Echoing snaps. The gloves. Pischlar’s bare hand touched her thigh. Comforting her.
“Where are we, Schatz?”
Where? Sahara frowned, then realized what Pischlar was asking. “Green, Sir.”
“Very good. You may come when you please this first time.” He kissed her thigh, then pushed something hard deep into her pussy. A long, slick dildo. Before she could adjust, he had the vibrations going. He licked her clit, pumping the solid rod in hard and fast.
She couldn’t hold anything back. She tossed her head, screaming as the heat, the rough, fucking motion, and the manipulations of his tongue brought her to a fierce climax that held her in the throes of pleasure for so long she wasn’t sure it would ever end.
But it did, fading slowly, leaving her twitching every time Pischlar shifted the dildo. When he withdrew it, she gasped through her parted lips, jumping when he ran two fingers over her pussy, wetting his fingers with her juices.
“You may open your eyes now, Sahara.” He smiled at her when she opened her eyes. Then he turned to White. “Let her go. And open your mouth.”
The second White let her go, Sahara sat up. She was still tender, but her curiosity overrode the lingering pleasure. Pischlar was so tempting, offering up his fingers like a special treat. He was handling White like a puppet on a string, but Sahara didn’t see it as a bad thing. White wouldn’t be going along with the game if he weren’t interested.
He just needed a few hard shoves in the right direction.
Knowing this, she wasn’t all that surprised when he looked at her while he sucked on Pischlar’s fingers. She leaned forward, licking her lips just as he was. She could sense Pischlar was trying to carefully draw White deeper into the scene. Her need to please him had her wishing she could help.
“Stand up, bärchen.” Pischlar stepped back to give White some space. Then he motioned to her. “Let’s see if you do as well holding him as he did for you, Sahara.”
There was no hesitation in White’s movements, but plenty in his eyes. Sahara had no clue how she’d hold him if he didn’t want to keep still. She wrapped her hands around his wrists and her fingers didn’t touch. Her grip was weak.
Restraint was symbolic though. White was being given a chance to prove he could submit. She’d never understood why a Dom would want to train by first being a submissive, but there were probably reasons behind it. Reasons that made her uncomfortable, because she didn’t want to imagine any of those she’d happily kneel to kneeling to anyone else.
But seeing White struggling to give up control didn’t bother her.
Weird.
Donning fresh gloves, Pischlar picked up a container of balm from where he’d left it on the sofa. He approached White as he dipped his finger in. “Don’t move.”
And White didn’t budge, but he inhaled sharply as Pischlar drew a line of the icy-hot balm across his pelvis. He groaned as Pischlar covered his chest with it, jerking at the attention Pischlar paid to his nipples.
“Fuck that burns,” White muttered, his fists clenching below where Sahara held his wrists. “Other than torturing me, what do you get out of this, Easy?”
Pischlar moved in closer to whisper in White’s ear. “You’re taking it because I’ve asked it of you. I control everything you feel. Discomfort and pleasure and pain. It gives me a fucking high to know I can give you everything, or nothing.”
Whatever Pischlar did next had White dropping his head back and groaning. Sahara tried to get a better look, clenching her thighs at the wave of lust that ran over her when she saw Pischlar’s hand between White’s thighs.
She’d seen submissive men before, but few were as big and tough as White. She could picture him with a whip in his hands. Toying with a bound sub, his powerful body working as he fucked her.
But under Pischlar’s command, he was like a tame wolf. One you expected to snarl rather than come to heel. Rather than making White seem tame, the whole scene proved that Pischlar was fucking good at what he did.
She wasn’t sure whether she should be scared for, or jealous of, the person he someday decided to claim.
The way White fought to hold still, Sahara could tell he was getting close to climax. She kissed the back of his shoulder, quietly hoping Pischlar would stop teasing, forget the punishment, and give the man his release.
A hard pounding at the door ruined any chance of that. White eased out of her grip and headed for the bathroom—likely to grab his clothes. Pischlar reached down and tossed Sahara her shirt, bra, and skirt.
Her panties were done for, but she got everything else on in record time as Pischlar went to see who had come by for a visit in the middle of the night.
“Where is she?” Ford’s voice came from the hall, nice and calm.
He must be alone. If Akira or Cort had come with him, they’d be pushing into the house and making a damn scene.
“Won’t you come in, Ford?” Pischlar sounded like he got visits around two a.m. every night. And didn’t mind at all. “I’m assuming you won’t be allowed to sleep until you make sure Sahara’s in one piece?”
Ford grunted, stepping in with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. “Something like that.”
Sahara folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “If you knew where I was, you knew I was safe. This is ridiculous.”
With narrowed eyes, Ford looked from her to the toy bag on the floor. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You were assaulted two nights ago and neither of your closest friends have heard from you. Akira has been on the phone all night with Jami and Silver. She needs to see for herself that you’re really all right. For all she knew, you had gotten drunk and were letting whoever was nice take advantage of you.”
“I haven’t gotten drunk in months!” Sahara’s face heated as rage simmered in her veins. She wasn’t sure exactly why she was so mad. She loved that her friends cared, but she was an adult. She could take care of herself!
Clearly. A snarky voice in the back of her head found her funny.
She ignored it. “I appreciate the concern, but as you can see, I’m fine. Please tell Akira I’ll call her in the morning.”
“She’s still up. How about you call her now?” Ford pulled out a cigarette, put it between his lips, but didn’t light it. Hopefully that meant he would be leaving soon. “Maybe you think it’s unreasonable, but with what Akira went through herself, she’s imagining the worst. Please tell me you get that?”
Fuck. Sahara swallowed hard and nodded, going to her purse to get her phone. Akira had been raped when she was a teenager. She was in such a good place now that it was easy to forget how far she’d come. They had done self-defense courses together and exchanged horror stories. There was nothing they didn’t talk about.
But the second Sahara had issues with Grant, she’d gotten back into the same old habits. She’d pushed away the people closest to her.
Only, this time, she’d known she was doing it.
The first ring hadn’t even finished before Akira picked up. She spoke so softly, Sahara could hardly hear her. “Sahara? I didn’t tell him to go, I swear.”
Turning away from the men, Sahara pressed her fingers to her lips. “Even if you had, I…damn it, I really screwed up. I didn’t want to tell you what happened because of Cort’s reaction when he saw me with Grant. I was afraid he’d kill him.”
“He wouldn’t get a chance. If I ever get my hands on that man, I’ll—”
“You’re going to stay away from him. I’m pressing charges. I don’t want any of my friends paying for my stupidity.”
Releasing a soft sigh, Akira hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Why Pischlar? He’s a nice guy, but he’s temporary. You need a future, babe.”
“I’m not ready for a future. I need right now.” Sahara wasn’t sure how much she should share, but she’d held back enough. So she just told Akira everything. “I talked to Dominik and he was cool with me coming here. He told me to ‘take what I need.’”
/> Akira groaned. “Damn Doms. All right, fine. Have fun. But you can’t keep putting your life on hold. One of these days, you’ll have to start living it.”
“I will. Consider this my last act of complete abandon. And…well, it’s not just for me. Having me play along…” She lowered her voice in case the guys were listening, though they seemed to be ignoring her. “White was more comfortable with Pisch than ever. You know Pisch is in love with him, right?”
“Yes, but White’s an idiot.”
“He is not.”
“About Pisch, he is. But enough of them. I reserve the right to raunchy details, but can I give you some advice?” Akira sounded unsure, like their relationship wasn’t what it had been. But she continued before Sahara could tell her nothing had changed. “Don’t let this stop you from wanting more. You’re ready; you just haven’t accepted it yet. And Grant scared you into hiding again.”
“I’m not hiding.” Well, technically she was, but that wasn’t what Akira meant. “You didn’t see how I reacted when Dominik got a call from Max and had to leave. I was all jealous and insecure, and I don’t like myself when I’m like that. I need to work on me before there can be an ‘us.’”
She could picture Akira nodding. Hear the understanding in her tone. “I get that. But promise me one thing?”
Considering how rarely Akira asked for anything, Sahara agreed without a second thought. “Sure.”
“You may have screwed up, but everyone does. Pressing charges was a big step—one you were too afraid to take before. Unless you’re still holding out for Keane—”
“I’m not.”
“Good to hear. Just don’t ignore opportunities because you’re afraid to take them. I don’t know if Dominik is the one for you, but I’ve never seen you open up to another man the way you do with him. Pischlar is safe because he asks for nothing. There’s no risk.” Akira paused. “You’d be taking a chance with Dominik.”
“I know.” Sahara glanced back toward the men. White had joined them, fully dressed, and nothing in his expression betraying the scene Ford had interrupted. “And he’s not going to wait around forever.”
They finished up the conversation and Akira asked to speak to Ford. Whatever she said seemed to satisfy him, because he left shortly after.
Which was when things got awkward. Sahara waited for Pischlar to say something, but he simply picked up his toy bag and went to his room to stash it. White went to the kitchen to do the dishes. So she started tidying up the living room.
A few minutes later, Pischlar returned, glanced from her to White, and burst out laughing. “You’re both incredible. Why can’t you understand life is so much simpler when you learn to roll with the punches?”
White dried his hands on a dishrag and leaned against the fridge. “Easy for you to say, Easy. Nothing fucking bothers you.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure what’s bothering you.” Pischlar looked White over. “I promise, nowhere on you does it say ‘My best friend was jerking me off.’ You’re not even hard anymore.”
Sahara stared at the back of Pischlar’s head. Damn, he certainly wasn’t going to make White more comfortable being all blunt. She couldn’t blame White for not being in the mood—she was pretty out of it herself.
“I don’t get you. What we did wasn’t—isn’t my thing. You know that. Why don’t you just drop it?” White tossed the dishrag over the side of the sink. “Pretend it never happened.”
Nodding slowly, Pischlar moved to White’s side. “That is one option. The other is we forget the rest of the world and finish what we started. I bind Sahara to my headboard so you can taste her delicious pussy while I suck your dick until you come. Entirely up to you.”
And with that, Pischlar strolled back down the hall and disappeared into his bedroom.
Rubbing his hands over his face, White groaned. He muttered something she couldn’t hear, then lifted his head to meet her eyes.
She couldn’t help but smile at him. A glance at the front of his black jogging pants proved he was more than interested in Pischlar’s offer. But he wouldn’t budge unless she was willing to join them. Like the kissing, it was his way of holding on to his ideas of what he should want.
Helping him with his illusions really wasn’t any hardship.
“Come on.” She held out her hand, her smile widening when he took it. “You want this as much as I do.”
He pulled her against him, bending down to gently kiss her throat. “I want you.”
No point in arguing with him, so she tugged his hand and led him to the bedroom. He could deal with reality tomorrow.
And so would she.
Chapter Nine
The morning of the Cobras’ second playoff game and Oriana was finally clear to be released from the hospital. A day later than planned, but her scans had been pushed back because there was only one MRI scanner and an emergency had taken priority. Regardless, the medication was working, and other than advising Oriana to watch for specific symptoms, the doctor seemed optimistic for a full recovery.
She’d hated being in the hospital, and leaving had seemed like the only thing she could look forward to, but that morning, Max had come in early to wait for her release papers with her. And Sloan had come in not long after. She wasn’t sure what strings had been pulled, but she’d seen him out in the hall with a man in a suit, whom she’d overheard apologizing for any “unpleasantness” Sloan had experienced. The team provided a lot of money for research and equipment in the hospital, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about threats being used to give her and her men special treatment.
One of her siblings was behind this, she was sure of it. But she’d wait until she was done soaking in Sloan’s presence before she gave them hell. She’d missed him. She hated seeing the circles under his eyes and knowing he probably hadn’t slept well while she’d been here.
I’ll tell them no more power plays and give the hospital a big donation.
She didn’t feel too guilty. None of the maneuvering would have been necessary if they hadn’t assumed the worst. Hitting her head and being stuck in the hospital was nothing compared to being forced away from one of her men. She felt like she’d been punished for being hurt.
Curled up in a chair on Sloan’s lap made the last few days irrelevant. She was going home. The rest could be forgotten.
Silver and Ford showed up to see her out, Silver bearing an expensive Tiffany vase—which had Sloan making a face out of her sister’s view when he saw it—full of yellow tulips. Ford had gone a little more traditional with a Squishable panda plush and a single white rose.
A short time later, everything signed and her gratitude expressed to her nurses, Oriana sat in a wheelchair as Max rolled her down the hall. Hugging the panda, she grinned up at Ford when he squeezed her hand.
His expression was the protective look of concern that had been planted there every time he’d come. He jerked his chin toward someone approaching.
Their father. With his wife Anne and several men she didn’t recognize.
Her throat closed up. Max locked the wheelchair and stepped up beside Ford.
Sloan, smart man that he was, put his hand on Silver’s arm, preventing her from lurching forward and likely saying all the words she’d held in for too long. Her father had shown little interest in any of them, unless “acting” fatherly could work in his favor. Oriana had spent more time than any of them trying to earn his love. But she’d finally accepted the fact there was no love in him to be given.
Standing a few feet in front of all of them, their father folded both hands over his cane. He was wearing a dark navy blue suit, but that did nothing to hide the dangerous man he could be when provoked.
“Mr. Delgado.” Sloan sounded calm. A very good sign. “We weren’t expecting to see you.”
Leaning heavily on his cane—he’d been in a wheelchair the last time Oriana saw him, his health must have improved—Anthony Delgado glared at Sloan. “I don’t know why not. She is my daughter. Now
get out of my way, you monster. I heard what you did to her.”
Your daughter? Oriana had to fight to hold back the tears. Even after a DNA test, her father had insisted she wasn’t his. He’d readily claimed Ford, but wanted nothing to do with her.
Why now? She couldn’t believe he’d suddenly had a change of heart.
Max shifted to stand closer to Sloan. “I’m not sure what you heard, sir, but any concerns have been laid to rest.”
“Bullshit. The social workers spoke to her and she was too afraid to tell them the truth. Either that or…” Anthony let out a heavy sigh. “My own health prevented me from looking after my children as I should have, but Oriana’s never been all there. My lawyers are looking into it. She really shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions like this, and once a judge sees how incompetent she is, he will agree that she should be with her family.”
I am with my family. Oriana had needed space from her father to build her own life. To find her own strength and believe she was worthy of love and respect. There were times she missed him, but seeing him now made her wonder if she wasn’t just missing the idea of a parent who loved her unconditionally.
He would never be that man.
Without Sloan to hold her back any longer, Silver behaved in her typical, rash way. She strode forward and jabbed her finger right in the center of their father’s chest. “You’re insane if you think we’ll let you get away with this. What do you want? Money?” She poked him again. “I’ll give you whatever you want if you’ll stay the fuck out of our lives.”
“Silver.” Ford wrapped an arm around Silver’s waist and hauled her back. “You’re not helping anything. Calm down.”
Anthony laughed. “No, let her go, Ford. She’s proving why she’s unfit to care for her mentally unstable sister.”
Oriana put her hand over her mouth. She was going to be sick. She needed to get out of there. She wanted to go home and pretend none of this was happening. She spotted a familiar woman a few steps back from her father and his lawyers. She couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but she was a reporter Silver’d had issues with in the past.
Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) Page 15