One look at his face parted the dark clouds smothering her soul. Laughter broke free, and she latched on to the back of his neck, pulling him down so she could kiss his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips.
“I am happy to see you!” She forced herself to keep talking before she started blubbering. “What are you doing here? Did you get a bail hearing? Why didn’t you call me?”
The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Max drew his hood up and touched a finger to his lips. Tim got on the elevator with a man who looked so militant Oriana half expected to see a gun strapped to his back. His white shirt and tie made him appear as tame as a wolf wearing sheepskin. Eyes the color of oak bark after a downpour locked on her, making her feel like a little bunny who’d make a nice snack.
Dean Richter, the general manager. She hadn’t seen him since the night she’d found out Paul was cheating on her. And she’d never spoken to him. Had never wanted to, either. He got along well with both Paul and her father and treated her and her sister with barely tolerant disdain.
She huddled against Max, hoping Richter wouldn’t notice him and would ignore her.
“Miss Delgado, what an unexpected . . .” Richter’s lips twisted, as though tasting his next word. “Pleasure.”
Screw being polite. Seeing him was unexpected but definitely not a pleasure. She felt around for Max’s hand and let out a sigh of relief when his fingers laced with hers and squeezed.
Richter glanced at their clasped hands, then up at Max. He frowned. “Sloan? Shouldn’t you be—”
Max flipped his hood off. “Sloan’s getting ready. And I shouldn’t be here at all.”
“No.” Richter stepped toward them and braced his elbow on the wall beside Oriana’s head. “You shouldn’t.” He gave her a wolfish smile. “But I’m glad you decided to stop by. I’ve been meaning to ask you about your . . . unique relationship with Delgado’s daughter. Are you planning to let her distract the whole team or just our best players?”
“Delgado’s daughter.” Like she didn’t have an identity of her own. No wonder he gets along with Paul.
“You fu—” She choked back the insult as Max clamped his hand around the nape of her neck.
“Saturday was our best game this season.” Max stroked the length of her throat with his thumb. “Maybe she’s just the distraction we needed.”
“Maybe.” Richter reached out and plucked a strand of hair off her shoulder. He wound it around his finger, his expression thoughtful. “I could use that kind of distraction myself.”
Oriana twisted away from Max, shoved him back as he made a grab for Richter, and snatched her hair from the man’s grasp. “Tough. Max doesn’t share me with just anyone.”
“But you admit he shares you?”
I should have kept my mouth shut. “I didn’t say that.”
“That is exactly what you said.” He shook his head and went on before she could come up with any more lame-assed objections. “Don’t misunderstand me, Oriana. I don’t care who he and his buddies fuck. I only wish they’d avoided the drama that came with fucking you. Both Paul and your father claimed you were nothing like your sister. They claimed you were quiet, obedient, and—according to Paul— too plain to attract the kind attention Silver does. Up until now, I believed them.” He used his finger to tip up her chin, and she smacked Max’s chest when he lunged forward. “But somehow, without Silver’s beauty or natural charm, you managed to attract all kinds of attention. And you’ve done more damage in one weekend than she managed to do in the months she spent publicly humiliating your father.”
The elevator shuddered to a stop. Oriana sucked in a breath, ready to scream at him in defense of herself and her sister. But instead, she stepped off the elevator and squared her shoulders. Screaming at him would only prove his point.
So she tried a different approach. Silver might have all the family “charm,” but Oriana had the brains. And it was about time she used them. “You’re right. Mr. Richter.”
Tim, who’d seemed perfectly happy to stand back and observe the passive-aggressive confrontation, slipped around his brother and touched Oriana’s shoulder, shaking his head. “He’s not right. You didn’t want any of this.”
“I wanted the same thing as Silver. Freedom. I was angry and afraid, and I didn’t think of the consequences of my actions.” She smiled at Max before turning to Richter. “But more good than bad came from what I did. You should thank me for ‘fucking’ your best players, Mr. Richter.”
“Really?” He sounded amused and intrigued. “And why’s that?”
“Because it gave me the motivation and the means to save your team.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The girl should be in law school.
Max hooked his thumbs in his pockets and leaned on the wall behind Oriana, pride swelling in his chest, his dick swelling in his jeans. He’d always admired the way she trudged on despite Coach and her father’s efforts to drag her down, but her strength had gone into simply putting one foot in front of the other.
Freedom looked fucking good on her.
Richter’s expression was that of a man being told his faiths were based on fairy tales. Not convinced, but he’d hear her out. “How exactly do you plan to ‘save’ my team?”
“The fans are loyal, right? They proved that when the bid was made for the team five years ago. But attendance has been going down because the team’s shown no consistency. You have some of the best players in the league, you should be Cup contenders, but you always fall short of making the playoffs.” Her tongue darted over her lips, and she leaned closer to Richter, dropping her tone as though afraid to be overheard by the wrong person. “Haven’t you ever wondered why you lose against some of the top teams by just a couple of goals? I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”
“There are plenty of rumors, Oriana. If you’re planning to use the one where Paul’s defensive system is killing the team, I don’t want to hear it. He’s a damn good coach, and if the men followed his plays, they’d have the consistency they need. The problem is he’s working with too many fucking egos, and I plan to change that.” He sighed and shook his head. “Callahan is done here. Mason has one more year left to his contract, and if he doesn’t fall in line, I’ll trade him too. Perron—” He paused. “I’ll be straight with you; I haven’t decided whether or not I should renew your contract—”
Max scowled. “You’re a fucking idiot, Richter. You’d rather tear the team apart than consider—”
Oriana elbowed him in the gut, knocking all the wind out of him. Then she pressed her hand over his mouth and jabbed her finger into Richter’s chest. “Put Ingerslov in nets tonight. If I’m wrong, the Cobras might lose tonight, but if I’m right and you don’t put him in, they don’t have a chance. They’ve won two games in a row, and they’ve never been closer to making the playoffs. There’s gonna be a lot of money on this game.”
“You think the games are rigged?” Richter laughed. “That’s insane. If Paul was fixing the games—which I assume is what you’re implying—someone would have caught on by now.”
“Not if he was smart about it,” Oriana said. “He only needs one player to control the results. Unless the rest of the team starts playing a little too good, which they have been. Your defense is strong, and you have one exceptional line. You’re lacking depth, but I think that’s mostly because the rest of the team has given up. Why not show them you haven’t?”
Head bowed, Richter paced away from Oriana, then returned and pulled his brother aside. “What do you think?”
Tim shrugged. “I think you should listen to the girl.” He shot Oriana a wink. “Besides, if we’re making a run for the playoffs, it makes sense to rest our starter. We do this real casual-like, and there shouldn’t be any trouble.”
“But you believe Paul’s capable of . . .” Richter rubbed his lips with his fist. Then he nodded slowly. “Go tell Ingerslov he’s up tonight. Let me know how Paul reacts.”
“I’m on it.” Tim pres
sed the button to call the elevator, then turned to Max. “Paul screwed up the attempted murder charges by calling another doctor in to clear him to leave the hospital. But he’s got a restraining order on you, so stay out of sight.”
Obviously. Max draped an arm around Oriana’s shoulders. “I got that, but I thought you wanted to talk to me?”
“I asked to speak with you.” Richter waved his brother on and led the way to his office. “I’ve heard Paul’s side of what happened in his office. I need yours.”
Taking a seat in the big, leather chair across from Richter’s huge desk, Max pulled Oriana into his lap, needing her close. She blushed and tried to stand, but he simply tightened his grip on her waist. When she squirmed, he pinched her inner thigh.
She let out a high-pitched squeak and glared at him.
He caught her wrist and placed her hand over his erection. “The GM is a busy man, honey, but I do believe he’ll give me a moment to discipline you if you don’t behave. I missed you, and I want to hold you while me and him chat. Is that really too much to ask?”
For a second, the fiery glow in her eyes looked ready to ignite; he’d fueled an argument. But then her lips curved in a contented smile, and her whole body softened up. She snuggled into his chest. “No, Sir.”
“That’s my good little love.” He kissed the top of her head, then looked at Richter who sat behind his desk, watching them with a closed-off expression.
Which slowly darkened to rage as Max recounted the events that led to his imprisonment and suspension. Richter had stood by his coach, despite the rumors, despite the grumbling of the players and fans. With good reason—a lot of coaches took heat when a team had a bad season. But he’d finally grasped the truth. He’d been betrayed.
Thankfully, he’d taken off his blinders in time to prevent any permanent damage.
* * * *
Oriana let the men talk over her head, perfectly happy to be left out of the conversation now that she’d had her say. Putting herself out there was not fun. She’d been afraid Richter would laugh at her and tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about. Okay, he had laughed, but then he’d listened.
She tugged down the collar of Max’s shirt a little to expose the pale gold dusting of hair at the top of his chest, then absently toyed with the curls. Her body had reacted almost instantly to his command and the brief bite of pain, the damp heat between her thighs made it hard to remember—or care—where they were. A naughty little voice in her head told her Max would enjoy having Richter watch them, but her chest tightened at the thought. She didn’t want Richter to watch. The intimacy she’d shared with Max when she was with the other men . . . she couldn’t say why, but it was special.
There were only two other men she wanted seeing her at her most vulnerable. Her nipples drew into sensitive peaks of need, and she shifted so they weren’t squished between her arm and Max’s chest.
Richter’s gruff laugh made her jump. He gave her a toothy grin when she looked at him. “I’m heading to the box. Feel free to join me once you’re done, Oriana. Your man will need updates on the game since he has to stay here, and I don’t have a TV in my office.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Oriana’s whole body felt so feverish she was sure only a dunk in a bath full of ice would cool her down. And thinking of ice only got her hotter. She was about to spontaneously combust in Max’s lap.
“We appreciate the offer.” Max’s hand cupped her pussy as he spoke, making her wiggle uncontrollably. “I’d ask you to stay, but I’m feeling a little selfish right now.”
“I completely understand.” Richter stood and circled the desk, pausing at her side to skim his knuckles down her cheek. “Make it up to me by bringing her to the club some time. I’d like to see how Sloan’s progressed with the whip. He’s one of my best students, but his methods lack . . . passion when he’s doing a scene with the subs who volunteer. I have a feeling things would be different with this one.”
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 f
ought.
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?
GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) Page 31