GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (37 page)

“Pleasepleaseplease,” she chanted, obviously so close another drop of wax would set her off.

But she wasn’t where she needed to be. Not yet.

With one arm curved behind her back, Sloan tilted her and caught a very erect little nipple between his teeth. He tugged, and she jumped. Her responses thrilled him. His dick had been hard from the second he’d tied her arms behind her, but now he felt like he did just before a penalty shot. The clarity of his vision was razor sharp. Everything seemed magnified. He could see the tiny transparent hairs on the flesh of her breast sticking right up, feel the texture of her nipples on his tongue, smell the heady musk of her arousal. Her body seemed to speak to his, like her desires had been spelled out in the black splatters of wax.

He picked up the canvas bag he’d found in the kitchen pantry where Oriana stored her candles and other fun things. One last hard suck and he released her nipple.

“Brace yourself, bunny.” He watched her tense, grinned, and fished a wooden clothespin out of the bag. He tapped her nipple twice with the end of the clothespin, then pinched the prongs, and clamped the hard little nub.

She yelped and jiggled around like she thought she could shake off the offending thing. “Sloan, what—”

“I prefer ‘Sir’ or ‘Captain,’ pet.” He gave her other nipple a sharp tug, then snapped a clothespin on it.

Oriana’s lips parted and she gasped. “Sir!”

Well aware that she’d enjoy the new sensations in a moment or two, Sloan turned his attention to adding more clothespins to the underside of both breasts. While he worked, Mason left the room, then returned with a fresh tray of ice, a hair brush, and some olive oil.

“What’s the brush for?” Sloan asked, sure Mason didn’t plan to style Oriana’s hair.

“You’ll see.” Mason winked, then returned to his earlier position between Oriana’s thighs. “You went through the ice very fast, sweetheart. I got you some more.”

Rather than immediately stuffing more ice inside her, Mason began gliding a cube around her pussy, down one thigh, up the other, lapping up the trails of water as he went along. “No more ice for your pussy until you ask me nicely, pet.”

Sloan grinned as he took a needle and some strong thread from his stash. He deftly threaded the needle, then glanced at Mason. “Do you think I’ll finish with our sub’s decorations before she starts begging for a cunt full of ice?”

Mason paused, holding what remained of the ice cube at the top of Oriana’s mound to let the water drizzle down between her folds. “We haven’t discussed hard limits with her. Are you sure she’ll be okay with her flesh being pierced?”

Oriana’s whole body went stiff. She shook her head. “Please, Sir! No piercing, no cutting! The pinching is almost more than I can take!”

Stroking her side to soothe her, Sloan murmured in his most gentle tone. “I won’t do any of that, little one. The pinching is just clothespins. I’m stringing them together to take them off.”

The rigid muscles along her sides went soft, and she sighed her relief. “Oh. That’s all right.”

Brow arched, Mason watched him string the thread under and around the spring of each clothespin. “Aren’t you supposed to drill holes for a zipper?”

“Usually, but one of the Dommes at the club taught me a different method that works in a cinch.”

“Ah.” Mason grinned and made a flicking motion with the finger and thumb of one hand.

Sloan dropped the lighter and a candle by Mason’s knee.

Mason took a fresh piece of ice and drew it along the crease between Oriana’s hip and thigh. “How are you feeling, Oriana? Any cramping in your arms or back? Any . . .
unpleasant
pain.”

“No. I feel . . .” She purred like a content kitten. “Lovely. And I would like some more ice, please.”

“Would you?” Mason waited until Sloan had the last clothespin strung up, then handed him an ice cube. After lighting the candle wick, he nodded at Sloan. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Just as Sloan touched the exposed part of one clamped nipple with the ice, Mason let a drop of wax fall right on Oriana’s clit. Her lips formed an O. A breathy cry escaped her, and then her face eased into an expression of pure wonder. Sloan pulled off the blindfold. The glaze in her golden eyes told him they’d gotten her in the right place.

A loud
Smack!
brought his gaze down to Mason. A bright red mark on Oriana’s inner thigh showed where he’d hit her with the brush. Oriana didn’t even jump. Instead, her lips curved in a smile of pure bliss. Another
Smack!
and her breathing sped up. Sloan eyed Mason as he gave her three more smacks on each thigh. Mason palmed an ice cube, positioned his hand over Oriana’s mound, and inclined his head.

Sloan wound the thread attached to the clothespins around his fingers and tugged hard as Mason stuffed the ice into Oriana and then filled her with his fingers. Her lips parted in a soundless scream, and her whole body quivered as she came. Her body rocked like it did when he was deep inside her, as if she could feel him taking her hard. A light sheen of sweat coated her skin, and her head tossed from side to side as she helplessly rode the pleasure for what seemed like forever.

Exquisite.
Sloan’s dick twitched as he admired his work, as his heart and mind and fucking soul fist-thumped like they’d just scored the winning goal for the Stanley Cup. He grinned at Mason who grinned right back. Sharing this with one of his men—
No,
one of
her
men—he had to admit, felt pretty damn awesome. If only Perron could have been there too. His throat suddenly felt a little funny. Not like he’d get all emotional, but, hell, he enjoyed having his boy around. He couldn’t recall the last time more than a day had gone by without them hanging out. And now he felt his friend’s absence as much as he would on the ice.

Next time, Callahan. Definitely next time.

For now, he’d better man up. He and Mason had a spaced-out little sub to bring back down. Then he had a past carelessness to make up for.

Two tasks he would enjoy very much.

* * * *

Stretched out on some soft, cushy surface—clouds or a big marshmallow, Oriana couldn’t decide—she felt her body slowly return. Every inch of skin, every nerve, every last hair on her head, seemed like it must be all glittery. She wouldn’t say she’d been floating, but she’d certainly been somewhere else. Somewhere thoughts couldn’t follow. Somewhere pain couldn’t go. All she’d known was raw, carnal pleasure, as though her nipples and clit controlled every other part of her.

Reality came little by little. First, when her hands were unbound. The feeling of being suddenly free frightened her in a way she couldn’t understand. But then the wonderful ropes returned, around her wrists and ankles, securing her. She didn’t try to fight them. She didn’t want them to let go.

Heat exploded from her nipples, and she arched off the bed. Firm hands held her down. Something hard and slick pressed between her thighs, stretching, filling. She cried out as it slammed in hard.

“Look at me, pet,” a deep voice said. “Time to come back.”

Her vision cleared a little. Golden specks surrounded a dark face. More golden specks filled beautiful brown eyes. She smiled. “Dominik.”

“There we go. I want you with me while I make love to you, Oriana.” He smoothed her sweat-slicked hair away from her cheeks and temples, then leaned down to kiss her lips. “Are you with me?”

“Mmm.” She peered into his eyes and found herself slipping into the caves with the gold veins.
So pretty.
“I’m with you, Master.”

Dominik chuckled, and the sound echoed off the walls of the caves. “Not quite. Sloan, undo her ankles.”

The pleasant sensation of her legs being held went away. She whimpered. “No. I want—”

“Wrap your legs around my waist, Oriana,” Dominik whispered before laying soft kisses on her cheeks. “You need to take back a little control of your body. Just a little. I’ve got you.”

She did as she was told, and her limbs began to feel more real. The presence of Dominik’s hard, pulsing dick came all at once as her core rippled into awareness around him. She moaned as he drew out slowly, then slid in, gradually increasing his pace. Her body felt drained, like she’d already come a thousand times. But deep within came the urge for yet another climax. If he reached just the right spot . . .

Her hips rose to meet him, and his pelvis ground down against her swollen clit. An orgasm hit her like wildfire barely extinguished, finding new fuel. She thrust up wildly, almost losing control once again.

With one last violent plunge, Dominik went still, and his dick twitched inside her. He didn’t move again until his dick had softened. Then he slid out and took a seat on the bed at her side. When he rolled off the condom covering him and stood, she opened her mouth to protest. She didn’t want to be left alone.

“I’m still here, sweetheart.” Sloan settled on the bed at her other side and undid the rope holding one of her wrists to the headboard. “Just give me a minute to get you loose. I have a treat for you.”

All her limbs being free seemed wrong, but she didn’t have the energy to protest anymore. She just wanted to curl up in a little ball and go to sleep. Her body felt pleasantly used, but the lingering pleasure was shallow. Realizing how completely she’d lost control made her wonder what she’d said, or done, or let them do . . .

“Sit up for just a second, baby.” Sloan helped her up as he spoke and cradled her against his chest. “Mason’s brought you some water. Have a few sips.”

She blinked as Dominik held out an uncapped bottle of water, then frowned when he brushed aside her fumbling hands and tipped the bottle against her lips. Turning her head, she reached for the bottle. She wasn’t used to being taken care of like this. He frowned back at her until she dropped her hands to her lap.

The cool water was delicious. She gulped greedily and grabbed Dominik’s wrists before he could take it away.

“Enough for now. Lie face down on the bed.” Dominik’s do-not-defy-me tone stole the urge to argue.

But as soon as she lay down, she wished she had the strength to say something. Every inch of her was sore, and Sloan hadn’t had his turn yet. She didn’t think she could take any more.

Sloan shifted on the bed and climbed over her. His weight rested on the back of her thighs. The scent of coconuts filled the air.

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Head down, sub,” he said.

She pressed her forehead into her pillows. Her body tensed as he rubbed his hands up her back, then her bones liquefied as he pressed his very slick fingers into the muscles between her shoulder blades. The scent was suddenly familiar. A Christmas gift to herself, fractionated coconut oil, to go along with the couples’ massage lessons she’d enrolled herself and Paul in—lessons he’d never found time for.

She’d also bought a bottle of almond oil for Paul. Had Sloan been able to tell which was hers, or was it just a good guess?

“My oil, but . . .” She blinked and tried to clear her head. “How did you know? There are others that I used for—”

“This is my body, bunny,” he replied, pressing his knuckles into the rigid muscles of the small of her back. “I used the one I liked best.”

Moaning as he continued to knead her body like dough, she decided she liked his answer. And liked him pampering her even more. She didn’t feel weird or awkward or used anymore. She felt special.

Which probably explained the words that escaped her lips before she gave in to exhaustion. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Sloan. Almost as deeply as I’ve fallen for Max and Dominik.”

Sloan stretched out beside her, then snuggled up against her in a way that made her sure she was dreaming. Snuggling just wasn’t the captain’s style.

“Tell me when you know for sure, Oriana. Be nice to know my feelings are shared.”

Yep. Definitely a dream. Because that’s exactly what you’d say in mine.

T
hick foam slathered all over his cheeks and neck, Sloan sat on the edge of the bath and waited for Oriana to finish on the phone. They’d gotten back to Max’s place early that morning. He’d just finished his pregame nap and started prepping to head to the forum when Oriana cornered him in the bathroom. Taking out a razor and a can of shaving gel, she’d informed him that he looked like shit, and, unless the Cobras made the playoffs, he had no reason not to shave.

And then the pushy little sub had
ordered
him to take a seat.
Told
him she intended to get rid of the stubble herself. His threats only made her smile in a way that said “You’re going to hurt me? Promise?”

Mason definitely had better ideas for getting her in line than Sloan. Little Oriana enjoyed pain too much for it to be effective. A spanking for this brat would be like giving a naughty kid candy.

Not that he minded. Her masochistic side matched them perfectly. Besides, after seeing the sports headlines, he was pretty inclined to give Oriana her own way. Not only was Perron still in jail, but he’d been suspended for at least the remainder of the season, if not longer, pending an investigation. The commissioner refused to comment further on the situation.

This domestic stuff was likely something Oriana and Perron would have done if things were different. If using Sloan as a substitute made her feel better, then he’d put up with it.

Oriana paced the room, holding the phone against her ear with her shoulder, letting out a heavy sigh when she hung up. She hadn’t spoken at all, so he guessed there’d been no answer.

She plastered a smile on her lips as she plucked the razor off the edge of the sink. “My father’s not taking my calls. His secretary isn’t answering either. Maybe everyone’s busy . . . this game’s pretty important . . .”

In other words, her father was pissed. He’d cut her off exactly as he’d promised. Until she crumpled under the pressure of managing on her own, her father would pretend she didn’t exist.

Well, fuck him.
Oriana wouldn’t crumple; he and the men would get her through this with her pride intact.