Butterfly Style: The Dartmouth Cobras ~ A Cobra Short

by Bianca Sommerland

  After texting her address, Laura wished the team good luck and said goodnight. Chicklet watched the third period, more into the game than she’d been before. In the last few seconds, Sloan swiped the puck on a sloppy play. She leaped to her feet as he jetted toward the goal. He took his shot just as a stick hooked to his leg.

  He hit the post hard. A second after the red light came on.

  Goal!

  Cheering, she watched the ice as Perron and Mason skated up to Sloan, helping him to his feet. He looked a little stunned, but didn’t lean on either man too heavily. After a few seconds, he skated on his own to accept fist bumps from the Cobra bench.

  He was a tough bastard. But she’d still keep an eye on him. After he’d gotten his face torn open by a stick she’d caught him going from refusing to take anything for the pain to taking a bit too much when the doctor wouldn’t clear him to play. He’d been in a bad place—not that long ago actually. The stitches had been out a little over three months and his face was still tender to the touch. Not that he’d admit it.

  If she wasn’t a Domme, accustomed to reading the subtlest body language, she probably wouldn’t have noticed how much he was hurting. Thankfully, she wasn’t the only one. Even now Perron was sticking close to Sloan’s side, watching him as Sloan laughed and nodded to the trainers, probably telling them he was fine.

  The game ended with a 6-3 win for the Cobras. She headed out, cutting around the side of the building to meet Sloan at the exit from the parking garage. The guys were going out for a few drinks after the game and he’d asked her to join them.

  She’d said no fucking way at first. Her flight was at 5am, which meant she had to be there around 3.

  He’d offered to drive her. They had a deal.

  A big black SUV eased past the security border, where fans had gathered to get signatures. Not many yet, but enough that the team’s security wasn’t letting anyone too close. Chicklet waited in plain sight, waiting for Sloan to wave her through.

  Instead, when the dark window rolled down, Perron leaned forward, calling out to her. “Hey, Chicklet! Enjoy the game, darlin’?”

  Chicklet snorted at the endearment, striding through the path security cleared for her. The southern boy was adorable. Didn’t seem sure how to talk to her most days, but she figured he was nervous about being too polite.

  He’d ‘Ma’am’ed her once.

  Just once.

  “Ma’am, is it?” They were at the club, so she had on tight leather and a crop in her hand. She tapped the flogger under his chin. “I prefer potential subs show me that kind of respect on their knees.”

  Laughing, Sloan stepped between them. “He’s a Southern boy, Chicklet. Be nice.”

  Chicklet smirked. “I’m not ‘nice’. You sure he doesn’t want to play?”

  Lips sliding into a crooked smile, Sloan glanced over at Perron. “Actually, no. Maybe he’s in the mood to let you put his balls in a vice. I make no judgment.”

  Perron’s eyes narrowed. He looked from Chicklet to Sloan. Cocked his head. “Reckon I shouldn’t be too quick to say no. You said you’d show me the ropes, Sloan.” Max’s lips quirked as he held out his hand. “After you.”

  Yep, she liked Perron. A lot. She hadn’t spent much time with him, but if he kept it up, she’d claim him as a friend.

  Climbing in shotgun—why the hell wasn’t Sloan sitting here?—Chicklet buckled up, glancing into the backseat as Perron rolled the car onto the road.

  Eyes closed, shirt off, Sloan sat very still on the middle seat, holding a towel—likely filled with ice—against his side. The skin around the towel was an ugly shade of red. Broken ribs.

  Ouch.

  “How you doing, big guy?” She reached back to pat his knee, which made him wince. “Oops.”

  “And I’m the fucking sadist?” Sloan ground his teeth, glaring at her. “I’m doing awesome. Thanks.”

  Blowing him a kiss, she turned her attention to Perron. “You gonna be all right playing nurse tonight? He’ll make it worse if someone don’t keep an eye on him.”

  “Bless your heart.” Perron’s tone was dry. He shot her a sideways glance, his lips slightly curved, but his grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white. “I might could have figured that out—seeing as I’ve lived with the man almost two years.”

  “Cheeky.” Chicklet kept her tone light, sensing Perron was trying to play like he wasn’t worried. Sloan didn’t much appreciate being fussed over, and he hated sympathy, which probably made Perron feel useless. He could use a distraction. “So, since going to the bar’s off the table, how about me and you chill out until I go catch my flight.”

  Inhaling slowly, Perron’s gaze flicked up to the rearview mirror. “Sure. I could use a beer.”

  “Perfect. And after we tuck Sloan in for the night I can torment the cute little bellhop while you watch. Make a night of it.”

  A flush spread over Perron’s cheeks, but he seemed to relax a little. “You can’t just pick random people to play with.”

  “Of course I can! Never hurts to invite someone to the game.” She gave him a sly smile as he wet his lips, and let her tone drop seductively. “When they say yes, the fun begins. Pleasure can convince people to do things they’ve never considered before. Things they believe are bad. Wrong. But feel sooo fucking good.”

  Perron swallowed hard.

  Sloan shoved the back of her seat. “Don’t toy with him.”

  She frowned back at him. “Don’t hit my fucking seat.”

  “Karma, bitch.”

  Giving him the finger, she slouched in her seat, pleased to see they were almost at the hotel. As much as she enjoyed getting Perron worked up, Sloan was right. Toying with him was cruel.

  He might be finding his way as a Dom, and delving deeper into the lifestyle, but there was a reason he spent more time watching than participating. If he got in too deep with a girl, he’d fall in love. The way Chicklet played would blur the lines and she’d end up breaking the poor boy.

  Breaking your best friend’s toys is bad form.

  Once they were parked she got out and opened the back door to help Sloan out. He moved stiffly, his face an ashen color as they made their way inside to catch the elevator. None of them spoke until they reached the guys’ room.

  Lowering carefully to the bed closest to the window, Sloan let out a soft laugh, wincing as the sound left him. “All right, seriously. You’re not spending your Saturday night hovering over me. And yes, I mean you too Chicklet. You might pretend that you don’t give a fuck, but I know exactly how you operate.”

  “Do you now.” Chicklet sat on the edge of his bed, leaning over to take the ice from him since it had been over twenty minutes. She tossed it to Perron who set it on the freezer shelf in the mini-fridge. “Care to share with the class?”

  Sloan leaned back on the pillows and dropped his forearm over his eyes. “You don’t know Max, so you checked on him first to make sure he wasn’t stressing. Now that he’s good you’ll try to take care of me without making it obvious, because you know I hate that shit.”

  Yes. Pretty much exactly that. She shrugged. “So?”

  “So why are you still here? Go to the bar. Invite that cute little subbie you met last night.”

  “And let Max watch?”

  “No.” Sloan lowered his arm, his gaze level. “Don’t go there, Chicklet.”

  Pursing her lips, she studied his face. She was only joking, mostly, to see his reaction. Clearly, he wasn’t amused. Fair enough. The men might not be fucking, but in every way that counted, Perron belonged to Sloan. Which Chicklet could respect.

  Time to change the subject. “You guys were horrible tonight. That last goal was sweet, but you slept through most of the game.”

  “Noticed that, did you?” Sloan chuffed out another painful looking laugh. “Do you want to tell me why you’re not with that girl?”

  “Because I’m with you.” She turned to Perron. “Did you make sure he didn’t stuff his med
s in his pocket?”

  Brow furrowed, Perron shook his head. “He’s not five. I didn’t think I had to.”

  “Uh huh.” Chicklet motioned to the package of water bottles on top of the mini fridge. “Toss me one of those.” She looked at Sloan. “Take your medicine like a good boy and I’ll answer your questions.”

  The face Sloan made reminded her how young he still was. A good Dom, with a fair amount of training, a skilled player, but most men didn’t really grow up until they hit their thirties. Some not even then, but Sloan still had almost five years to go.

  Sliding his finger and thumb into his pocket, he pulled out two little white pills. Popped them in his mouth and chugged down half the water Chicklet handed him.

  Arms folded over his chest, Perron watched them, looking none too pleased. “Why the fuck didn’t you take the pills? Am I missing something?”

  Scowling, Sloan brought on hand absently up to his face. Then shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  “He’s worried he’ll get hooked again.” She ignored Sloan’s scowl and stood to pat Perron’s shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard—he didn’t tell me either at first. I just recognized the symptoms.”

  Lips parting, Perron stared at her. He shook his head. “I can’t picture you—”

  “Good, because I never have and never will get addicted to anything.” She dug her nails into her palm, trying to focus on how pleased she was that Perron couldn’t see her as an addict. Going down the dark path that particular trigger led to wasn’t fucking happening.

  “Chicklet, come cuddle.” Sloan tried to slide down the bed and cursed. Staying where he was, he held out his arm and motioned to the small space beside him. “Max knows now. He’ll keep an eye on me.”

  “He’d better.” She shook her head when Sloan patted the bed. “I don’t need to cuddle. I’m good.”

  “Fine. Then at least sit. I’m getting a kink in my neck looking up at you two.” As she and Perron sat on the edge of the other bed, his eyes drifted shut. “So about that girl…?”

  Damn it, the boy was like a dog with a bone, chewing until he got through the hard bits so he could reach the marrow.

  She leaned against the fluffy white pillows piled up beside her. “Her name is Laura and her flight was earlier today. She texted me during the intermission to let me know she’d gotten home okay.”

  “Too bad she couldn’t stay longer. You looked good together.”

  “Thank you, I thought so too.”

  “Nothing wrong with your ego at all.” He gave her a sleepy smile. The meds were kicking in. “So you gonna try the long distance thing?”

  Lifting her shoulders, all nonchalant, she waited a moment, as though considering. “Maybe. I mean, Halifax is a bit of a trip, but we might be able to work something out.”

  “Mmhmm. If it’s meant to be, you’ll…” His eyes opened in slits. “Halifax?”

  Chuckling, she inclined her head. “Yes. She’s a cop there actually. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of your boys knew her very well.”

  “Huh. Small fucking world.” Sloan rolled over, all the muscles in his stomach tensing as he groaned. “Shit, this is gonna be a long night.”

  “My poor baby.” That he didn’t snark at her was a clear sign of how much pain he was in. She checked the time on her phone. Another hour before she had to take off. Part of her didn’t want to leave him, but he was in good hands.

  Already Perron was taking out the ice pack and wrapping it in a fresh towel. He handed it to Chicklet and stepped up to the bed. “Come on, buddy, let’s get you settled in. You good getting undressed in front of Chicklet?”

  A grunt was his only reply. Perron bent down to take off Sloan’s shoes, tossed them aside, then undid his jeans. He managed to remove them without jarring the other man too much.

  Easing the blanket out from under Sloan’s legs carefully, Perron covered him, folding the top over before holding out his hand for the icepack. He perched on the edge of the bed and held the ice to Sloan’s side.

  Yep, Sloan definitely didn’t need her. She was pretty sure he’d passed out before Perron had gotten the first shoe off.

  She smiled at Perron. “You’re a good friend.”

  “I try.” Creases of concern lined his face as he glanced down at Sloan. “I didn’t know about the pills, though. How bad was it?”

  Tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth, she considered her words carefully. She didn’t want to worry Perron too much, but she knew from experience how dangerous that kind of addiction could be.

  “He started ‘losing’ a lot of pills. Getting moody for no reason—moodier than normal anyway. And he had that look in his eyes…it’s hard to explain unless you’ve seen it.” Her throat tightened. “Guess it’s a good thing I have.”

  “Not so sure about that… I mean, that it helped him, yes. But you…” He dropped his gaze. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything, but I know you and Sloan are close. What happened to his step-mother… Did someone you know—”

  “Kill themselves?” She shook her head, understanding Perron’s concern. Sloan’s loss was a deep wound that would probably never heal. He was torn between hating the woman for abandoning him and his father when he was only twelve, and feeling guilty because she’d clearly been suffering.

  Her situation was very different. She had absolutely no problem hating her biological mother. After spending Chicklet’s entire childhood addicted to one thing after another, then in and out of rehab, her mother had finally gotten clean.

  And decided to blame her dependencies on her husband and her daughter. Life was too hard in their small town. She was bored. She wanted a real life. She hoped they’d understand and know she’d always love them.

  The note she’d left behind, with the divorce papers, had made things very clear. As far as she knew, the woman was still out there somewhere, but she’d never gotten in touch. Chicklet was a problem she’d kicked to the curb, along with the drugs and alcohol.

  Just thinking about the woman agitated Chicklet, so she did her best not to. And anyway, things had gotten better after she left. A few years later, her father had married an amazing woman who became the mother Chicklet never had. Their home was finally filled with love.

  Which didn’t erase the damage that had been done, but Chicklet was happy. Had built a good life for herself.

  There was no point in dwelling on the bullshit in her past.

  She finally let out a light laugh and made a dismissive gesture. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s nothing. I knew an addict, went through some shit, and I’d be horrible helping someone with a serious problem. Sloan was walking down a dangerous path, but I yanked him back just in time.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Perron put his hand on Sloan’s arm, his lips curving at the edges. “I love this twisted bastard.”

  “I know you do.” Not that she understood their relationship at all. They were more than brothers, less than lovers, and somehow, it worked for them. The important thing was, Sloan had exactly what he needed.

  Looking at them made her a little lonely, though. As close as she and Sloan were, they didn’t have that special bond. Of course, if they had she’d totally be fucking him.

  Ugh, you need to get laid, girl.

  Yeah, maybe that’s all there was to it.

  “So, will you be seeing Laura tomorrow?”

  Sharp little—all right, not really little—Southern boy, wasn’t he? She grinned, knowing any more vague answers would be pointless. He’d make a good Dom.

  “Yes, I will.” She stood, ready to take the first steps to reach that goal. “And I can’t fucking wait.”

  Chapter 4

  The house smelled like heaven. One thing Laura could thank her mother for was inheriting her ability to cook, though her foster mother deserved most of the credit. She’d taken the time to teach Laura everything she knew.

  This particular dish was a specialty of Debra Hamilton’s, falling-off-the-bones tender BBQ rib
s with baked mac and cheese. Her foster mother had a few meals she made as a treat for Laura and her brother, but this had always been Laura’s favorite.

  Not exactly a fancy choice for a first date.

  Looking over the freshly polished, solid oak table, with all her fine china laid out, her linen napkins neatly folded around the silverware, and the wine and water glasses gleaming, she thought she’d found a nice balance between presentable, yet casual. She wanted to impress Chicklet without coming off too formal.

  Unfortunately, Debra hadn’t been the one who taught her how to set a table. Back home with the Hamiltons, everyone grabbed their own plates and served themselves. Every member of the family worked hard, so they didn’t have time to put on airs. If Debra cooked, Laura, her foster father, and her brother cleaned up.

  Putting her mismatched plates on the table had seemed a bit tacky. Of course, Chicklet might not care, but…

  But those lessons you learned growing up as a Southern belle stuck.

  Not a Southern belle. Her mother’s idea of one.

  And no matter how hard she’d tried to live up to her expectations, it hadn’t been enough in the end.

  Squaring her shoulders, she shoved the depressing thoughts aside. Chicklet hadn’t met her at a damn garden party. She was coming here to see the same woman she’d met at the club. The one who was wearing nothing but a flimsy bra and panties.

  Only, this time, Laura wanted to show Chicklet all of her. Not just skin, but who she was as a person. And she wanted to learn everything there was about the Domme who’d taken control from her so effortlessly.

  Chicklet had seen her in her standard clean cut wardrobe, which made her look very businesslike. A bit of a shield for Laura when she went to clubs—wearing them convinced her no one could guess how depraved she was just by looking at her. Tonight she was going for something softer. Something she couldn’t wear around the guys at work and wouldn’t wear if she was going out to play.

  The dark blue, off the shoulder dress, brought out the color of her eyes and flowed comfortably down her body, teasing at her curves as she moved. With her hair in loose waves, spilling down her back, she felt relaxed and pretty. She wished she had more opportunities to dress like this.