Offside (31 page)

She hadn’t been sure how much submission he’d expect for their first time—would she been kneeling at his feet to eat? He didn’t leave her wondering long. Drawing her close to the table with a loose grip on her wrist, he pulled out a chair, waited until she sat, then settled into the chair across the table. He motioned for her to get started, putting a few pieces of meat and vegetables in to cook without another word. She did the same, then occupied herself by unwrapping her cutlery from the crisp white napkin, setting the napkin on her lap, straightening her fork, knife, and spoon, smoothing the wrinkles from her napkin—

“Don’t fidget, Akira.” His lips twitched when she froze. “You’re worrying about what I expect from you, aren’t you? I haven’t given you any instructions, haven’t done any of the things Masters do in the books you read, and you’re not sure what to make of it. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re not.” She blinked at his expectant look, then ducked her head. Too obvious. “I’m sorry, Sir. You’re not wrong, Sir. I’m not sure if there’s something I should be doing.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.” He winked at her, folding his forearms on the table. “All I want from you now is complete honesty. We’ll have a little chat while we eat, okay?”

A chat?
She inhaled, holding it in as she prepared for what would no doubt be some hard questions. He’d probably need to know all about what had happened to her. And verbally ripping open all those old scars wouldn’t leave her much in the mood for any kind of scene. But maybe he didn’t intend to have a scene with her tonight.

Which would really suck.
Maybe she’d gotten all worked up for nothing. She bit back a sigh. “I’m ready.”

“I can see that.” He chuckled. “When did you have your last orgasm, pet?”

Her eyes widened. “My last—but I haven’t . . .” She wet her lips, sure her cheeks must be glowing neon red. She dropped her gaze to the table, then snapped it back up when he cleared his throat.

“Eyes on me when you answer my questions. You were saying?”

“Never.” She had to fight the temptation to look away as she considered how close she’d come while reading. Having an orgasm seemed so easy in all those books, and she’d been aroused, but for some reason she could only reach the brink before her blood ran cold and imagining one of those fantasy Doms touching her brought back horrible flashes of her rape. Her jaw hardened. She wouldn’t let that happen with Dominik. “I’ve never had an orgasm.”

“Your mind was going a mile a minute while you thought about your answer, wasn’t it?” He reached across the table and took her hand, turning it to stroke over the pulse on her wrist with his thumb. “Do you know what stopped you?”

“Yes.” Her eyes teared, and she pushed her chair away from the table.
Fuck, this isn’t going to work.
But she needed to tell him—even if he’d be disgusted with her after. “I almost . . . when those men . . . there was a moment when it stopped hurting. I think the man knew I was going to—he pulled out and slapped me. Called me a whore.” She choked back a sob. “I believed him and it didn’t happen again when the other man got on top of me. He tried though. He touched me and went slow, laughing at me, telling me he knew how much I wanted it.” Wrapping her arms around her ribs, she tipped her head back, blinking fast. “I believed him. I must have done something to make them think—”

“Oh, baby.” Dominik came to her, kneeling in front of her and pulling her into his arms. “You know that’s not true. How your body reacted had nothing to do with you wanting what they did to you. I would cut those guys’ balls off if I ever met them.”

She let out a watery giggle as her tears soaked the shoulder of his suit jacket. “I can so see you doing that.”

He held her a bit longer, then eased her back and kissed her cheek, close to the edges of her lips. “I didn’t want to bring out bad memories tonight, but it was inevitable. This is something that we can deal with together. You’ve had therapy, yes?”

She sniffled, whispering “thank you” when he passed her a napkin to wipe her nose. “I did, but sometimes I wonder if it really helped. There were some things I couldn’t tell the therapist about.”

“Like?”

“Like the books I read.” She rubbed her eyes with her fists. “It helps talking to Jami though. And you.”

“Good. That’s a very good start.” He helped her move her chair back to the table. “But there are things I can help you with that Jami can’t. Starting with all that guilt.” He went to his chair and pulled his meat and veggies out of the fondue pot—probably overdone by now. He watched her as she placed her cooked food on her plate. “Tell me one thing now, Akira. Do you want to do a scene with me tonight, or would you rather spend some time getting to know one another better?”

A grin stole to her lips before she could stop it. If he was giving her a choice, the answer was obvious. “I’m not sure, Sir. I’d be okay being your shoulder if you want to talk about Oriana, but otherwise—”

“None of that.” His eyes took on a far-off look for a split second, his smile fading. But it returned before she had a chance to be concerned. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight mostly because there are things I can do to you that won’t leave much room to dwell on the past. For either of us.”

“I like that idea.”

“All right then.” He put a few more fondue forks in the pot, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Eat up. You’ll need your energy.”

* * * *

A soft, warm breeze rose up from the ocean as Zach strolled across the deck. Fairy lights hung from the riggings, lighting up the night for the small crowd. His lips curved slightly as he watched Scott and Carter playing a shuffleboard-inspired drinking game, both laughing in a way that made it obvious they’d been going at it for a while. Across the wide open space at the front of the ship, loud music boomed and the Ice Girls danced provocatively for the cameras. Several players watched them from lounge chairs, chatting over beers and shaking their heads when the girls called for them to join the fun. Most of his teammates had been in the gym with him on and off throughout the day, doing what they could to keep in shape, knowing there wasn’t much time left before training camp. None of them wanted to go home and be accused of slacking off by the men who hadn’t come on the cruise. Zach had stayed a little longer than the others, because keeping in shape wasn’t his only reason for pushing his body to the limit.

He needed the burn of his muscles, the focus of doing each circuit perfectly, to distract him from how badly he wanted to drag Scott back to their room. His control had to be as finely tuned as his form to handle the other man. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Scott he didn’t want him as a sub, but he had to test Scott’s restraint before he let him anywhere near Becky.

Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned against the wall, pleased to see Scott wasn’t eyeing the Ice Girls, or Carter, in his usual assessing way. So far, it seemed like he was following Zach’s instructions. Having fun. Within reason.

“One sec, man. Gotta take this!” Carter shouted, pulling his phone from the pocket of his cargo shorts. He moved over to the railing, speaking loud to be heard over the music. “Hey, Seb! Fuck, I wish you were here. I swear I’ve gone blind from the cameras flashing. What? Yes, Sir! Being a goddamn saint!” Carter’s laughter cut short. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “Sorry, Sir. Not being sarcastic. I’m chilling with Demyan—we’re playing shuffleboard. He fucking sucks!” A blotchy red blush spread across his cheeks. “No way! Don’t care how drunk I am, I wouldn’t . . . umm, maybe a little tipsy? But still.” He nodded and spoke quietly. His features softened and his voice rose again. “Hey, boo! You taking care of my dog? He did what? Aww!” He grinned. “That’s my boy. Give Bear a cookie for me and tell him Daddy misses him. ‘Course I miss you too.” He cocked his head, looked around, then frowned. “I don’t see her. Yeah, I’ll have her call you.”

After Carter hung up, Scott went to him and handed him a beer. He nodded, sympathy in his eyes as Carter rested his arms on the railing, probably telling Scott how much he missed Jami and Ramos. For some reason, seeing Scott with Carter, being a good friend, made Zach smile. Scott was a decent person when he wasn’t cheapening everything he did with sex.

But it seemed like a bad habit. Something Scott went back to when he wasn’t sure how to deal with a situation. Almost like it took an effort to avoid turning every relationship into a pure, carnal release.

Why though? The Dom in Zach couldn’t help but feel this was something he could fix. Even if he and Scott never went past friendship, he wanted to know what had happened to Scott to make him consider sex an answer to everything. Zach knew Carter had once had issues with relationships. As a young player, he’d been with too many women who wanted him for either money or just to put a notch on their lipstick case. To say they’d “done” a pro athlete. The scars on his face made him even more insecure about why anyone would want him. But Ramos had gotten him past that—so had Jami.

Scott had no scars. No obvious ones anyway. And yet . . . the ones beneath the skin could be the most damaging.

The DJ playing music for the dancing Ice Girls lowered the volume as Sahara called out for their attention. Smiling, she wiped sweat from her brow and drained her beer. “All right, ladies! We’ve got an early start tomorrow going through our routines. Time to turn in!”

A redhead stepped forward, making a sharp motion with her arm before any of the girls could move. “Who put you in charge? Akira and I are the team leaders. Everyone knows you’re just here because your team didn’t want you anymore.”

“Amy, if you have a problem with me, we’ll discuss it privately.” Sahara’s chin jutted up. “Akira isn’t here. I’m telling you, from experience, that you don’t want your girls showing up tired and hungover to perform in the morning.”

“Screw your ‘experience.’” Amy stepped up to her, sneering. “You didn’t cover up those bruises very well. You want people to feel sorry for you, don’t you?” A cruel smile made her freckled face ugly. “They wouldn’t if they knew the truth.”

Sahara went still. The color left her cheeks. “The truth? What are you talking about?”

“Your boyfriend found out you were fucking Keane. That’s why he hit you. And as far as I’m concerned, you deserved it.”

A gasp came from all the girls. Most skirted away from Amy—as though they were afraid to be tainted by her harsh words. Amy seemed to realize, too late, that she’d gone too far. The cameras were rolling, and she’d exposed herself as the bitch she was. Zach straightened as Sahara’s shaky hand rose to her throat. She shook her head. Her eyes hardened.

Her fist caught Amy in the chin, knocking her right off her feet. Amy screeched and bounced back up, going for Sahara’s face with her nails. Scott and Carter lunged forward to separate the girls. Zach found himself holding Amy after Carter bodily handed her over. The woman was squirming and hissing, and her claw-like nails raked down Zach’s cheek. He gritted his teeth against the sting as Pischlar stepped up to help him hold her. Coach’s wife, Madeline—who’d come to supervise the Ice Girls—came over and took a firm hold on Amy’s shoulder.

“That’s enough.” She snapped, nodding to Scott as he led Sahara away. She gave Amy a hard look. “The team won’t tolerate this kind of behavior. Go to your room. I’m going to suggest you be left off at the next port and sent home.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? She hit me first!” Amy shoved away from Zach and Pischlar. “If she’s getting away with this—”

“She won’t be.” Madeline snapped. “I won’t say it again. Go. To. Your. Room!”

After the redheaded bitch stormed off, Zach faced Madeline, careful to keep his tone level. “You heard what she said. Sahara shouldn’t be punished for—”

“The rules for the cruise are clear, Mr. Pearce. The same goes for the men.” Madeline sighed. “But, like with the men, getting kicked off the cruise doesn’t change your contracts. Amy will still have a chance to compete for a spot with the Ice Girls. Fortunately, this also means Sahara will still be with the team. And her place is guaranteed. I believe Amy has just lost whatever support she had.”

“Well, that’s something I guess.” Zach inclined his head as Madeline excused herself and went to deal with the other girls. He went inside, finding the hall where all the Ice Girls roomed. He wasn’t sure how Scott would handle Sahara—or if he’d really blame him if the girl needed comforting that would last the night. For some reason, he was more concerned with what it would do to Scott to offer that kind of comfort. There were times when it seemed like Scott felt he could give nothing else.

Moments later, Scott came out, looking tired, black mascara streaks on his bare chest. He rubbed his face, stopping short when he spotted Zach.

“I didn’t—”

“I know.” Zach put his arm over Scott’s shoulders, giving him a firm hug. He eased back, studying Scott’s face, the taut lines around his white lips. The shadows in his eyes. It was almost as though the verbal attack on Sahara had triggered something for him, something more than him just being angry on behalf of a friend. But a direct approach wouldn’t work with Scott. So Zach focused on the young woman. “How is she?”

“As good as can be expected, I guess. She’s tougher than she looks, but what happened is still so fresh . . . I think part of her believes that skank is right.”

“Sahara cheated on her boyfriend with Keane?” Not that it mattered. There was no excuse for hitting a woman. Not even infidelity. Then again, he really couldn’t see Keane fooling around with the girl. Especially while offering her a position with the team. The man was too professional to blur those particular lines.

“No way. I think Keane suspected her boyfriend was roughing her up—it might have prompted him to make her a better offer . . . she really doesn’t seem like his type.” Scott shrugged. “Either way, just wait until I catch Higgins on the ice. He’s gonna need fucking dentures.”

Zach smiled and shook his head. This bloodthirsty side of Scott was damn sexy. His pulse quickened as he pictured Scott, dropping his gloves, fire in his eyes as he spotted Higgins, all that energy going to making the loser pay for raising his hand to a woman Scott cared about.