GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (24 page)

D
ominik had planned to call it an early night, but the lingering excitement from the game and—something else—had him feeling restless. Lying in his room listening to moans and groans muffled by walls that seemed to have become paper-thin—yeah, his firm resolve to leave the cozy threesome had taken a serious beating. So he donned his leathers and headed to the club. The fifteen-minute drive gave him some perspective. A detached scene with a sub who knew exactly what she wanted—and didn’t want—from him would help him get a grip.

The club was walking distance from the forum in an area where loud music and people coming and going in fetish wear wouldn’t disturb the neighbors. At the door, Wayne, one of the club’s beefy bouncers, tipped his leather cap in acknowledgement and stepped aside to let Dominik pass.

Avenged Sevenfold’s “Nightmare” kicked off with a trilling drum beat, adding to the already hard-core atmosphere. People who wanted a little slap and tickle went elsewhere to indulge their kinks. The Blades & Ice club catered to a fair number of sadists, which meant edge play was pretty much the norm. Dominik didn’t get off on serious pain or making a sub bleed, but it didn’t bother him as long as it was consensual.

As if Dean would put up with anything less.
As he passed, a dungeon monitor stopped by a scene where a Domme was piercing her sub’s dick. After making sure she was taking all the necessary precautions, he moved on, walking a bit stiffly, as though feeling sympathy pain.

Snap!
A shudder ran through Dominik as the slick cut of a cane sang above the music and a crescendo of screams. He took a seat at the bar, ordering a double CC on the rocks and swiveled on the stool to watch Dean decorate the already flush red asses of three bound subs with a thin, looped length of birch.

One of the subs turned her head and whined something to Dean.

Dean threw his head back and roared out a laugh. “You want more, precious? Well isn’t that a shame. Tim!”

Tim stepped from the shadow of the open doorway of a playroom where he’d likely been watching a scene. “Yeah?”

“Unstrap your wife.” Dean gestured to the side of the roped-off area. “She can switch with you all she wants, but if she wants me to top her, she either fully submits, or we don’t play. I want her kneeling over there. She can watch the good girls have fun.”

Making a face, Tim undid his wife’s restraints and helped her off the sawhorse. “Thanks, bro. I’m looking forward to the rest of the night.”

Tim’s wife, Madeline, patted his cheek before moving gracefully to take her place as instructed. “I won’t take it out on you, love. This is all on me—I should know better.”

“Yes, you should.” Dean rested his cane on his shoulder and gave her a dark look. “Now, if you don’t mind, you’re interrupting my scene. You know what that means, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Madeline settled on her knees and ducked her head to hide a smile. “Discipline. Will it be a spanking or a big butt plug?”

“Neither, smart ass.” Head cocked to one side, Dean seemed to consider for a moment. Then his lips curved into a positively evil smile. “I have a new fucking machine I’d like you to try out, my pretty little guinea pig.”

Madeline paled and peered up at Dean with wide eyes. “Here?”

“Where else? Club discipline takes place at the club,” Dean said, sounding completely unaffected by her reaction. But when she didn’t protest, he added in a significantly warmer tone. “Being put on display isn’t your thing, but if you do well, I’ll reward you. How does a private session between you, me, and my bullwhip sound?”

Soft pink spread over Madeline’s cheeks. “Wonderful, sir.”

Dominik shook his head and smiled. Both Tim and Madeline were masochists and switches. He marveled at the way they managed to indulge their kinks. Tim trusted his brother to give Madeline what she needed without going too far. Under Dean’s hands, she could reach the ecstasy of pain without penetration. It was a strangely amicable arrangement.

“Don’t think I don’t see you there, Mason,” Dean called out as he unzipped his leathers and donned a condom. “As you may have noticed, I’ve got my hands full. Care to join me?”

Why not?
Dominik drained his glass and pushed off the stool. Crossing the room in three long strides, he let out a gruff laugh. “I don’t know, Dean. You’ve got her warmed up.” He stroked the bowed back of the quivering sub. “But she doesn’t know me. Maybe we should acquaint ourselves first?”

“Maybe.” Dean drove two fingers into the pussy of the sub in front of him, languorously thrusting in and out as he eyed the sub Dominik petted. “What do you think, Tara?”

“Whatever Master Dean wishes.” Tara pressed her face into the leather padding and moaned as Dominik grazed his fingers over the welts on her ass.

“Good answer.” Dean chuckled. “Go for it, Mason. Her thighs are still awfully white.”

Inclining his head, Dominik strolled over to the wall and chose a studded leather paddle. He returned and held it out in front of Tara. “Will this do?”

“Oh!” She shivered and almost nodded. Her lips dented her bottom lip. “Yes, sir!”

Without warning, Dominik hauled off and smacked her mid-thigh, just below her glistening wet pussy. She let out a straggled cry, and he hit her again and again until her sobs drowned out the music. Another and she’d come. Or he could deny her and toy with her a little longer. Sink his dick into her and take everything she was more than willing to give.

Only one problem. He wasn’t even hard. Any thought of pleasure brought him back to another woman, a woman who would never belong to him alone. A woman who needed him.

Why?
He asked himself as he gave Tara one last hard smack with the paddle and watched her buck and scream. As he curved his body over hers and helped her ride out the last waves of her orgasm, his mind took him from the club to Oriana, who was in the care of two other men. Men who he’d trust with his life. But who he couldn’t quite trust with her pleasure.

What if they pushed her too far?

Max won’t. Max will take care of her.

No doubt about that. Max knew Sloan better than anyone. And he knew Oriana.

But he’s not me.

How fucking arrogant was that?

Shortly after having freed and tended to Tara, Dominik sat with Dean at the bar, nursing a beer and making small talk. The unwritten rule of leaving the game at the door limited them to discussing the weather and family.

“Is your mom doing better?” Dean asked, holding his bottle between both hands and leaning forward. “Last I heard, she has diabetes? Is it bad?”

“Not as bad as it could have been. She doesn’t take care of herself, and she still bakes like she’s feeding a house full of teenage boys.” Closing his eyes, he recalled the aroma of his mother’s house from when he’d visited her during the holidays. The gingerbread cookie and pumpkin pie scents lingered for days, and he was sure he gained a couple of pounds just thinking of all he’d eaten. “My sister moved closer so she could keep an eye on her. Mom doesn’t consider licking the spoon cheating on her diet.”

Dean chuckled. “She’s a nice lady. You’ve got to get her to come down for a game soon as she’s feeling up to it.”

“Will do,” Dominik said. “So how’s Jami?”

For a second, it looked like Dean might slug him. His grip tightened around the neck of his bottle, and his knuckles went white. Strange reaction, considering his daughter was his pride and joy and usually his favorite subject.

“Wonderful,” Dean said dryly as he released his bottle and sat back. “She dyed her hair purple and got a tattoo.”

Damn.
“Isn’t she seventeen?”

“Nope. Eighteen. For all of a week.” Using his fingers to massage the center of his brow, Dean let out a gruff, aggravated sound. “Daughters will kill a man. Never have any.” He went still and looked up. “Speaking of daughters, what have you been doing with Delgado’s?”

“No shop talk, Dean.”

“How is you and half the team fucking the boss’s daughter shop talk?”

“Since I consider you a friend, I won’t knock your teeth down your throat for talking about her like that.” Dominik drained his beer and slammed the bottle on the bar as he stood. “This time.”

“Don’t go there, Mason.” Eyes narrowed, Dean studied Dominik’s face. “How much do you think you guys can get away with?”

Despite the rage boiling up within, Dominik walked out without another word. All the way home, all he could think about was what Oriana’s plan was doing to her reputation. Maybe she didn’t care, but—damn it, the idea of anyone thinking badly of her made him sick.

The scent of maple syrup and vanilla hit him when he stepped into the house. He glanced at the clock on the wall as he made his way down the hall. It was 4:00 a.m. Who the hell was baking at this hour?

“Ouch!”

Dominik hurried into the kitchen and frowned at Oriana’s back as she pulled a cookie tray from the oven with a dish cloth, not letting it go even though the cloth obviously wasn’t protecting her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded as he snatched the tray and slammed it on the stove. “We have oven mitts.”

“Shh!” She glanced toward the hall and bunched the bottom of her kitten-patterned nightgown in her fists. “Everyone’s sleeping and I couldn’t find them.”

“I don’t care—” He dragged her to the sink and ran the cold water over her red fingertips. “Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep after . . .” She blushed. “I don’t cook much, but I enjoy baking cookies. I figured the guys would enjoy them in the morning.”

“Hmm.” Dominik tried to keep looking pissed, but the cookies smelled delicious. “Mind if I sneak one?”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“I was never mad.” He shut off the water and then drew her wet fingers to his lips. “I just don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

She smiled. “I know the feeling. How’s your arm?”

“Not bad. Maybe you can take a look since you’re up?”

Her smile broadened, lighting up her whole face. “Now you definitely get a cookie.” She touched his cheek. “Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

He kissed her palm. “Thank me by letting me take care of you.”

“Gladly.” Nibbling at her bottom lip, she eased away from him and turned to the stove to check the cookies. She picked one up, passed it from hand to hand, then giggled at his arched brow. “They’ve cooled down a bit. Tell me what you think.”

He stuffed the cookie in his mouth, chewed, and groaned as the maple walnut flavor filled his mouth. “What is this?”

“Maple walnut shortbread. My grandmother’s recipe.” Oriana’s eyes became distant. “She taught me how to cook and bake—I inherited all her recipes.”

“Wow.” He reached around her to snitch another cookie. “My mom would love you. Maybe you two can exchange recipes one day.”

“Maybe.” She scuffed her slippers on the tiles. “So . . . how about you go get comfortable in the living room? I’ll bring some cookies and then fetch the first aid kit.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He watched her divide the cookies onto two plates, six on one, sixteen on the other. Then he wandered into the living room, shedding his shirt before lounging on the sofa. He picked at his bandage, trying not to think about how much he enjoyed having Oriana around. It was temporary. She’d eventually want to go home. She had a nice-sized place, so Max and Sloan might even move in with her if things went well.

Stop moping, Mason. She’s not gone yet.

Key word.
Yet.

“Troubling thoughts?” Oriana knelt beside him and laughed at his surprised look. “Doms aren’t the only ones who can be observant. Want to talk about it?”

“No need.” He relaxed as she peeled the bandage from his arm and meticulously cleaned the wound. “We promised to take care of each other. I’m good with that.”

“So am I.” She wrinkled her nose. “Actually, I’m thinking I may need you more than I thought. I may actually be a nympho!”

His heart stuttered.
I need you.
He laughed as he gave her a one-armed hug. “You’re not a nympho. You just finally enjoy sex. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes, but—”

“But I will make sure neither you nor the boys overdo it.” He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. “Deal?”

She stayed in that position, breathlessly whispering. “Deal.”

And she let him. For the next week, aside from games, she spent most of her time with Max and Sloan, but all it took was a look from Dominik for her to tell them she’d had enough.

They hadn’t made love since the first time, but something told him he shouldn’t count himself out just yet. The wonderful words she’d spoken reflected in her eyes every time she looked at him.

I need you.

“R
oom service!”

Sloan tossed the blanket aside and stood, ready to throttle Vanek. “Can’t you knock!”

The curtains were thrown open. Oriana hid under the covers. Max threw an arm over his face and curled into her.

“It’s his room.” Dominik strolled up to the bed and plopped down, peeling the sheets away from Oriana’s face. “How you doing? You gave us quite a scare last night.”

Anger flew as Sloan watched Oriana blink and rub her eyes. When she’d passed out during their lovemaking, he and Max had panicked. Max had shouted her name until Dominik burst into the room with Vanek on his heel. Vanek had been as useless as the rest of them, but Dominik woke Oriana, asked her a few questions while she was conscious and told them she was all right. Just overwhelmed and exhausted, nothing serious.

Whatever Dominik said, Sloan couldn’t forget the disgust in his expression. Lately, he’d been acting like Sloan and Max were too stupid to take care of Oriana without him. ‘Course it didn’t help that she blacked out the one night Dominik had stayed out late, but, still, even he couldn’t have expected multiple forced orgasms would be too much.

You keep telling yourself that, Callahan.

“I brought you the works.” Vanek picked up the tray he’d left on the dresser and set it on Oriana’s lap when Dominik helped her sit up. “Mason said you’d need protein and plenty of fluids—”