GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (2 page)

“That’s right.” Sloan’s expression changed, warping to one of pure insanity. “Listen to me, bitch. I had every intention of slicing you up and stuffing all your pretty pieces in that big trash bin over there.” He pointed to a massive black bin across the alley from them. “But the way you moved in the bar got me all hard. I watched you all night and started thinking there might be better uses for this pretty body. Was I right?”

Roxy started to nod, then whimpered when the blade dented her flesh. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do whatever you want!”

Damn.
Max rubbed his dick through his jeans and gave Roxy a heavy-lidded look as he watched for any sign that she was more scared than turned-on. She lowered one hand to the hem of her skirt and curled her fingers under the leather as though tempted to touch herself.

“Max, check if the slut’s wet.” Sloan’s lips twitched as he glanced down. He’d noticed too. “I’m not in the mood for dry pussy tonight.”

Kneeling beside Roxy, Max slid his hand up between her thighs. Her flesh quivered as he stroked her with his fingers. When he touched the crotch of her panties, she gasped.

The silken material was soaked. He pushed the fabric into her with two fingertips and grinned up at Sloan.

“She’s drenched.” He shoved in deeper and felt her pussy spasm. His cock twitched, and a bead of pre-cum seeped out. “I’m thinkin’ she needs to be fucked.”

“She will be.” Sloan wrapped his hand around the nape of Roxy’s neck. “But, first, she’s gonna earn me sparing her life. Get on your knees, whore.”

Roxy carefully eased down to her knees, hissing in each breath, eyes crossing as she tried to watch the knife, which Sloan kept pressed against her throat. The tips of her red stilettos scraped the pavement as she shifted from knee to knee.

“Stop moving,” Sloan said.

“There’s gravel digging into my knees.” Roxy’s color dropped as Sloan slid the knife across her throat like he fully intended to slice her flesh. “Please, it hurts!”

“It’ll hurt more if I cut your neck, don’t you think?” Sloan smiled when she nodded. “Now take out my dick and suck it. If you’re good, me and my friend will fuck you and let you go.”

“O-okay.” Roxy brought her trembling fingers to the zipper of Sloan’s black jeans and deftly freed his cock. She closed her eyes when Sloan traced her cheek with the tip of the knife. As soon as Sloan moved the knife, she swallowed his dick whole.

In the shadows of the bar, with the far-off streetlights glinting off the knife and the beads of sweat on Roxy’s temples, with the black tears slipping down her cheeks, the whole scene reminded Max of a horror flick. Only, in the movies, the girl wouldn’t leave the dark alley alive—no matter what she did. He stood, then took a step back to enjoy the show. Pussy juice cooled on his fingers as the wind picked up, and he brought them to his mouth to suck them clean.

Sloan groaned as Roxy deep-throated him, and Max gulped back a moan. Roxy sucking Sloan’s dick with a knife held so close to her face was one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen. Not a scene he would have thought of on his own, but he couldn’t deny how it affected him. His balls tightened with each wet thrust of his friend’s cock between those soft, glossy lips, with the thrill of seeing things he shouldn’t be seeing. The very atmosphere around them thickened with fear and arousal. Their emotions and desires wound so tight with his, he couldn’t tell them apart. He felt like he’d swallowed a bottle of Viagra or something. Like jerking off for hours wouldn’t be enough. Like his dick would be hard forever.

“Enjoying the show, Perron?” Sloan asked between grunts.

Max ground his teeth and nodded. He stuffed his hand in his jeans and gave his dick a hard tug. “You know I am.”

“We sharing or are you just gonna watch?” Sloan raked his fingers into Roxy’s hair and jerked her to her feet. “Because I need to pound this bitch’s pussy.”

“Do it,” Max said.

“Please.” Roxy’s hands slapped the brick wall when Sloan shoved her away from him. “I want—”

Sloan flipped up her skirt and slapped her ass. “Shut up.”

“Hey!” Roxy scowled over her shoulder at Sloan. “Careful, someone might hear.”

Now she’s worried?
Max sighed. Much as being watched appealed to him, he had to admit, Roxy had a point. “If you’re gonna play that way, maybe we should go somewhere private. She hollered so loud last time, you freaked
me
out.”

“Don’t worry.” Sloan laughed and pulled a condom out of his pocket. Once covered, he positioned himself between Roxy’s spread thighs. “No one’s—”

Sloan froze and stared at the mouth of the alley. Max frowned and followed his friend’s gaze.

His blood ran cold when he saw who stood there, wide-eyed and pale with shock.

She turned and ran.

“Oriana!” Max bolted after her. “Oriana!”

* * * *

Oriana’s throat felt scored, like she’d swallowed sand and ground-up glass. She imagined blood rising with the bile in her throat; the pain was that deep. Her soft place to land wasn’t there. Wasn’t soft. Wasn’t . . . she didn’t know what it was. What
he
was. How could he?

A horn blared, then another. Bright white headlights flashed. She stumbled back from the edge of the curb. Arms wrapped around her waist and held her tight.

“Oriana!” Max hauled her farther away from the intersection. Golden strands of hair stuck to the beads of sweat on his temples. “Hell! Why didn’t you stop?”

“I can’t talk to you right now, Max.” She pushed at his chest and sighed when he refused to budge. “Let me go.”

“No. Not ‘til I’m certain you’ll be all right.” His sharp tone softened to a soft drawl as he slid his hand down her arm to twine his fingers with hers. “Come on, darlin’, let’s go for coffee. I know a good place.”

The “good place” was the one they went to every time he had a home game—and the last place she wanted to be. The front of the café was filled with people winding down from hours of clubbing, but there were a few empty tables near the back where she and Max always sat in relative privacy and talked. Here, she felt smart, pretty, special. Here, the jolt came from more than caffeine. It came from just being around this man.

This man she apparently didn’t know as well as she thought.

Max took her jacket to lay over the back of a chair before pulling it out for her. She perched on the seat, placed her purse on her lap, then clasped her hands together on the table. Max sat across from her and reached over to cover her hands with his.

He didn’t speak at first, just looked at her, as though he sensed that, at the wrong word, the wrong move, she’d bolt. And she looked back and realized the last thing she wanted to do was leave. Being in Max’s presence was like a vacation on a tropical beach. His blond hair always seemed windswept. His skin reminded her of smooth sand, glowing as though just kissed by the sun. She licked her lips, tempted to press them to the back of his hand to absorb some of his warmth. To inhale the fresh scent that clung to him, the scent of the ice, which on him smelled exactly like the surf catching the breeze.

“You came to the bar to see me.” His tone was level, calm, but his hands shook with nervous energy. “Did something happen?”

Tell him!

But she couldn’t. Not after what she’d seen.

Besides, vacations were temporary escapes. Not places to stay forever.

“No, nothing happened.” She smiled at Max, then glanced at the door. What could she say to convince him she could walk out of there without blindly stepping into traffic again? “I just wanted to congratulate you—maybe have a couple of beers. I didn’t realize you’d be . . . busy.”

Brow furrowed, Max looked down at their hands and nodded slowly. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Me, too.” She flushed and ducked her head when he glanced up. “I was . . . shocked. To tell you the truth, I almost called the cops. I thought you and Callahan were . . . until she said she didn’t want anyone to hear. Then I realized she wanted you both to do . . . well . . . whatever you were doing.”

A familiar waitress stepped up to their table and flashed a brilliant smile, her gaze, as usual, lingering just a little longer on Max. “Max, Oriana, I’m surprised to see the two of you here so late. Do you want the usual or something decaf?”

“The usual,” Max said.

Oriana nodded distractedly.

After the waitress left, Max leaned forward and squeezed Oriana’s hands.

“Look, I reckon the whole thing seems pretty messed up, but—”

She pulled her hands free and shook her head. “You don’t have to explain, Max. It’s none of my business.”

“Right, then.” He rubbed his face with a hand and sat back. “I just don’t want this to change things between us. It’s not like I do stuff like that all the time.”

You don’t?
Then why
 . . . ? She inhaled and decided she wanted him to explain. They were friends, and they’d always been able to talk. For some reason, he hadn’t been comfortable telling her about this side of him. Maybe fate had decided to step in and show her who he really was before she made any rash decisions.

Like you did by jumping into a relationship with Paul?

No, that was different. Paul was . . .

Unreasonable, selfish, and sometimes even cruel. But still . . .

God, what had she been thinking hunting down Max in the middle of the night?

Not much beyond getting out of that house.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she’d said, stuffing all the clothes she could grab into a suitcase before slamming it shut. “It’s over.”

Paul had laughed. “Enough with the drama. We both know you’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Upper lip stiff, head down, she’d hauled her suitcase to the door and grabbed her car keys. “Yes, I do.”

“Right. Well, I’ll leave the porch light on for you.” Paul had followed her to the door, stood there, and watched her go. “And ‘cause I’m such a nice guy, I won’t say I told you so when you come back.”

I’m not going back.
She’d thought it then, and she thought it now. But the certainty was gone.

The waitress brought their drinks and retreated quietly, obviously having caught some of the tension between the two. Oriana sipped her mochaccino, savoring the espresso roast and rich dark chocolate topped with just a hint of cinnamon. Max made a throaty sound of pleasure and licked some frothed milk from his upper lip. Her pulse quickened. Damn the man for being so sexy. This would be much easier if he were ugly. Or gay.

Then again, probably not. Even if he were ugly, she’d still love the way he made her feel. And if he were gay, she’d wish he weren’t.

Stop stalling. There’s no easy way out. Get the facts and go from there.

She set her cup on the table and traced the glass handle with her pinky. “So you were waiting for Sloan to finish so you could—”

“Not this time. I was fine just watching.” Max’s cup clinked as he set it down. “I’m a voyeur. I get more out of watching than participating.”

Her quickened pulse seemed to suddenly stop. She lifted her head and stared. The words left her mouth before her brain had time to filter them. “A voyeur? No, I don’t believe it. I can’t see you sneaking around, getting off watching people having sex. You can have any woman you want.” With those big shoulders, so muscular, yet relaxed like they could carry the weight of the world effortlessly. “Voyeurs are insecure freaks who use two-way mirrors and peepholes to invade people’s privacy.” And that smile, the one he was giving her now, the one that made her tingle down to her toes. “They—” She slapped her hand over her mouth to shut herself up.

Great friend she was. He’d confided in her, and in return, she’d insulted him.

But rather than take offense, he chuckled, then took another sip of coffee. “Don’t hold back, Oriana; tell me how you
really
feel.”

Her cheeks heated up. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t be. I’m used to it.”

Like
that
made her feel any better. “Please. I want to understand.”

He nodded and put his hands, palms up, on the table. When she gave him hers, he continued. “I was still in my teens the first time I ever did something that would classify as voyeurism. I walked in on a friend of mine having sex at a party. He shouted at me, told me to get out, but I just stood there—I couldn’t move. Then I . . . well, let’s say I did something embarrassing. The guy stopped being my friend after that. I talked to my dad about it—we’ve always been close, so I figured he should know I had a problem. His solution was to buy me a bunch of porn.”

“Did that help?”

“For a bit, but I couldn’t help fantasizing about being there in person. I never did anything about it ‘cause my dad gave me a lecture about intruding on people’s privacy, and his word is law. I buried my ‘sick urges’—my words, not his—until I got old enough to go to strip clubs. Some of the girl-on-girl action helped a little.”

“I’ll bet.” Oriana smiled, thinking—despite his strange urges—Max was a typical guy.

Max cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I got exactly what I needed when Sloan and Dominik invited me to a club they go to. They were sharin’ a girl and . . .”

The cafe seemed to heat up. Oriana inhaled sharply, leaning forward. “And?”

“Sloan looked right at me and asked me to join in. I was already so turned on, I didn’t even think twice. First time I realized being watched pushed all my buttons too. I could feel the eyes of all the people in the club on me—like they were all sharing the experience. Like it was one great big orgy.” He shook his head and combed his fingers through his hair. “After that, me and Sloan went to the club together all the time. And . . . well, hell, I told him all my deep, dark secrets, and he acted like it was no big deal. Said so long as the people I watched consented, it was all good. And he consents a lot.”

“I saw that.” The coffee and the room and her blood cooled as she pictured them. Sloan surrounded by writhing bodies and Max drinking it in, savoring every moment of ecstasy before he joined them. Not something she could participate in.
Ever
. It was just too . . . out there. Paul’s attitude, his offhand cruelty, even his lackluster lovemaking, suddenly didn’t seem that bad. At least it was normal. She frowned at her coffee cup. “But you do know not everyone is into—”