GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (13 page)

T
he door whispered shut, and Oriana was gone. Sloan shook his head and cursed. They couldn’t have handled that worse.

Perron moved to follow her.

“Max.”

Every man in the room turned to Mason, who sat on the arm of the sofa, his steady gaze speaking volumes above his tone.

“She’s had a fucking hell of a day, and I screwed up.” Perron crossed the room and set one hand on the sofa by Mason’s hip, leaning close. “I’m not leaving her alone.”

“Go with Callahan, but for god’s sake, don’t let him take charge. Give her a taste of what she needs. A small taste.” Mason’s brow lifted when Sloan scowled. “If you can refrain from reminding her she’s a ‘poor little rich girl.’”

The perception of the man in training mode really freaked Sloan out. He caught himself rubbing the long scar on his face and stopped. No doubt Mason would read something into it. “I don’t think she’s a ‘poor little rich girl’ anymore.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Where should he start? “Do you really think she knows what she wants? I’m used to dealing with girls who have more . . . experience. I would’ve gone along with whatever she was ready for, but she took off.”

“And if you can’t figure out why, maybe I
should
go with Perron.” Mason rose from the sofa and rolled his arms behind his back in a fluid stretch. “I’m fairly confident I won’t push her too far.”

And I will?
Sloan’s scowl deepened. Just because he hadn’t been voted a club master like Mason didn’t mean he couldn’t handle a sub. Of course, Mason wouldn’t have suggested him going with Perron if he doubted that.

One thing confused him though. Why would Mason goad him into going at all? He obviously wanted the girl too.

“Perron is right. She shouldn’t be alone right now.” T.J. shifted toward the door, obviously ready to take the job of comforting the girl if the rest of them couldn’t get their act together. “I’ll bring her to my room and let her chill there.”

The very idea of T.J. taking Oriana anywhere alone twisted Sloan’s gut. Not that he would be anything but utterly respectful, but whatever Oriana’s needs were, she would inadvertently push to get them fulfilled. And Sloan would damn well be there when it happened.

“I’m going.” He frowned at T.J. who blocked the door. It was becoming a bad habit. “I’ll bring her here unless she’d rather be alone. Then she can crash in my room. I offered first.”

What a grown-up statement. Still, T.J. moved, so Sloan walked out and didn’t bother looking back. Dominik could handle the boys for a while. Sloan’s only concern was one emotional female.

“This is my fault,” Max said when they hit the street. “I gave her too many choices right off.”

“Ya think?” Sloan cracked his knuckles against a metal fence. “Five men . . . four, if you figure she’s already sure of you. She freaked just seeing you watching me with a woman. Never mind the knife. Did you really think she’d go along with you watching her with all of us?”

“I know she will.” Max stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Sloan could tell he was making some mental adjustments. “I won’t go into details, but we talked. She won’t come right out and say it, but, well, she’s attracted to you. And Dominik. She kissed Vanek.”

“Jesus, Perron.” Sloan shook his head as the man he considered his best friend stepped off the curb and paused to let a car pass. “I know how you feel about the girl. How does this not bother you? If she was mine, I wouldn’t want to share.”

“I can’t help what gets me off any more than you can. And she . . .” Perron stopped short and groaned, rubbing his thighs as though the muscles were cramped. “She’s been irrelevant to the one man that matters most to her. She stayed with Paul to make her father happy; did you know that? All of us, wanting her—she needs this. Which works out, you know? This isn’t just me being generous.”

Sloan nodded. “You two mesh well. But jealousy could make things messy.”

“I won’t get jealous. Never have. When I watch a woman I like with another man, it’s liberating. Seeing the woman getting fucked is hot, but it’s like she doesn’t have to be with just me. That she’s got the dick of a man she’s into ramming into her pussy, that she knows I’m still there, or, if I’m not, that she’s thinking about me . . .” Perron shook his head. “I can’t explain it better.”

“You don’t have to. I get it.” More than he wanted to admit. Sloan had a possessive streak, but he understood the appeal of sitting back and enjoying the show, knowing a woman had him on her mind, would be his when the fun was over. Then again, if the woman belonged to him, he’d set some limits. A lot of limits.

But Oriana didn’t belong to him. If she belonged to anyone, it was Perron.

“I want to give her tonight. I can’t say what will happen tomorrow,” Perron said.

Sloan nodded and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Then let’s handle tonight.”

“Right.” Perron squared his shoulders. “Our girl needs us. That’s all that matters.”

Our girl.
Sloan trailed after Perron.
I really wish you hadn’t said that.

They headed into the bar. Sloan spotted Oriana the second he breached the dark threshold. Impossible to miss that big, black-and-gold jersey skimming those curvy thighs. The silver glint of snakes wound around her boot heels caught his eyes for a second. His gaze moved up slowly, taking in the bare olive lengths, entranced with the idea of having them wrapped around his waist.

Then she reached out and picked up a bottle of beer. Her lips parted slightly at the rim of the bottle flooded his mind with an entirely different set of images.

A man took the bottle from her and set it on the bar. He leaned close, and red filled Sloan’s vision. The three men waiting back home—and Perron—were all the competition he was willing to put up with.

As he crossed the bar, their exchange stopped him short.

“I’m glad Silver called.” The man, Tim, pulled a DVD from his pocket and handed it to Oriana. “She said if it doesn’t have a pulse, you’re not big on details.”

“Thank you, Tim.” Oriana took the DVD and looked at the jersey she wore. “Uck. I can’t believe I came here like this. I looked just like those puck bunnies I’m always making fun of.”

The assistant coach laughed. “You make a cute bunny. But at least you wouldn’t have been down here for long. Figured one—or more—of the boys would come looking for you.”

Oriana’s gaze followed Tim’s, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of Sloan and Perron. She hadn’t expected them.

Good. Keeping her off balance would work in their favor.

Trapping her with his hard gaze, Sloan gestured to the bartender. “Molson Canadian.”

The bartender recognized him, so the bottle was slid across the bar without a tedious exchange of pleasantries. When Sloan drank, he usually didn’t chat. Max ordered vodka and cranberry juice. Sloan spared him a quizzical glance before focusing on Oriana.

“So Silver knows everything?” He brought the beer to his mouth. “Shoulda figured you didn’t come up with that crazy plan on your own.”

Brow furrowed, Oriana leaned her elbows on the bar and took her beer in both hands. “I called my sister because I thought
my
plan was crazy.” She picked up the disc she’d dropped on the bar. “I got the support I needed from her. The only problem—according to Silver—is making sure when I say we all screwed like rabbits, you guys won’t say otherwise.” She tilted her head to one side. “You won’t, will you?”

“We won’t.” Sloan took the disc from her and slipped it into the pouch of his sweater. “But be honest, Oriana, you want more.”

The indecision in her eyes threw him off. Had he read her wrong?

“What brought you down here, honey?” Tim put his hand over her wrist and lightly squeezed to get her attention. “I’d planned to drop the disc off at Max’s place, thought you’d all be there. Was a bit worried about interrupting, but . . .”

“You wouldn’t have interrupted anything.” Oriana looked down when Sloan arched a brow at her. “I couldn’t . . .”

“Really.” Tim’s steady gaze tore Sloan’s from Oriana. He gave Sloan the look he usually saved for players who showed up to practice hungover. The one that clearly said “You dumb fuck.” His tone remained soft when he addressed Oriana. “You know,
real
Doms are a rare breed. Yet the Cobras ended up with three—four, if you include me. Would you like to know how that happened?”

She nodded and shifted closer to Tim.“Yes, please.”

“I found them. Dominik first. Then Sloan.” He smiled. “I got lucky with Max.”

Sloan recalled the odd conversation his agent had reiterated, asking how into “
the lifestyle”
he wanted to be. Asking if Sloan wanted discretion. If he’d ever belonged to a private club. And would he like to?

The Cobras made him a decent offer—not what other teams were willing to pay, but who cared? He was fucking sick to death of hiding who he was. Not that he advertised it now, but he didn’t have to sneak around like he had in Colorado.

Tim finished explaining how he’d tempted a few kinky guys to join the team.

Oriana’s lips twisted. “I can’t see my father allowing you to pick players—”

“The GM picks the players,” Tim said.

She nodded. “Yes, but—”

“He’s my halfbrother.”

“Dean Richter is your brother?” She shook her head as though the concept of shared genetics escaped her. “But his parents have been happily married for fifty years!”

“And mine have been just as happily married for about that long. Let’s just say we were raised in a household where alternative lifestyles were the norm. The details aren’t important. The important thing is Dean figured out that one of the biggest problems the team had in Tampa—besides crappy attendance—was a lack of actual team play. We hoped getting a few guys who shared more than a love of the game might create some unity. It worked. You’ll notice—soon, I think—that Sloan, Max, and Dominik play very well together.” At the implication in Tim’s tone, Oriana blushed and ducked her head. He whispered something Sloan couldn’t hear, then tapped under her chin with a finger. “Now look at Sloan.”

Her eyes snapped up, and Sloan could almost feel the heat flushing her cheeks spill into him. He put his hands on the stool by her hips and spun it so she faced him.

Tim inclined his head at Sloan in approval. “Tell him what you want.”

* * * *

“You’re a lucky girl,” Tim had whispered. “Don’t be too afraid to appreciate what you’ve got.”

“Sloan.” Oriana chewed at her bottom lip and caught Max’s eyes on her. His gaze blazed into her. She placed her hands on her knees and focused on Sloan’s mouth.
I can do this.
“Sloan, I want you to . . .”

One arm hooked around her waist, Sloan curved his hand around the side of her neck. His thumb aligned with her jaw, he tipped her face up and kissed her, gently, as though he found her lips delicate and delicious. She needed him closer, deeper. She pressed against him, and he growled. His fingers dug into her flesh, hard enough to keep her from moving, but not enough to hurt. Words weren’t necessary. She understood.

He’d taken over. More would come on his terms—or not at all.

Lust, hot and sweet as mulled wine, poured down her throat, pooling in her belly before drizzling down further. Her lips softened under his, and her will folded. Resistance evaporated as though it couldn’t take the heat. But she wasn’t worried. Sloan would take care of her.

Air seized in her throat as though Sloan had both hands wrapped around her neck. Max had said Sloan moved too fast. How far would he take things?

Max won’t let him. Max will . . .
Her pulse raced. She opened her eyes to make sure Max hadn’t gone anywhere.

There. Just out of arm’s reach. She needed him closer, holding her hand, giving her an anchor to safety and sanity. Her hand slid across the counter toward him.

Max pushed off his chair and gently took her hand in his. His palm was sweaty, his skin hot. A peek downward showed her just the kiss had gotten him hard. But the simple gesture proved that her comfort was more important than his pleasure.

She relaxed and curved her neck as Sloan grazed his teeth down the length of her throat. He bit down lightly on a tense muscle. Chills washed over her, and she whimpered. Sloan tightened his grip on her hips and slid her to the edge of the stool. He pressed his hard length snug between her thighs, and she almost forgot where they were, almost begged him to continue.

Tim nuzzled the other side of her neck, then drew away as her spine stiffened. “What’s wrong?”

Frowning, blinking away the erotic haze, Oriana shook her head to clear it.
What’s wrong?
“I’m not . . .” She inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly. “You’re married, Tim.”

“Ah.” Tim chuckled and stepped back. “I’d tell you my wife doesn’t mind me helping with a scene—to some extent—but that would only confuse you.” He sighed and checked his watch. “Speaking of my wife, I better head home before she takes out the whip.” His eyes took on a hint of mischief. “Although . . .”

Oriana’s eyes went wide
. Tim lets his wife use a whip on him?

Well, why not? He obviously had some experience. She’d figured him for a Dom, but maybe he was a switch? Were any of her men switches? Would they want her to . . .

“Jesus, Tim,” Sloan said, rubbing her arms. “Scare the hell out of her, why don’t you?”

“About that.” The humor faded from Tim’s eyes. “You might want to watch that recording before you try to use it. When you left the bathroom, you looked pretty freaked out. And the men looked pissed. Don’t know if that’s the impression you want to give.”

“Not really.” Oriana tried to slip away from Sloan. He slid his hands up her thighs, stopping at the edge of the jersey. She bit her lip and looked at Max. When he shrugged, she picked up her beer and took a sip. “But I’m sure we can come up with something else.”

Grinning, Sloan bent down to lick a drop of beer from her bottom lip. “Does that mean you’re coming back?”

Rather than answer, she set the beer on the bar and gave him a little nudge. Before he could get out of her way, she eased off the stool and let her body glide down his. He groaned when she wiggled her hips.