Power Play (Center Ice Book 2) (13 page)

“I might be.” Her tone is husky as she tilts her head back, curling against me.

This is all wrong—she’s the one yielding to me here. I swore I’d never play that way again. But right now, it’s turning me on so fucking much, and I want nothing more than to be the one in control.

“Bad things happen when you tease me.” My voice turns sharp. I want it to scrape against her creamy skin. Put her on edge.

She swallows, audibly.

“Prove it.”

I slide my hand into her long red hair and grip it in my fist. Steer her toward the bed, and shove her face-first into the mattress. She gasps, arms flailing, but then relaxes and clutches the mattress in her hands.

“I’m not going to stop unless you tell me to,” I growl. Last chance, Fiona. You’re mine right now.

She shakes her head. Muffled, she says, “Please don’t stop.”

I push her dress up over her hips and move her panties to one side. She’s already wet for me. While I undo my trousers with one hand, I massage her clit between my fingers. Her breath hitches, and a shudder courses through her body. She’s mine. Completely mine.

As soon as I’ve freed my erection, I slide into her. She cries out, but keeps her face planted in the mattress to stifle it.

One hand coaxing her to climax, the other shoving her face down. Pinning her in place. I feel her walls tensing around me, relaxing and tensing, as I thrust frantically. Hungry. Unstoppable.

“Beg for it.” I’m saying it before I even realize it. “Fucking beg me to make you come.”

“Please,” she whispers. “Please. I need your cock.”

“Slut.” I grip her hair harder. Squeeze her clit. “You’ll come when I fucking tell you to.”

“Please, I can’t help it—”

“Help it, you pathetic whore.” I’m thrusting harder now. Like getting ready to touch an electric fence. My every nerve is on edge, dying to fire off, ready for that burst—

“Now. Fucking do it now.”

She groans into the mattress; her whole body clenches like a fist around me. My eyes roll back into my head as I moan, unleashing my seed inside of her. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, it’s so intoxicating to be back in control. I haven’t had an orgasm like this since—

No. Don’t think about that now. Think about this fucking goddess, yielding beneath you, her beautiful bare ass quivering with the aftershock of her climax.

I slip out of her, and we take turns sneaking into the hall bathroom to clean ourselves up. Her whole face is bright red, and her grin is the first genuine one I think I’ve seen from her all day. When she returns, I pull her into my arms on the bed and nestle into the corner.

“So . . .” she ventures.

I kiss her temple. “Hmm?”

“You said you’re a—a switch.”

“That’s right.” I exhale. “I like domination and submission both. But I’m . . . uhm, I’m more comfortable with submitting right now.”

“But you’re fucking good at being in control, too.” She laughs, embarrassed.

“Yeah, well.” I grin. “You’ve seen my family. I’m
never
in control.”

Fiona’s eyes lid and she sighs. “I could get used to this, you know. Taking turns . . . Dinner with your family . . . Being—well, being close to someone. It’s very new for me, you have to understand.”

“It’s pretty new for me, too.”

“I’m not easy to love, Marcus.” She looks down, as if there’s more she’s wanting to say, but isn’t sure how. “I’m not an easy person, period.”

“Neither am I.” I sigh. “But I can make an exception for you.”

We relax in peaceful silence for a few minutes more, until we decide we’d better head downstairs, so our absence isn’t
too
conspicuous.

It’s only later, as I’m shutting off my bedroom light, that I notice the stack of mail on my desk, with a bill from Saint Agnes’s right on top.

Whether Fiona saw it or not . . . sooner or later, I have to tell her the truth.

F

There are moments, in life, that can change your whole world. That will define you forever. Sometimes, they’re obvious, quaking underneath your feet like a seismic shift. But sometimes you don’t even recognize them until after the fact. Until you take that step, and look back to find your old life crumbled away.

Letting Marcus in my life was one of those earthquakes.

But I have plenty more of them on the way.

Insight News, or Astro? I know which one Mum wants me to pursue. Her high-brow condemnation of anything that doesn’t attack the existing power structures made that abundantly clear. She and Gunther have such a hard-on for destroying the sports industrial complex. But I’m starting to find that I don’t give a flip. I no longer want to begrudge people for loving who and what they love.

And human interest stories . . . Why can’t those be just as groundbreaking, too? Shedding light on parts of the world we’d never otherwise see. Peeking inside the heads of strangers on the street whom we’d never otherwise give a second glance. Getting down in the weeds. Spending a day in the life. A mile in another’s shoes.

That’s important, too, to develop empathy. Understanding.

And also for upending injustices.

So when Andy Frick’s email response comes in, I have a choice to make.

Which story am I going to tell? The evils of professional sports, or the real human drama that plays out every night in people’s sex lives, in the kink scene? The second has no clear-cut villain or hero. No zero-sum balance of power. Just a whole lot of hard questions and no obvious answers.

That’s the kind of truth I want to expose. The uncertainty; the reality. That’s the kind of journalist I want to be.

But how badly do I want to tell it?

Because I’m starting to suspect it just might cost me my own happiness.

Yet this is what I was born to do.

This is the kind of journalist I want to be.

I plug the address for Sadie’s Hope into my phone and head to the nearest car rental station.

*

M

“All right, kiddo. You wanna learn how to dodge a goalie.”

“Kiddo?” I snort. “You realize I’m a year older than you, right?”

“Ten months.” Brian Osbourne flips his goalie mask down. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I’ve also got twenty-five pounds of muscle on you, short stuff.” I flex my guns at him—not that he can see them under all the padding I’m wearing beneath my practice jersey, but still.

Brian laughs. “I gotta stay spry to catch every one of your damn shots.” He gestures toward center ice. “C’mon. Line up. Show me what you’ve got.”

I skate toward the blue line on Brian’s side of the rink, then move toward the goal, bouncing the puck back and forth, really easy like, as I sweep my stick from side to side. Brian’s crouched right in the center of the goal, legs only spread to cover about two-thirds of the width. My best bet, then, is to lift one up and over him. With his knee pads, he’s got too much coverage on the lower half of the net, so I want to get up high as I can.

I mentally line up the shot, trying not to telegraph the moment I’m going to swing, then fire off, quick as I can.

The puck goes right where I’d aimed it—past the right side of his head. But in an instant, his hand shoots up and easily bats it away with the mitt.

“Shit.” I sweep past the goal net and my skates
shhhink
against the ice as I come to a stop.

Brian laughs and waits for me to skate back to the net to chat with him. “Yep. It’s exactly as I thought.”

“And what does that mean?” I ask, a little wounded.

“You’re too busy thinking about where I am, and not about where I
can
be.”

“Okay, Pai Mei, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Brian shoves his mask up and squirts some water into his mouth, swishes it around, and spits over to the side. “It’s like a chess game to me. I’ve always got to be thinking one or two plays ahead. I watch the ice and get ready to move to whatever I’m reading is the most likely upcoming play. So I know, when you’re coming at me head on, and I’m in a standard front-facing crouch, you’re going to try to go where I’m not. So that’s where I plan to go.”

I groan. “This is hurting my head.”

“Nah, you’ll get there. But start paying attention to what else is happening on the rink. You want me to miscalculate. You want me to think you’re not the biggest threat headed my way.”

“Be the threat you’re not looking for,” I repeat.

“Bingo.” Brian glances off behind the plexiglass. “Hey! Sergei!
Podoshli
!”

Sergei hops onto the ice and gives me a gap-toothed grin. “I am the biggest threat.”

“More like the biggest pain in my ass.” I gesture to the ice. “All right, champ, show me how it’s done.”

“Watch Brian. You must be able to see when he is watching me.” Sergei gestures to himself. “And when he is watching you. We want to do the tricking to him, you know? So he watches the wrong one of us.”

I nod. “Right on.”

And so we drill.

And drill.

God love my Eagles teammates for helping me out on our off-day, when we’ve got a flight to catch that night. Two more road games, then a few days off for New Year’s before it starts back up again. After that, it’s only two weeks until the All-Stars break.

All-Stars break, and my make-or-break deadline with Coach Isaacs.

But I’m shoring up my fundamentals. Honestly, I am. I will get the ground underneath me if it kills me.

But as we head off the ice, my muscles screaming and my eyes drooping, I want nothing more than to head over to Club Brimstone for another berating. Rajani’s face swims before me. Begging me. Pleading me to do what I cannot do.

I stand under the hot shower and bash my fists against the tiles.

I have to tell Fiona. If I can’t get absolution at the end of a flail, then maybe I can find it on my knees before Fiona. I have to tell her what happened.

The truth about Rajani.

The truth about me.

Even if it costs me everything—at least then, I’ll be free.

c

f

Sadie’s Hope is nestled on twelve acres of farmland deep in the Shenandoah mountains of central Virginia. I miss the turn-off about five times because I’m, variously, distracted by cows, mountains, a horse-drawn tractor trundling down the road, and a goddamned beautiful flock of clouds passing over an ice-blue sky and into the gloomy gray mountain peaks beyond. But I’m not surprised Sadie’s Hope isn’t looking to advertise its presence, judging by the fire and brimstone church signs I passed on the way down here. Abusive partners probably aren’t the only people Sadie’s Hope residents have to hide from way out here.

I bounce along the frost-rimed gravel road for about half a mile before I reach a low, long ranch house hidden behind a security gate. I punch the gate buzzer.

“Yeah?”

“Fiona Callahan, here to see Andy Frick.” I drum my nails against the steering wheel. “We, um, have an appointment?”

There’s a long pause, filled with the hiss of static over the old buzzer box. “Hold your photo ID up to the camera?”

“Right. Sure.” I fish my driver’s license out of my wallet and wait.

“Okay. Come on in. Park on the left.” The gate opens with a buzz and swings away to admit me. I shudder to myself, wondering just what necessitated such a high level of paranoia, and pull over to the left as requested.

Inside the ranch house, a pleasant smell of cooking onions and vegetables fills the air, and someone bustles past me, clutching a basket full of canned preserves. “Sorry,” they say. “Didn’t see you there.” Then, drawing their eyebrows down, “Did you check in?”

“I have an appointment with Andy Frick.”

“Oh.” They look unconvinced, and pull the hood of their hoodie down lower. “I’ll, uh, let him know . . .”

“Fiona.” I swallow. “Fiona Callahan.”

“Sure.” They bustle on to the kitchen, then, distantly, I hear them shouting for Andy.

The ranch house feels homey, well-cared for, but definitely worn-out and threadbare. The house is actually a series of prefab structures cobbled together. The thin walls are painted a cheerful faded yellow, and all the furniture is a mish-mash of Goodwill. I peek into the main living area, off to one side, to find a group of people playing Connect Four, laughing and smiling. More than one of them sport crutches or casts, and I shudder, my heart aching for them.

“Hey.” Andy emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a kerchief that he then tucks into his back pocket. “Andy Frick.”

I shake his hand, still damp from just washing it. “Thanks so much for answering me.”

“I thought about not answering. Thought about it for a while.” He shrugs. “But then I figured I wouldn’t be much of an advocate if I didn’t.”

“You seem like a pretty great advocate. You’re doing important work here.” I gesture to the house at large.

Andy just shrugs. He’s all loose limbs and downward glances. I can see the submissive instincts in him, even now that he’s out of that life. “Well, thanks. I just do what I can.” He glances toward the great room. “Tell you what, let’s go to my office to talk.”

I follow him into a cramped room, stuffed with free-floating papers and files and public service posters. One box holds a stack of business cards for Sadie’s Hope, and I scoop up a handful with his permission. I give him a standard no-names disclosure agreement and set my phone to record.

“So you want to know about my life at J&A,” he says, with a weary sigh.

He offers me the only chair in the room, so I sit, while he perches on a radiator. “Yes. Specifically, the circumstances surrounding Marcus Wright’s abrupt departure, and what it seems to have to do with your breakup with David Gresham.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I figured it’d be that.” He scratches at his neck. “Look, I don’t know what sort of story it is you’re wanting . . .”

“Your story. A story that tells the truth about the BDSM scene, outside of the sparkle and glitter of romance novels and Hollywood films.”

“Right, but what’s your agenda?” He scowls. “I mean, you gotta understand. I deal with holier than thou types all day long, trying to tell me and my flock that we’re going to Hell just because of who we are . . .”

“No. Nothing like that.” I smile sadly. “Promise. And I don’t have an agenda—honestly, I don’t. All I’m looking to do is tell the story as best I can, and let the readers draw their own conclusions.”

“People don’t like that much. They want guidance. Something to sink their teeth into. To feed their preconceived notions.”

“But I also find that a little sunlight can burn away those preconceptions.” I toss my hair over one shoulder. “I already assured you I won’t be sharing any names in this story. Do you want people to hear your side? Or only the other half?”

“Okay. Fine.” Andy drops his hands down to his sides. “I handed my entire body and soul over to David Gresham. Thought it was fun. It felt good for a while. Maybe better than good. But I was losing my grip on myself. I was nothing but an extension of David’s will. And once I saw what happened to—to the other couple in the scene we were friends with—I knew I had to break free.”

“Marcus and his girlfriend.”

Andy doesn’t meet my eyes. “Do you know what I mean, when I said I sold him my body and soul?”

“Sure. You were his submissive. Let him dominate you in bed.”

“Not just bed. He put a collar on me—I wore it all the time. I didn’t go to the bathroom without his permission. Call my parents. Hang out with friends. Everything was his to decide. And too often, he used it to punish me.” Andy shakes his head. “He’s a sadist. A real sicko.”

My throat tightens. That doesn’t sound like Marcus at all. But if it took something even worse than what David and Andy had to spook Andy out of the lifestyle . . . “Is that how it was with Marcus and—his girlfriend?”

“No.” Andy shakes his head.

I let out my breath.

“Not at first.”

I swallow. “What do you mean?”

“Marcus and . . . her . . . They traded places a lot, at first. But then she started wearing that collar more and more. Pushing for him to take more and more control. He played like he didn’t want that, like it was all about the sex for him, and that they should be equals outside the bedroom. But I think it was all for show.”

All for show. I wrack my brain, trying to reframe every conversation Marcus and I have had. Every moment we’ve shared. I’m just not seeing it. Even that time at his parents’ house, when he was very much in control—It was always my choice. He gave me the option to stop at every step of the way.

Honestly, the only time I felt even a little uncomfortable was the time he pushed me too hard to hurt
him
.

“And then?” I ask. “There was a breaking point. For you and Marcus’s girlfriend both.”

Andy stares down at the ground.

“Andy, please. I need to know what happened.”

Andy punches his shoulders into the air in a loose-limbed shrug. “Marcus’s girl . . . she had an . . . epiphany, if you will.”

“Okay. And what prompted that epiphany?”

He shakes his head. “Not my place to tell.”

“Andy.”

He burrows into his shoulders, abashed. Suddenly, I realize what I’m doing. I’m using my domme presence on him. I didn’t mean to do it. Oh, god, I’m a terrible flipping person.

“Andy,” I try again, softer now. “I just want to tell a story. But you’re right—there’s always an agenda. For me, the truth is its own agenda. Right? But unless you give me the truth of your side . . . Then no one will hear it. They’ll only hear the other side.”

He nods. “Yeah . . .”

“I want to give voice to you. To submissives everywhere who might be going through what you’re going through. Or—or maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re in a healthy BDSM relationship—”

“Right.” Andy laughs, the loudest noise I’ve heard him make so far. “A healthy BDSM relationship. Sorry, but there’s no such thing.”

I blink, momentarily surprised. I’m not decided yet on that point, myself. I feel like Marcus and I are healthy. But I also don’t know the whole story.

“That’s just it. Their story—it’s not mine to tell. But I can tell you that it prompted an epiphany in me. I—I guess I’d started looking up to David as a sort of god, you know? And She made me realize that the gods are fallible.”

He smiles wryly, as if even he knows how absurd it is. But I can see, too, how it was its own kind of truth for his life. Probably for far longer than he’d like to admit.

“And what did you do?” I ask.

“First I had to admit it to myself. I could tell David was freaked out by what had happened, too, because he started being extra controlling then. Like he was grasping for more power. But it was at the same moment that I realized I had other options. I reached out to Sadie’s Hope. They helped me make a plan to break free.”

“Break free? How so?”

Andy sighs. “Well, I lost all my friends. Not just David—everyone in the lifestyle. I left J&A, which really sucked, but I was on my last semester. I was able to finish out my classes remotely. I healed up, and then found I had a real knack for helping others heal, as well. So here I am.”

“But you don’t think it’s possible for BDSM to support a healthy relationship,” I venture.

Andy chews on his thumbnail for a moment, then shakes his head. “No. I think it always ends this way. Someone gets too greedy, and their partner realizes it’s just not worth the bullshit. That their life has to be about more than their kinks.”

“You don’t think it can just be a healthy side activity for an otherwise completely normal relationship?”

“Maybe.” Andy frowns. “But I haven’t seen it.”

“All right. One last question, then. A personal one, sorry.” I smile gently. “You think David was absolutely using BDSM to put a legitimate mask on his own controlling nature. Do you think Marcus was doing the same?”

Andy laughs. “Honestly?”

I lean forward and nod.

“I think his girl was the one who was doing that.”

I blink.

“She had him wrapped around her little finger. Right up to the very end.” He shakes his head. “Even now, she’s controlling him. Torturing him. I mean, you’ve seen the way the guy plays.” Andy gestures off into the distance. “Every play he flubs, I can hear her voice, scolding him yet again for not going far enough. For not being good enough.”

“Wow. I never . . . Okay. Thank you, Andy. I really appreciate your honesty.” I reach for my phone.

“Wait. No. I know what you need. If you really want to tell the truth about our world, that is.” He smiles sadly, like he’s still not totally convinced.

“Yeah?”

He opens up a desk drawer and sifts around for a while. I’m sure the drawer is every bit as chaotic as the rest of the office. Finally, he finds what he’s looking for and hands it to me.

A business card for Saint Agnes’s Community Living, about fifty miles east of here, still in the Shenandoah Valley.

I frown. “I don’t understand.”

“You want the rest of your story?” Andy asks. “You’ll find it right there.”