MINE ON THE FIELD

KAI’S POV

It always starts in darkness.

And then, a slow deliberate finger leisurely slides its way down my bare spine taking time to trace the ridges on my back with his cold fingers.

My wrists are caught up above my head either tied up or held together by him, I stopped trying to check after the fourth night.

But this time, it feels like a soft material was used to tie me down today.

I never saw his face clearly.

Only fragments.

Little pieces my stingy mind would allow when I focused hard enough.

He has midnight-black hair falling forward and caressing his ears like liquid shadow, usually teasing my collarbone when he puts his head on my neck, chest, stomach or my inner thighs.

And his eyes.

His eyes are a shade of ice blue that looks as sharp as glass in winter and looks at me greedily like he'll swallow me whole.

Tonight, my phantom lover was especially vicious and cruel.

He straddled my hips with his powerful thighs caging me on both sides teasing, but never giving me the pressure and release I crave for.

Every desperate jerk of my hips is met with a graceful pressing motion that's just enough to leave me straining and leaking against my own stomach.

I'm aching so bad I can't see any longer.

"Patience," came his whisper. Low and almost crooning with a thick heavy accent I'm too horny to figure out.

His words vibrated against my throat as his sharp teeth grazed my pulse. "Good boys always wait."

At this point, I am not a good boy.

My hips snap up again, frantically chasing friction that isn’t there.

A dark, velvet chuckle rolls through the darkness as he removes my underwear.

Then the torture begins in earnest.

A single fingertip traces the length of me in a slow, featherlight motion.

He takes his time getting to the head where he swirls his fingers around me and then goes back down the shaft.

He repeats this motion back down and up but never wraps his hand around me.

Just repeatedly teasing me until I am shaking, until the muscles in my thighs are locked and my breathing turns ragged.

"Please," I gasp, the word torn out of me so many times I can't count.

As if finally satisfied, the hand finally closes around me. Loose.

Too loose.

His fingers, long with callouses on them, slide up and down my member once, twice and then stop at the base, squeezing me tightly and just enough to make my eyes roll back.

“Ahhnnn-”

He cuts me off with a kiss then.

A dirty, deep kiss of his tongue sliding against mine in a mind numbing rhythm.

When he pulls away, I find myself chasing after his mouth desperately and shamelessly.

He laughs softly against my lips at that.

Then he starts all over again.

For hours?

Days?

I couldn't tell anymore.

Anytime my balls draw up, everytime I'm at the very cusp of a mind-blowing orgasm, he stops.

Leaving me drained and cursing.

Sometimes, he'd smile and simply watch me writhe and beg.

Sometimes, he'd drag his fingernails lightly down my ribs to my thighs knowing I'd raise my body to try and chase his fingers.

Sometimes he'd simply peck my head listening to me beg in broken syllables and whimpers.

I promise a lot of things I’ll never admit to in daylight.

And every single damn time, just as my final pulse of release surges up and he gives me permission to orgasm, just as my toes curl in anticipation,

I woke up.

My eyes flew open to the dimly lit graylight seeping through in my tiny single dorm room.

My chest is heaving with me taking short heavy pants and my skin is slick with sweat.

My sheets are tangled into a mess and on it in-between my legs… an even stickier mess.

Again.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until the colors burst behind my lids.

Three mother freaking weeks.

Twenty-one tortuous nights of this exquisite painful loop.

Every damn time.

Every night with the same shadow man, same eyes following a torturous loop of edging and crying out but never the end!

I am going to go crazy if this continues.

And today of all fucking days is when I need to make my best impression to my new team members if I want a smooth soccer year.

I am to observe the first ever official practice as the newest transfer to Evergreen University’s men soccer team.

I’d fought tooth and nail for this spot.

Persevering through late applications and countless sleepless weeks spent training until my legs buckled.

It took one miracle tryout video that somehow reached Coach Ramirez’s inbox.

A golden ticket.

My golden golden ticket.

And I was about to walk onto that field looking and feeling like I’d spent the night getting edged within an inch of my life.

Because apparently, my subconscious mind has a very specific, very expensive taste.

I was attracted to crazy men.

I dragged myself out of bed, grimacing at the damp spot that had soaked through both my boxer briefs and sheets.

I quickly stripped everything with more violence than necessary balling it all and shoving it into the hamper like it had personally offended me.

I take a slow ice cold shower. Slow enough that my brain got the memo and made the lingering hardness between my legs finally go down.

By the time I'm dressed in a crisp black training kit with the silver Evergreen crest and cleats slung over one shoulder, I almost look normal.

Almost.

I grab my backpack stuffed with shin guards, water, and the last scraps of my composure and dignity as I head out

The walk to the athletic complex feels like crossing a minefield.

Evergreen’s campus was disgustingly picturesque with ivy-drenched brick buildings, towering oaks and winding stone paths that probably cost more than my entire tuition.

Everything whispered old money, legacy and the fact that I don't belong here.

Thank God for my sponsor.

The soccer pitch is even worse.

State-of-the-art turf that looked like it has never seen rain in its life with bleachers big enough for half the population of Texas.

Even the goalposts gleamed like they’d been polished that very morning.

A handful of players were already there stretching, laughing and lobbing balls back and forth.

Some faces I recognize from my obsessive late-night scrolling through their team photos.

They barely glance my way and the ones that do are just curious. Not hostile but not exactly friendly either.

New blood.

I am now the new blood.

I dropped my bag near the bench and started my warm-up routine, trying to breathe through the nervous twist in my stomach.

I do not do social interaction well and I am still a bundle of nerves and exhaustion from the phantom last night.

Then the air changed.

It was subtle at first, the way conversations all turned quiet, the way heads turned and people's spines straightened just a fraction.

So I looked up.

And my heart slammed into my ribs so hard I forgot how to breathe.

He walked into the field like gravity bowed around him.

Alexei Petrova.

The captain, star striker and on a full-ride scholarship in the university.

He was even a former member of the U-19 national team.

Before this, I made a bet not to see him or search him up as a motivation to apply and enter this university so I could walk up to him and introduce myself.

I should've looked him up.

I definitely should have.

Midnight-black hair that is longer on top and swept back in that careless way that probably took ten seconds and cost more product than my entire feeding budget.

He had razor-sharp cheekbones and a jaw that would cause Michelangelo to be jealous because it could carve marble.

And those eyes.

Ice blue.

They were crystalline and piercing.

The same piercing ones that'd watched me greedily watch me beg, writhe and come apart this past few weeks.

Our gazes locked across thirty yards of pristine grass and time stretched into silence.

My phantom was Alexei Petrova.