GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras)

by Sommerland, Bianca

  Eyes hooded, Max leaned back against the bed frame. “Self-control, darlin’, it’s nothing against you. Though if it helps, it’s never been tested quite so much.” He ground his teeth and stared up at the ceiling. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth . . .” He caught her wrist when she stroked faster. “Or your hand.”

  She rose up on her knees and moved to take him inside her. “Then why don’t we—” An arm barred across her belly, and she scowled at Sloan as he picked her up. “What do you think you’re—?”

  “Give your body some time to come down from the edge, Oriana. Me and Max will bring you back up the right way.”

  “We will?” Max draped the sheet over himself and held out his hand for Oriana. “After what you pulled?”

  “Momentary insanity. I’m sorry.” Sloan’s brow creased, and he took Oriana’s face in his hands. “Forgive me?”

  As if she could resist that “I’ve-been-a-bad-boy” look. After playing with her at the bar, he’d probably expected to feel a little more included, but there was only so much of her to go around. Either way, she liked this vulnerable side of him.

  Smiling, she curled herself into his arms. “I forgive you. Tonight is me being greedy. You’re all mine.” His abdominal muscles clenched and released, she smoothed her hand over it. “Even you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The soft body in Sloan’s arms grew slack with sleep. His boys had worn his girl out.

  No, not his girl. He glanced at Max who’d bumped his arm while stroking Oriana’s hair.

  “You’re a lucky man, Perron.” The edge of his lip curved in a tense half-smile. “I’ve never met a woman like her. I mean—we’ve shared before, and it was fun, but this was . . .”

  “Intense.” Max nodded slowly and wound a slick, bronze strand around his finger. He let it slip away and sighed. “Oriana gives without restraint. She’s been that way as long as I’ve known her—which is why Paul was no good for her. He never made her feel good about herself. He never loved her.”

  Like you do.

  She felt so right in his arms—he had to put her down. It would be really bad if he started getting all confused about his own feelings just because he liked holding her. Not mine, not mine, not mine. The words pounded in his head, echoing the heavy beat of his heart.

  He carefully slid Oriana onto the bed and watched Max pull the rumpled blankets up to her chin. He heard the door shut. The others had slipped out.

  “I think the men are all half in love with her. I’ve never seen them take such good care of a woman.” Sloan laughed and shook his head. “They were ready to take whatever they could get.”

  Max cocked his head. “But not you. You wanted it all. You still do.”

  “Tonight, Max. I’ll be happy with tonight.”

  He stretched out behind Oriana’s sleeping form, resting his arm just below the one Max wrapped around her waist. A cocoon of warmth enveloped him, filling the humid air with the musky scent of woman, wrapped up with the scent of man, tipped with the fragrance of floral perfume. Lilacs, Sloan thought, nuzzling Oriana’s neck. How fitting that she smelled like the flower that shared the bouquet of its tiny buds more openly than any other. The sharing he could manage. Losing her in the end . . . not so much.

  Enough with the sentimental bullshit. Take what you can get, Callahan.

  “You don’t have to settle for one night,” Perron said quietly. “You know that, right?”

  Yeah, he knew that. But he still didn’t get it. He studied his best friend’s peaceful features, cheek on the same pillow as Oriana’s, cuddled close and perfectly comfortable. Just like a normal couple. With a spare.

  I’m no fucking spare. He let out a gruff sound of frustration. “Aren’t you scared she’ll choose me over you?”

  “Why should I be? I’m not forcing her to choose.” Perron’s eyes stayed shut, but creases formed on his forehead. “Will you?”

  “No way, man.” Sloan’s pillow billowed as he plunked his head down. Glaring at the ceiling, he forced his tone to sound light. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Don’t that to her, Sloan. Or yourself.” Perron using his first name made him sit up and stare. The last time the man had done that, Sloan had been going into surgery to get his face put back together. Thankfully, he didn’t sound like he was gonna cry this time. “She might be good for you.”

  “Go to sleep, Perron, you’re starting to sound like Doctor-fucking-Phil.”

  Perron grunted, and Sloan grinned.

  She might be good for me, eh? Well, maybe I’ll be good for her, too.

  * * * *

  Dominik rested the rim of the wine glass against his bottom lip as the balcony door opened. Oriana stepped into the moonlight, and the faded white T-shirt she’d borrowed from either Sloan or Max billowed around her. She leaned against the sturdy white railing, gazing out at the black expanse of the ocean, oblivious to him.

  He decided to wait awhile before making himself known. Give her the illusion of privacy, see what he could learn about her. Within moments, one thing was clear. The girl found peace in the sound of waves crashing in the distance, in the cool night air saturated with the scents of the sea. Perfectly still, she closed her eyes, seeming to absorb it all. This gave her peace.

  Something they had in common.

  Max’s house had two balconies, one on the east side, one on the south side. The south side one was connected to Sloan’s room—he’d gotten to pick first since he’d moved in before the rest of them. This balcony belonged to Dominik, and over the years he’d added little personal touches to mark his territory. An antique bistro set in the corner, close to where Oriana stood. A small rock garden against the wall by the door with a small, inlaid fountain. Hanging plants curtaining off the area where he sat on one of two wooden lounge chairs with thick red padding. Several succulents in his room which would join the decor when the weather got warmer.

  His private sanctuary. The men only came here when they needed to talk—more often than not, Max or Sloan, wanting his guidance. Both believed becoming “true masters” would save them from their twisted desires.

  Lately, Sloan’s faith in even that seemed to be slipping. Their last conversation had gotten pretty intense.

  “I made the bitch bleed, Mason.” Sloan had fisted his hands against the wall so hard the bricks grated his knuckles. He’d bowed his head between his arms. “You still gonna tell me I’m not sick?”

  Not likely. I’m getting pretty fucking tired of repeating myself, Dominik had thought. Out loud he’d said. “Did she want you to?”

  Sloan’s shoulders curved inward. “Yes.”

  “Did you lose control?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Did you leave any lasting damage besides the shallow cuts, which I assume you took good care of?”

  “Fuck, Mason, I said I must be sick. Never said I didn’t know what I was doing. ‘Course I took care of her.” Sloan lifted his head and sighed. “I guess this means I’m not getting your vote at the club.”

  “You’re not ready, Captain. Give it another year and we’ll talk.” Dominik grinned to lighten the mood. “Am I getting an A on my jersey this season?”

  “Over three hundred penalty minutes last year, Mason. Sorry, not happening.” Sloan laughed. “Get it under two this year and we’ll talk.”

  If he could deal with two insecure baby Doms, a natural submissive testing the waters would be easy. She wouldn’t be the first sub he’d helped train. Granted, he rarely had sex with trainees, but he’d shared with both Max and Sloan before. His combined experience would benefit them all until the men came up with a lasting arrangement.

  Max and Sloan can’t take care of her. A voice snarled from the deepest, darkest caverns of his mind where he’d stashed his own insecurities—and his possessiveness—long ago. She needs you. She’ll always need you.

  The sappy country music he’d been listening to before Oriana came out was giving him crazy ideas. He powere
d off his MP3 player and slid the earphones off his head, letting them hang over the back of his neck.

  Across the balcony, Oriana buried her face in her hands and moaned. “What am I doing?”

  A question he could answer. “You’re regaining control of your life, pet. Your methods may seem a little . . . unorthodox to some, but you did something unexpected, saw what you wanted, and took it.”

  She jumped, stared at him, and then let out a sharp laugh. “Unorthodox? Yeah, I guess you could call letting five guys fuck me and boss me around unorthodox.”

  Dominik stood and Oriana took a quick step back. “Fuck you? When did any of us fuck you?” He strode across the long balcony, and his lips curved up as the wall blocked her retreat. His hand on the railing prevented her from slipping past him. “As I recall, you continued fucking me when I told you to stop. I fully intend to punish you for that.”

  Her eyes went as big and round as the full moon overhead. “You do?”

  “Yes.” He held out his hand, then waited. She placed her fingers on his palm. He shook his head and took hold of her wrist. “Even if a punishment isn’t immediate, it’s always inevitable. Understand?”

  The pulse under his palm quickened. Nervous little bunny. “I think so.”

  “Good.” He towed her with him to the lounge chair, then released her. She fidgeted while he reclined on the chair, and her eyes flicked uneasily in the direction of the door. He counted down from ten. By the time he reached one, she’d stopped fidgeting. A quick study in patience. He smiled. Next lesson. “Now strip.”

  “I don’t—” She clamped her lips shut and ground her teeth. Without another word, she peeled off the oversized shirt. She was naked underneath.

  If she’s a switch, I’m a fucking Bruin. No switch that he’d ever met obeyed commands this readily outside of play. He trailed his gaze over her, admiring the body he’d touched and tasted and possessed, from her curvy thighs and her delicious pussy, all the way up to her equally delicious lips.

  “Brave girl,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be comfortable being so exposed outside, but, aside from a negligible protest, you did as you were told. I’m impressed.”

  Her teeth worried her plump bottom lip, but her eyes glowed with pleasure. She’d likely forgotten they were outside, yet, even with the reminder, her need to please overrode her shyness.

  “Come here, Oriana.” He sat up and patted his knee. “Sit.”

  She perched on his knee and folded her arms over her breasts. “Is my punishment over?”

  “Punishment?” He pried her arms apart, then arched a brow when she tried to put them back. Her eyes narrowed. She licked her lips. Then lowered her arms to her sides. “Fingers laced behind your neck.” When she complied, he wrapped an arm around her waist and scooted her up his thigh. Her small, soft body fit nicely against his big, hard chest. “That wasn’t a punishment. I just wanted to look at you.”

  “Oh.” She bowed her head. “So I guess now you’ll—”

  “Now, we’ll have a chat.” He watched her chest rise and fall with each rapid inhale, causing her breasts to jiggle. Interesting. The idea of a “chat” increased her anxiety more than the prospect of being punished. That would have to change. “Are you okay with what happened earlier?”

  “Sort of.” She ducked her head. “As long as I don’t think about it too much.”

  Should I be insulted? After wetting the tip of his finger with his tongue, he traced the pale, brown areola of one breast. Her little wiggles forced him to shift her away from his swelling cock before she crushed it. “And why’s that?”

  She curved her spine, and her eyes fluttered shut. “Because I liked being fondled by all of you. Once we started, I couldn’t care how slutty I might look. But I’m afraid of what will happen tomorrow. We can’t keep doing this.”

  Probably not. But . . . “There will be plenty of tomorrows. There’s only one tonight.”

  “I know.” She hissed in a breath as he circled his fingertip closer and closer to her very hard nipple. Her eyes shot open when he pinched it. “Ouch!”

  “Straddle my thighs, Oriana.” His jaw clenched as the thick head of his dick rubbed the rough insides of his jeans. “Keep your hands behind your neck, then stay perfectly still. Your punishment should fit the crime. Once you’ve come a few times, I may show mercy.”

  The swift way she complied gave him primal satisfaction. Her arousal sweetened the salty sea air. He had all the time in the world, and he planned to use it.

  A whoosh and the balcony door swung open.

  “You fucking whore.”

  Rage lashed at Dominik, cushioned by discipline. He flipped Oriana onto the lounge chair, then stood.

  Looks like Sloan forgot to lock the damn door again.

  “Get dressed, you little skank,” Paul said, knocking over a pile of smooth stones as he tried to bypass Dominik. “We need to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” Oriana whispered, sounding vulnerable and a little afraid.

  The dominant in Dominik tamped down his baser needs for violence. She should feel safe here. Beating the other man bloody wouldn’t accomplish that.

  “I don’t care if you’re my coach.” His tone sounded gruff but dead calm. “Leave or I’ll fucking make you.”

  * * * *

  Oriana retrieved her shirt. I can’t believe this is happening. This can’t be happening!

  A grunt cut off Paul’s shouting. “You’re gonna regret that.”

  Shit. She pulled the shirt on, then grabbed Dominik’s arm before he could shove Paul again.

  “What do you want, Paul?” She put her hand on Dominik’s chest and let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t try to step around her. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear. It’s over.”

  The door burst open, and Max emerged, followed by Sloan, who preempted his lunge for Paul, and T.J., who hovered in the doorway. “You’ve got some nerve coming here! She chose you! She chose you, and all you did was hurt her!”

  She chose you. The words dropped on her like a great big stone landing in the center of her chest. Max hadn’t forgotten or forgiven anything. He’d just shifted the blame to Paul.

  “Please, Max! Let it go!” She moved toward Max, then scowled at Dominik when he pulled her back.

  He shook his head and nodded toward Max who elbowed Sloan in the gut and tried to wrench free of his choke hold.

  Sloan grunted and tightened his grip.

  “Callahan, let me go,” Max snarled. “I’m gonna kill him.”

  “I believe you.” Sloan shoved Max into a wall and held him there. “That’s why you’re staying put.”

  She’d never seen Max lose it like this. She had to get Paul out of there before things got out of hand. “Paul—”

  “How dare you be all bitchy about me and Chantelle when you’re doing half my goddamn team!” Paul’s nostrils flared, and his lips curled as he looked her over. “You’re just like your sister. Only she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s a dirty little slut.”

  Oriana spun, and her hand whipped out. A loud crack silenced every single man on the balcony. Pain flared up from her palm. A blood-red hand print bloomed on Paul’s cheek.

  “Don’t you ever talk about my sister like that. At least she had the sense to see you were scum from the very beginning.” Her eyes burned as she thought of Silver, and of Max, trying to convince her she could do better than Paul. She never listened. Why didn’t she listen? Blinking fast, she shook her head and laughed. “Explains why you never liked her, though. She saw right through you.”

  “I’m sorry. This isn’t about your sister. It’s about you.” Paul rubbed his cheek and leaned forward. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Whatever the hell I want. That’s what single women do.”

  “You have no idea what I’ve done to get investors interested in this team. If I tell them to pull their money, your father will lose everything. He dumped it all into keeping this dream alive. He’ll be le
ft with nothing. Are you ready to do that to him?”

  Am I? She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to Dominik’s chest. “Why me, Paul? Why do you want me?”

  “My partners felt good about me being with the owner’s daughter. Made me look nice and stable. And then you go and do this.” Paul shook his head. “I was ready to propose.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” T.J. fisted his hands at his sides, and Oriana wondered if she should worry about the big guy. Despite his size—or maybe because of it—he never fought on the ice. If he took a swing at Paul, he’d probably kill him. But he looked too calm to commit murder. “Oriana’s a smart girl, Coach. And too good for the likes of you. Give it up already.”

  Paul ignored him. “Come home, Oriana. I’ll forgive you for whatever you’ve done. We’ll make it work.”

  “No.” Oriana bowed her head. She’d tried again and again to make it work, but never again. Dominik’s strong arms around her seemed to steel her resolve. I’m done. For real this time. “My father will have to find another way to keep the team.”

  “He won’t find another way, and you know that. Please, Oriana.” Paul took a step forward and held his hand out. “You know he wants this for your brother. Antoine would have been better than all of them put together. Your dad showed me the tapes of him playing. Your mother took that future from him. Can you really take what your father has left?”

  Guilt and regret spilled through her, like alcohol poured over a torn scab. She winced. “That’s low, Paul. And you know what? I didn’t know my brother very well, but I doubt he would have wanted me with someone like you. Not if he loved me.” Unlike my father. She cleared her throat of the clogged-up feeling. “Seriously, what’s your problem? Chantelle’s perfect for you. Why don’t you stay with her?”

  “She’s nobody! You get everything if your father doesn’t let this pathetic team go under! I’ve put eight months into this. I’m not giving it up!” He took a step toward her. T.J. blocked him. “I’ll ruin you. I swear to God, if you don’t come with me now, I’ll fucking ruin you and your new fucking harem.”