.

He hasn't earned that.

"You need to cut the shit. I'm tired of the disrespect." I start pumping myself and when he leans in, I yank him back with the hand still fisting his hair. "Don't take what's not given."

After a few more strokes, the tension in my body snaps and my release hits hard. When I'm done and the post-orgasm bliss starts to fade, I push him away and he tumbles back onto his ass. His eyes are wide and mouth agape, his face covered in my cum.

His tongue flicks across his upper lip, tasting it.

Tasting me.

My breath catches in my throat, a shiver running down my spine.

Fuck, I need to get out of here before things spiral further out of control.

"Clean yourself up and go home, Viktor."

I pull my shorts back up, head to my desk and grab my keys and wallet, not waiting for him to respond. I walk right past him, each step echoing my racing heart, and bolt out the door.

What the fuck did I just do?