"And this doesn't?"
"Fuck you!"
Asher laughed. "Not tonight, angel-face. I've already had my fill. Had to make sure Cedric was sated before I locked his cock." He chuckled at the face she made before leaving the room with a nonchalant. "You know I don't like sharing him."
Like you'd let me forget. Cedric wasn't even allowed to play with her much unless Asher was in the mood to watch him take her ass. Her thighs clenched as she recalled the last time. As usual, sex was good with either man, but . . . well parts of her were neglected. Asher stimulated her clit to get her off, acting like it was a chore. Her 'girly bits' did nothing for him. Of course, she had plenty of toys when she wanted to feel full in the most basic way, but it wasn't the same. For once it would be nice to have a man want her as a woman.
Which could happen tonight if that's what she really wanted. Asher wouldn't stop her from going home with another man, he wasn't possessive of her. The thing was . . . damn, finding a man at a BDSM club?
Taking a deep breath, she leaned closer to the mirror and tapped her bottom lip with a finger to make sure her lipstain was dry. Then she applied a generous coat of gloss and smacked her lips. Perfect.
She uncapped the rum and moved the lollipop to one side of her mouth so she could take a few good swigs from the bottle. Sweet fire burned through her and she closed her eyes to absorb it. Once the sensation faded she felt calm. In control.
Maybe, this time, she could be the one who did all the right things. She'd always been the trouble-maker, the wild one, too irresponsible for anyone to ask for anything from. Maybe if she could prove she'd changed, daddy wouldn't regret putting his faith in her. For once maybe she could be the good one.
You're going to a kinky club to watch your sister essentially marry two—three?—guys. And then there's your gay boyfriends. If you're going to be the good one, shouldn't you dump them and find a 'normal' guy?
Well, daddy didn't need to know what she did for fun. She took another swig from the bottle and winked at her reflection.
Never said I'd be that good!
* * * *
Leather, sex, and . . . carnations? Dean Richter rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, then undid the top button of his black dress shirt. Blades & Ice, the notorious hard core BDSM club—his hard core BDSM club—looked like it had been attacked by Martha-fucking-Stewart. White ribbons, flame colored bouquets, and a woven wood arch. Tim had opened the place at 5am so Max Perron, the groom, and, more importantly, the Dartmouth Cobra's best assist man, could set things up for his wedding. Max had been perfectly willing to rent a hall, but Tim had insisted the club was the perfect place for the ceremony.
Thanks, Tim. Dean leaned over the bar across from the insanity and glared at his half-brother, who'd dragged the entire staff into decorating. I'm going to make your wife twist your ball sack with rubber elastics, bro.
A whimper drew his gaze to the doorway of a playroom just off the bar area.
Sloan Callahan, the Cobra's captain, forced Oriana Delgado, bride-to-be, to her knees. "You're spoiling the surprise. Max won't be happy."
"Please don't tell him."
"Give me one reason I shouldn't."
Oriana licker her bottom lip and her tone turned husky. "You're hurting me, Sloan."
Letting out a strangled laugh, Callahan released her. "Tease. We'll have our fun after the ceremony, not before."
"So we can't do anything?" Oriana undid the top button of Callahan's leathers. "At all?"
"Not unless you want to be upgraded from the flogger to the whip, love." Callahan smoothed his hand over Oriana's loose, shimmering bronze hair. "Dominik decided that was a fitting penalty."
"Oh no!" Oriana giggled and pulled the zipper down with her teeth. Her tongue darted out over the head of his cock. "To tell you the truth, I think he said that because he knows I'm ready."
Callahan's bare chest and stomach muscle tensed as he wound her hair around his fist. "Are you?"
Rather than answer, Oriana slicked Callahan's dick with her lips and tongue, taking him so deep Dean couldn't help but stare.
Damn. Out of Delgado's daughters, she's the last one I would have thought could . . . He tore his gaze from the pair and tapped the bar for another beer. No matter how often Oriana came to the club with her men, he still couldn't quite fit the image of the 'sexually retarded' woman—as her ex-boyfriend and his ex-coach, Paul Stanton, had called her—and the beautifully submissive woman he'd come to know, in his head. Paul Stanton was the retard.
Then again, she wasn't submissive enough for his tastes. As long as she didn't break the club rules, it didn't really matter, but sometimes he found himself scratching his head when he saw what Dominik Mason, the Cobra's best blueliner and the man who'd collar her after Perron married her, put up with. Mason was a damn good Master—how could he let Perron and Callahan be so lax with discipline? The diminutive sub liked to top from the bottom, and even though she was usually reprimanded, Dean knew with Dominik alone she'd have been broken of the habit.
That's what you get for sharing a woman. He inclined his head to the scrawny bartender, who wore nothing but a leather cup and straps, and took his beer. Leaning one elbow on the bar, he surveyed the room with mounting disgust. The whole thing stank of a spoiled sub getting her own way. Only, Oriana wasn't spoiled and her Doms had tormented her excessively to get her to spill the details of her dream wedding. Which had been fun to watch. But the results had him on sugar overload.
"Bad time?" A young man in a stylish, yet understated black suit—likely tailored to fit over those massive shoulders and long frame—took a seat across from him and gestured to the bartender for some of what Dean was having. His crew cut and the hard edge that stole some youth from his face gave him the appearance of a soldier on leave. A faint French accent and an easy smile lightened his stalk demeanor. "I have to admit, this isn't what I expected."
It took Dean less than a second to figure out who the man was. Landon Bower, the Cobra's new goaltender. Twenty-five and at the top of his game, Bower had been stuck on Montreal's farm team in Hamilton his whole career. The Cobras were desperate for a starting goaltender and Bower was everything they needed. Talented and kinky. The kink wasn't a requirement, but it made things easier. A good third of the team was in the lifestyle in one way or another. It wasn't exactly conventional for a team's general manager to seek out players with certain sexual . . . leanings, but it tightened the ranks, which was exactly what Dean wanted.
"This is not what my club usually looks like." Dean motioned towards the set up with his bottle. "Delgado's daughter is getting married to one of the players, and getting collared by another. My brother, your coach, thought it would be good for the team to do it here."
"And you don't agree?" Bower took his beer from the bartender and frowned when the man gave him a swift once over. Straight then. He held the bartender's eye until the sub ducked his head and scuttled away. Then he swiveled in his chair to face Dean. "You have a problem with polyamory?"
"Not at all." Dean frowned. "You?"
"No. I've shared. I see the appeal." Bower paused and took a sip of his beer. "But I've never found a sub that would make the complications worth the headache. Takes a bit more work, in my opinion. One on one is hard enough."
"Very true." Dean tipped his beer bottle to clink it to Bower's. He liked the man already. "So you leave someone special in Gaspe or Hamilton?"
"Would that be a problem?"
"Only if it distracts you from the game."
Bower grinned. "Nothing distracts me." He angled his bottle towards the club's packed entry. "Mon Dieu, I might find someone to help pass the time, though."
At the front desk, probably filling out the club's required waver, a petite blond with an ass-to-die-for covered in snug pink booty shorts bent over.
Dean admired the view and thunked his fist on the bar. "Well now. Perhaps the night isn't a complete loss after all. I'll admit, Bower, this whole wedding things d
oesn't do it for me. But if it brings in some fresh meat like that—"
"I wouldn't want to alienate myself by competing with my GM for a woman." Bower cocked his head. "Not that either of us have a shot. Looks like she's taken."
Two slender men came up to fill in the forms beside the woman. The one in snug black jeans and a black silk shirt put a possessive hand on her waist, then laughed out loud and pushed her away. Then he moved in behind the man in leather chaps and a chastity belt, carrying a large white gift box topped with a huge white bow, and whispered something in his ear.
"Look at little closer, Bower." Dean's lips curved into a sardonic smile. "She's not taken. She's here with her gay friends. Probably a safety thing. Which makes her hot and smart."
Bower didn't say a word. Face impassive, he seemed to study the men like they were opponents in possession of the puck.
With her back still to them, the woman adjusted the collar of the apparent dominant's shirt and then rubbed her face against his arm like a kitten demanding attention. The dominant raked his fingers into her hair and pulled her in for a rough kiss.
"I'd say the dynamic of their relationship is a tad off balance, but she's with them." Bower shrugged. "You've got unattached subs here, right?"
Dean kept his gaze locked on the woman and found he couldn't look away. His gaze trailed her as she made her way through the crowd filtering into the main room and settling on the long wood benches that had temporarily replaced all the crossed and stocks and spanking benches. Something about her had every protective instinct within clawing past reason and demanding he see more. He considered himself an observant man. First impressions spoke volumes. Even from across the room, he could sense the connection between the men. The woman seemed like an afterthought, despite the passionate kiss.
You're reaching, Richter. Letting out a grunt, he nodded. "I've got plenty. I'll introduce you to a couple after the ceremony."
"I'm good with one," Bower said.
One brow arched, Dean regarded Bower, his tone dead serious. "You wanna make good with your GM? Do me a favor and take at least two off my hands. My most popular Dom and two of his trainees just took themselves off the market. There will be a number of needy subs and I won't have them leaving here all depressed because they didn't get the coveted ring-collar-picket fence combo."
"Well since you put it that way." Bower grinned. "I suppose I can take one—or two—for the team."
"For the team." Time to get down to business. "I spoke to Noah—thank you for providing the reference, by the way, your agent was smart to include a man I know personally on that very long list to vouch for you, it makes getting you settled in much easier. Anyway, he told me you're pretty good with eletroplay. I've gone to few workshops, but haven't gotten comfortable enough to start fooling around with the TENS or the wand. Think you could teach me?"
"Be glad to." Bower reached down, then lifted a metal case onto the bar. "I've got all the stuff for some demos, and I know a man who can supply you with more whenever you're ready."
"Perfect."
"Under one condition."
Dean's brow furrowed. "What?"
Bower took a deep breath. "Teach me how to use a whip. I . . . well fuck, I tried to convince myself I wasn't into giving pain. But I'm done pretending. I came out here because you guys offered the chance to accept who I am. I'm tired of playing with the light stuff."
"Electroplay isn't considered light."
"Yeah, well I've always had a thing for the charge—I've been messing around with it since I was a kid. I learned a bit about the ropes and discipline, but I want more." Bower frowned at his bottle. "I want to be able to offer a sub whatever she needs. I've had a few who like playing hard and fast, and I hate sending them to someone else because I lack the skills. Sharing is one thing, but when you're doing it because you're not good enough—"
"I got it." Hell, why not? He liked training and this would work out well for them both. He'd learn a new skill and he'd teach one of the most important men on his team not only how to wield a whip, but to accept the darker parts of himself. "Actually, unless I'm mistaken, the ceremony will end with one of my pupils using the whip on the new bride. Should be quite a show."
Bower's expression shifted, turning eager and almost feral. "I can't wait."
"You're gonna fit right in, Bower." Dean lifted his beer. "To the game, on and off the ice."
"To the game."
The faint music playing in the background changed. Romantic instrumentals to tell one and all things were about to get started.
And for the first time that day, Dean was looking forward to what laid ahead.
But as he made his way to the benches, the neglected sub in pink plagued his thoughts. Maybe he didn't understand her relationship with the men she'd come with. Maybe he was wasting his time.
Still, before the night was over, he'd meet her. Find out if he could give her what she needed.
Because the Dom in him knew, without a doubt, she wasn't getting it.
Yet.
Chapter Two
"Oh my God, Oriana! You look amazing!" Silver burst into the small office turned changing room, the words leaving her mouth before she even saw her sister. Oriana had always been self-conscious about her appearance, and had no sense of style, so Silver wasn't expecting much. Off the rack at best, hopefully form-fitting?
She'd have something beautiful if she'd have let me help her.
Oriana hadn't wanted any help. She'd said Silver had enough to do with the move and the business. She'd insisted her and the men could handle it. As if men had any clue about wedding dresses!
They did a pretty damn good job setting up the club without your input. Fine, most of the people look like they're going to a kinky funeral . . . Almost everyone had either gone with black leather, suits, or outfits much like Cedric's. More than one sub, male and female, wore some kind of chastity belt and little else. She'd have stood out less if she'd stripped at the door. But the set up itself was pretty classy. Some men have good tastes. Look at Asher.
Still, she would have liked to be involved. She'd hinted at Oriana needing a bridesmaid—all her sister's friends were in Montreal, and none had been able to take time off school to attend—but Oriana insisted she didn't need one. Fine, so Silver wouldn't 'officially' have a place in the wedding, but she'd looked up some local caterers and florists anyway, emailing the information to Oriana just in case she needed them. She even gotten a bunch of wedding magazines and swung by Max's place to drop them off—with Dominik, after he told her Oriana was a little under the weather.
Oriana had called to thank her that evening. The phone call had been short and tense, but she'd pretended not to notice. Oriana was probably stressed because the press had latched onto the unconventional event, drawing the kind of attention her sister had always been uncomfortable with. Which she wouldn't want to talk to Silver about since she thrived on the spotlight.
Well, the press isn't here and Oriana deserves to be in the spotlight. Maybe she'll let me do her makeup . . . She fixed a cheerful smile on her lips and looked around. Oriana stood by the window, holding the thick black curtains together, head bowed. Then she squared her shoulders and turned.
The vision of her sister took her breath away.
In a long white, one-shoulder gown, cutaway to reveal the bottom halves of her breasts, Oriana looked like a bride more prepared for the wedding night than a walk down the aisle. A short zipper was the only thing holding the dress together from the cutout to the where the skirt was slit a one hip. Her natural olive toned skin, which she'd inherited from their father, made her look exotic, like the woman in Silver's favorite painting, the Gitana by Fabien Perez, which one of her friends in LA bragged that she'd gotten from the artist himself. While some might envy Silver's fair, flawless complexion, she'd always longed for that honey-gold glow.
Her lips moved, but no sound came at first. Whoever thought Silver was the better-looking Delgado sister had never seen Oria
na like this. She shook her head and whispered, "Wow."
"Thank you." Oriana gave her a tight smile and touched her partial updo, lightly fingering the wreath of baby's breath. "I take it you approve?"
"Oh, Oriana . . . ." Silver held her hands out, palms up as she approached her sister. "I always knew you'd make a beautiful bride. Max is a lucky man."
Oriana hesitated, then took her hands and squeezed. "What about Dominik? And Sloan?"
"Them too," Silver said, quickly. She didn't like Sloan, but now wasn't the time to let her personal bias show. And really, he'd chosen the better sister. "Is that what you've been so worried about? Did you think I'd judge you for being with the three of them?"
Shrugging, Oriana pulled away. "We were going to have a normal ceremony at first—for me and Max. Just so our father could . . . but he refused to come."
Silver bit her bottom lip. "Daddy's just old-fashioned. I tried to talk to him—"
"I don't need you talking to him for me." Oriana's eyes, only a shade lighter than their father's, turned hard and distant. "Stay out of it."
Silver swallowed and nodded. "All right." She fiddled with her clutch. "I was going to offer to do your makeup, but it's perfect."
"Yep." Oriana folded her arms over her chest. "I'm pretty much done here."
"That's . . . good. Do you want me to stay until things get started?"
"No. The ceremony will start in a couple of minutes." Letting out a sigh, Oriana moved towards the large desk and picked up her flowers. "Unless there was something you wanted to talk about? Have you settled in okay?"
"Yes." Silver moved away from the door and rested her hip on the edge of the desk. "Not that there was much setting up to do. The new condo Daddy bought was fully furnished. Once my stuff was shipped in from Hollywood it felt just like home. I even managed to fix up the office in the forum. I haven't gotten a chance to go over all the paperwork, but with Anne's help it won't take me long to—"
"I'm sorry, I just realized I need a few moments alone." Oriana's clipped tone froze Silver's words like jagged lumps of ice in her throat. "If you could go take a seat with the rest of the guests?"
Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) Page 2