GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (40 page)

Her mind painted a lusty visual of Sloan in some dark, dungeon-like room, wielding a whip while she was chained to a wall. She could almost smell the sweat that would bead his bare chest. Her muscles twitched as though preparing for the lick of the whip. Would it be like fire? Like the kiss of a blade?

The wet throb between her thighs made her whimper. Max cleared his throat, snapping her from her painfully erotic fantasies.

“Stand up.”

Oriana scrambled to her feet, then looked around the room, confused. Richter was gone? When had he left?

“Pay attention, darlin’.” He covered her butt with both hands, digging his fingers into bruised flesh hard enough to make her gasp. “I thought so. And I do believe you’ve been punished enough by Callahan and Mason to have learned your lesson?” He waited for less than a beat before twisting her hair in one hand and jerking her head back. “Your answer?”

Her eyes teared at the sharp pain in her skull, but the sensation of being completely under Max’s control made her knees weak. She whispered. “Yes, Master.” Then braced her hands on the desk as he unzipped her jeans and jerked them down to her knees.

“Just look at the color of that beautiful ass.” His fingers brushed over tender flesh, gently, simply tracing the lines of welts left by Sloan’s belt. Then he dropped to his knees behind her and sank his teeth into one cheek.

Sharp pain speared up, coiling around her spine, flaring up into her core. She cried out and her hips jerked. His fingers drove up into her, curving forward to rub against the one spot that made her insides burn with pleasure. Another bite and she could feel herself melting into his palm. His fingers slid in and out, in and out, then slipped over her clit. He spread her pussy lips wide with the fingers of one hand, then used the fingers of the other to pinch her clit. The pressure increased until she couldn’t bear it anymore. She lifted her hips to escape and he bit her again.

“Stay still.” His nibbled on her flesh, his breath adding moisture to the sweat slicking her skin. “And do not come.”

Panting, Oriana did her best to obey, but she wanted to curse at him for teasing and torturing her. With how worked up she’d been before he’d touched her, foreplay really wasn’t necessary. And
this
kind of foreplay was almost too much.

He pinched a bit harder and she moaned.

“Try not to scream.” He kissed the base of her spine, then released her.

White fire rolled up from her clit and the nub pulsed like a tiny, heart. She bit her tongue and kicked at her jeans, wanting them off, wanting her legs wide apart so Max could slam into her without any resistance. Not that there’d be much with how wet she was.

Max shoved her against the desk. “Leave them on.” She heard the distinctive sound of him putting on a condom. “Brace yourself, love.”

One violent thrust and he filled her so abruptly she felt like she was being formed around him. Every single steel-hard ridge seemed to stretch her until he fit perfectly, deep within. When he didn’t move, she shimmied her hips.

He slapped her thigh. “You haven’t been trained very well, have you? I’m disappointed.”

If Dominik heard that, she’d so pay. Hooking her hands to the edge of the desk, she locked her arms and forced her body to still. “I’m sorry, M-Master, but this is the first time it’s just the two of us.”

“Mmhmm.” He curved his chest over her back and murmured into her hair. “But that doesn’t mean you have any control. I’ll take you as slow—” he drew out of her, inch by inch, until her inner muscles were clenching just to hold him in “—or as hard—” his pelvis slammed into her ass and his dick drove in even deeper than before “—as I want.”

“Yes.” Her breathless whisper was drowned out by the hammering of her pulse, by the wet smack of flesh on flesh as he began to pound into her. “Yes, oh, yes.”

The desk groaned as she leaned all her weight on it, desperate to keep still. Max fucked her passionately, viciously, and her body absorbed the impact, mindlessly clawing for release no matter how hard she fought.

He gripped her hips, raising her up on her tiptoes. “Not yet, baby. Just a little more.”

She whined, and her nails scraped the varnished wood of the desk as she resisted yet another insistent climax. She felt like she would drown in the pleasure and gasped as Max pressed her face down on the desk and pulled on leg free of her jeans. He spread her thighs apart as he pistoned in and out of her. His fingers slid down the cleft of her butt, and he pressed the tip of one against her back hole.

“Not yet,” he said as he worked his finger inside.

“Ah!” She moaned, then smothered herself with her arm. Her insides rippled with tiny spasms. Dormant nerves sparked. She tensed up, feeling herself losing her last bit of restraint.
No more! No more!

Max grunted. “Now!”

Her body imploded with raw ecstasy. A torrent of pleasure bowled over, and she threw her head back, lips parted, but no sound escaped. Hands fisted, toes curled, she felt like her entire being would come apart. She sensed Max coming with her, and the way he jerked deep within brought on an aftershock of climax. Not one orgasm—maybe a hundred, a thousand. If not for the desk and Max’s hands on her hips, she would have crumpled like a rag doll. None of her limbs seemed solid.

After easing out of her with a tenderness that contradicted the brutal way he’d just fucked her, Max picked her up and slumped into the closest leather chair. He dried her sweat- and tear-soaked face with his sleeve, then kissed her brow.

“Do you know how much I love you, Oriana?” He hugged her and bowed his head to her shoulder. “When I was locked up, all I could think of was you—just you—and how much I wanted . . . I don’t know, the opportunity to have you all to myself.”

His admission was sweetness and bitterness all at once. Exactly how was she supposed to react? Happy that she could make him feel that way? Or scared that he’d had a change of heart and would force her to make a very hard choice?

It was bound to happen.
“So where do we go from here?”

“Go?” He sat back and frowned at her. “What do you mean? I thought you were happy.”

“I am, but . . .” No point in prolonging things and hurting anyone else. “I figured you’d eventually decide you were done sharing.”

“Do you want that?” His brow creased when she shook her head. “Is it Sloan? I don’t see you being tired of Dominik, but maybe Sloan’s a bit much for you to—”

“Sloan’s fine. To tell you the truth, the only one I’m ready to let go of is Tyler.” She covered her mouth with her hand, then shook her head. “I mean, unless . . .”

“I see.” He stretched his arm across the back of the chair, then drummed his fingers on the leather. “You’ve finally come to terms with the fact that your feelings for Tyler aren’t as deep as your feelings for the rest of us. The guilt is eating you up. You’re waiting for some karmic backlash, and you thought this was it.”

“Kinda.” She smiled, relieved that he knew her well enough that she didn’t have to spell things out. “It would serve me right having to choose between the three men I love.”

His brow arched. “Love?”

Her heart stuttered.
I’ve gone too far.

Then he laughed. “I’m shocked. Not so much with Dominik, but Sloan . . . I thought me and his dad were the only ones who’d ever love him. Does he know? Have you told him?”

Amazed, Oriana shook her head. This man was incredible. Unbelievable. And most of all, wonderful. She giggled and smacked his chest. “You’ve got to stop scaring me like that! I’m never sure where I stand with you. Any normal guy would get pissed off if his girlfriend told him she loved another man.”

“Since when am I normal?” He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “As long as Sloan doesn’t steal you away from me, it’s all good. Now, answer me. Have you told him?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. I want to see the look on his face when you do.” After patting her thigh, he helped her to her feet. “Now, go check the score. We just screwed right through first period.”

“Must you be so crude?” She put her hands on her hips, pretending to be mad.

He slid his hand under her jersey and ran his thumb over one very sensitive nipple. “Mind your manners, or I’ll fuck you until there’s only five minutes left of the game.”

Much as she’d enjoyed herself, she didn’t think she’d survive another round with him. She darted across the room and hurried into her jeans before he decided to follow through with his threat. And before she decided she wanted him to.

“I won’t be long.” She promised, kissing him so quick she missed his lips and scraped her lips on his chin. “Stay out of trouble.”

“I should say the same to you.” He gave her a level look, suddenly very serious. “Richter has as much experience as Mason, and he’s a stickler for discipline. If you get mouthy with him, he’s liable to drag you back here and take out a switch. And you won’t like it.”

Like I’d be stupid enough to mouth off to that guy?
Of course, she was stupid enough to mouth off to Dominik and Sloan, but that was different. And anyway, they were
her
Doms. “You’d let him do that?”

“If you embarrassed me by acting out in front of a Master like Richter?” His jaw hardened. “Absolutely.”

Note to self. Do not embarrass Doms.
“I’ll be good.” She bit her lip. “Are you going to tell Dominik about before?”

A grin lit up Max’s face. He rubbed his chin as though he really had to think about it. “What will you give for my silence?”

“Anything,” she said, and she really, truly meant
anything.
She’d had enough of Dominik’s brand of punishment to last her quite a while. Maybe forever.

“Anything? How about this? Tell me why you don’t want him to know.”

“Because he’ll punish—” She caught herself and shook her head. That wasn’t why. The actual reason made her smile. “I don’t want to disappoint him.” Her nose wrinkled. She’d
so
regret this. “Or you.”

“Good girl.” His lip curved. Strolling across the room, he seemed to dismiss her. But then he rested his hip on the corner of Richter’s desk and folded his arms over his chest. “So you’ll speak to Dominik yourself?”

Uck, no. Yes?
“Maybe.
Probably.
” She smirked as a mischievous little sprite sprang up inside her mind. “But if I get spanked, you don’t get to watch.”

His bark of laughter followed her down the hall. If she hadn’t felt so blissfully beaten, she might have skipped, or danced. Her thighs and butt were sore, yet her steps seemed light. Having Max back made the world bright and cheery and perfect.

All we need now is a win.

S
alty rivulets spilled from Sloan’s hair like he’d dunked his head, helmet and all, in the ocean. Third period, tied at one, and the Cobras led in shots on net. Didn’t mean much, as far as he was concerned, but the time they spent in control of the puck certainly did. Well, that and the way Coach Stanton paled a little every time they came close to scoring. They barraged shots at the Wild goaltender, picking up sloppy rebounds, turning the game into target practice as the Wild defense floundered.

Sloan grinned at the Wild center as he waved his left winger over to cover the wide open slot in front of the net. The man snarled a curse under his breath as the player gave him a blank look. The Wild had considered the game in the bag, and their arrogance had cost them.

Too bad only half of you showed up to play, eh, boys?

The Cobra’s tenacious play would have made the score one-sided if the net minder hadn’t morphed into a wall after the first goal, but he appeared less and less solid after every attack. He’d slowed slightly on the glove side, but not enough for them to take advantage. There was only one way to get through him. They needed a fucking screen.

Five minutes and the game would go into overtime. The Wild stats in overtime made the Cobras a joke. If they couldn’t score within the next ten minutes, they might as well go home. Perron was the only player they had who could take a shootout. Vanek got too nervous, and Sloan’s aim was still off.

On his second straight shift, Sloan’s thigh muscles cramped up. He ignored the dull pain and took the face-off. He’d get the puck out of their zone and head to the bench. A few minutes rest and he’d be ready for the final stretch.

The puck hit the ice. He surged forward, skimmed over the puck with his stick, then swiveled to retrieve it from a Wild defenseman. Mason barged past him and checked the man into the boards. The defenseman pinched just long enough for Sloan to safely leave the ice.

Coach Stanton made a lackluster gesture for a fresh line. Vanek hopped over the boards and Sloan scowled. The rookie had been shuffled from line to line sporadically throughout the game, as though Stanton hoped the kid wouldn’t do as well without the chemistry he’d developed with the first line, then brought to the fourth. The coach didn’t seem to realize Vanek could adapt to any situation and make it work for him. He was a goddamn chameleon, able to play right, left, or center. In front of his own net, he was almost suicidal when blocking pucks.

If Coach wanted to lose this game, he’d have to bench Vanek. Which he couldn’t do without people getting suspicious. Sloan grinned over his shoulder at Tim who was muttering something into his headset. Tim grinned back and gave him a thumbs-up. Someone higher up was keeping an eye on Stanton; that much had been made obvious when the assistant coach
suggested
they rest the starting goalie, Giroux.

Carter nudged Sloan and jutted his chin toward the ice. “Stanton’s really got it in for that kid. He’s logged in more ice time than most of the defensemen.”

Unfortunately, Sloan knew
that
couldn’t be blamed on Stanton. “Someone lit a fire under the kid. The second his shift ends, he’s begging to get back on. Tim’s been letting him—all Stanton is doing is fucking around with the lines, making sure we’re never on the ice together.”

“Hell, man, even you couldn’t keep up with him. Besides, he’s forcing the rest of us to up our game, you know? It’s good for the team.”