GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (38 page)

But telling her so wouldn’t help matters. Better revisit the matter of her fussing over a little bit of stubble. “This game
is
important. I should be with my men, not here getting primped. Who cares what I look like?”

“I do.” And with that, she began scraping the razor up his jaw, cleaning away the hair with long, clean strokes. “And it’s not just about how you look. Did you see the marks you left on my neck? I look like I’ve got rug burn.”

“I’ll give you rug burn.” He growled, then smiled when she shivered. With one arm barred across the back of her thighs, he repositioned her between his knees. “You haven’t seen my room yet. There’s a nice thick rug on the floor in front of the fireplace. I’ve got a mind to drill some holes in the bricks for some chains.”

She bit her bottom lip, her eyes sparkling with nervous anticipation. Then she cleared her throat. “You’re making this difficult. I don’t want to cut you.”

“I trust you, sweetie.”
Obviously, since you’ve got blades pressed against my throat.
An interesting thought occurred to him. “Speaking of which, how would you like me to use a knife next time we play?”

The answer in her hooded gaze was a definite “yes.” But she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”

Yet
being the key word. They would both enjoy the added thrill. But she needed to feel safe. Maybe . . . “What if Perron—Max—what if he was there? Would you be ready then?”

“Yes.” The razor went still. “No offense.”

Tears painted a wet, black line beneath her lashes. His palm itched for a whip so he could self-flagellate.
I’m a fucking moron.
Mason forcing him to take over aftercare the day before might have bonded him and Oriana, but he was still emotionally inept. Never bothered him before, he didn’t get that involved with his lovers. But he
was
that involved with Oriana. He cared about her happiness. He didn’t want to hurt her . . . unintentionally, anyway.

He cupped her cheek. “He’ll be out soon. His got a great lawyer who will get him a bail hearing. Focus on the positive.”

“Yeah.” She put on a brave front as she finished the job of scraping his face, but he saw right through it.

He couldn’t fix this for her, much as he wanted to. She needed Perron, which should make him feel a little insecure, but it didn’t. He had his place with her, and he was sure, if he wasn’t around, she’d miss him, too.

Once she’d wiped his face clean, she turned to leave. He caught her wrist and trapped her between his thighs.

“Sloan, I’m not in the mood for—”

“Quiet. Neither am I.” He drew her to her knees in front of him and held her tight. “Just let me hold you for a minute, sweetie. Pretend it helps.”

She rested her cheek on his forearm. “It does help, Captain.”

Damn.
He buried his face in her hair.
That’s really nice to know
.

* * * *

The obnoxious ringing in Oriana’s ear gave her a headache, but she kept trying to get through while waiting in Sloan’s car for the men. Maybe her father would get fed up and finally answer. And once he heard what she had to say, he’d forget about being mad at her. No way did he know what Paul was doing—he wouldn’t put up with it. He might suspect the money coming from Paul’s partners was dirty, but the game itself was precious. Once he found out Paul was responsible for many of the team’s losses, dreams of possessing “The Cup” would become his new obsession.

Her father’s voice mail came on. She let her head fall against the back seat. Her eyes stung. “Daddy, please stop ignoring me! This is important!”

The car door opened. Sloan got behind the wheel.

Standing by the passenger side, Dominik leaned through the open window. “Why don’t you sit in front, love?”

After pressing redial, she shook her head. “No, I’m good back here.”

Of course, Dominik refused to leave it at that. He opened the back door. “I suppose making it a suggestion was a bad idea. You’ll be alone during the game; we’re not leaving you alone now.”

Voice mail again.
She pressed end. Then redial. “Does ‘submissive’ mean ‘baby’ in your language, Master Mason? Because I’ll have you know—”

Dominik snatched the phone out of her hand, closed it, and stuffed it in his pocket. “No, but Dominant does mean lover, caretaker, disciplinarian, and whatever else the situation warrants. You’re hurting yourself calling him again and again even though you know he won’t answer. Why? Do you think you deserve him treating you like this because you went against his wishes?”

“No. I don’t.”
Do I?
She had to think that over for a minute. Truthfully, she wanted to make amends. “If I can help save the team, he’ll be happy with me. And that’s important. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it is. You hate him, and I get that, but he’s still my father.”

Knee braced on the seat beside her, Dominik leaned in and gave her a tight smile. “And I
get
that. But you will find a way to help the team that’s more productive and less of an emotional mindfuck.”

“Fine.” She shifted over to give him space to sit. “So I guess I need to be disciplined again?”

The car door slammed and she jumped. Scooting all the way over to the other side of the car, she glanced up and tried to catch Sloan’s eye through the rearview mirror.

His brow lifted as though to say “You asked for it.”

Dominik’s hand slipped behind her back and hooked around her waist. He slid her across the seat until she was practically glued to his side. His soft lips slipped down her earlobe. “You don’t need discipline. You need a hug. Come here.”

Oh!
Well, she couldn’t argue with that. She threw her arms around his neck and shoved herself into his embrace, smiling when he chuckled. The man was infuriating sometimes—especially when he was right.

This was exactly what she needed. Hugs. Lots and lots of hugs.

“Eventually, we will have to address you sassing me though, pet,” Dominik said, tone light, but holding a note of seriousness. “I believe, once the bruises on your butt fade, I’ll introduce you to a cane. What do you say?”

The very idea of him using a cane on her, considering the cutting impact her little pink book described, made her sore bottom clench and her panties damp. Her response was muffled by his jacket. “Yes, Sir.”

A peek at the rearview mirror, and she caught Sloan’s grin. And wink. He’d likely guessed her reaction. Which made sense, since she’d begged him to hurt her.

Because, sometimes, I need that, too.

* * * *

Humming the chorus of a country song, Dominik taped his stick blade and rocked his skates in time to the beat. He’d expected nothing when he’d climbed in the backseat of the car with Oriana, but getting stuck in traffic had brought out her inner tease. And she’d paid for her teasing without a word of complaint. Then again, her sweet, soft lips gliding up and down his stiff cock didn’t allow for many words.

It’s good to be the Dom.
His humming gave way to whistling.

Sloan whipped a puck at his head. The puck missed and clucked against the wooden back of his stall.

“Stop whistling, or I’m gonna make you swallow the next one.” Sloan stood and adjusted his jock. “I should have let you drive.”

T.J. stepped into the locker room wearing nothing but black Under Armor. The skintight polyester one piece was custom made and gave him the look of a really tall batman—missing just a mask and cape. He usually got to the locker room first because he preferred getting suited up before the horde came in. Actually, Dominik could only think of once when T.J. hadn’t. The day after his daughter broke her leg.

He gave Sloan and Dominik an unreadable look, then shuffled over to his stall. Something was up.

Before Dominik could question him, Sloan blurted out, with his usual tact, “What the fuck’s your problem, T.J.? You run over a puppy on your way here?”

If the captain’s direct approach wasn’t so effective, Dominik would have decked him. But since the men usually toughened up or spilled, he simply sat back and waited to see which T.J. would choose.

“My daughter got some bad news from her doctor, but she’ll be all right. I found a specialist to take care of her.” He hunched over and shrugged. “I had a rough couple of days.”

“Shit, man, why are you here?” Sloan wrapped his right wrist and tore the athletic tape with his teeth. “Go be with your kid.”

T.J. shook his head a bit too fast. He spoke while he pulled his shoulder pads over his head. “I’m playing.” His gaze skirted away from Dominik’s. “I promised her I would.”

Nodding slowly, Sloan taped his other wrist. Then he gave T.J. a toothy grin. “Gotta respect that.”

Dominik ran his tongue over his teeth and shook his head. T.J. was lying. But he wouldn’t call him out—not until he figured out what the big man was trying to hide.

He didn’t get a chance to pry. The rest of the team came in from the player’s lounge, hollering like a bunch of drunk asses. Vanek was the loudest of them all.

“This is the year, boys! I can taste fucking Stanley!”

“So is that your new boyfriend’s name, Vanek?” Carter, a third-line center, called out. “Mouthwash, my girlfriend says it gets rid of the aftertaste.”

Sloan laughed. “She wouldn’t have that problem if you’d wash your balls before she sucks on them.”

“Hey, did you guys see the lineup?” Ingerslov, the backup goaltender, asked. “I thought Callahan was the one fucking the coach’s girlfriend. Why’d he dump Vanek on the fourth line?”

The locker room went dead quiet. Both Sloan and Vanek looked like they’d been gut-checked. Vanek darted across the room and squinted at the whiteboard. He dug his fingers into his curly hair and silently read over the lineup.

“I—” He blinked at Sloan as the captain stepped up beside him. “But—”

“I thought that asshole was still in the hospital.” Sloan punched the wall beside the whiteboard, and every man in the room winced.

The last thing they needed was their captain injured again. Fine, their odds weren’t good, and they’d managed to cruise through a quarter of the season without him, but at the last leg of the race to the playoffs, none of them was ready to give up.

In the forum and on the road, Sloan usually kept his temper in check. But once he lost it, there were only two men who could rein him in.

Thankfully, Dominik was one of them.

“I’ve got an idea of how to deal with the Wild when they cork up the neutral zone. You wanna get the last game up on the screen?” Dominik waited, watching Sloan glare at the board, praying to the hockey gods that shop talk would get through to him.

Finally, Sloan inclined his head and went to the back room to set up the video system.

Dominik dropped a heavy hand on Vanek’s shoulder and leaned in, speaking low so no one else could hear. “Go find Oriana and give her a heads up.”

“But—”

“No.” Without meaning to, Dominik had used the same tone he’d use on a defiant sub. And that shut Vanek right up.
Interesting
. He filed the information for later use and continued. “I don’t care what happened between you. If nothing else, you’re friends.”

Vanek squared his shoulders. “We’re a bit more than friends, Mason. I’m just surprised you’d send me instead of going yourself. Are you that confident that you’d give me a head start?”

A head start?
The boy thought they were in some kind of competition for Oriana? Did he really believe he could make her forget the rest of them? Was he that delusional?

Rather than waste his time getting in a pissing contest with the kid, Dominik simply shrugged. “Give it your best shot. Just warn her that Paul is here.”

“Gotcha.” Vanek gave him a mock salute, then headed out. Halfway out the door, he paused and looked back. “No hard feelings, buddy. I still got you on the ice.”

Dominik stared after him long after the door swung shut. Then he shook his head and grinned. The rookie had become like a little brother to him during the two seasons they’d played together. If Oriana was any other girl, he’d step aside and wish him luck. But Oriana wasn’t just any girl. She was . . .

Mine.
A primal part of his brain snarled. The controlled part amended.
Partially.

Might not work for some, but it worked for him. And her. And them.

Them
didn’t include Vanek. Not long term. But, with the new revelation, he had some ideas for Vanek when they brought Oriana to the club. Which got his mind on ideas for her.

He resumed his whistling as he joined Sloan by the big screen.

* * * *

Oriana picked up the pay phone and fished some change out of her pocket. Her cell phone being confiscated wouldn’t stop her from trying to reach her father one last time. Besides, he wouldn’t recognize the number, so he might answer.

“If I get jumped by a fan, you’re so gonna pay.”

Her heart flipped in her chest, and she dropped the phone. It clanged against the wall as she looked up into Tyler’s smiling face.

“Did I scare you?” He leaned his elbow on the wall over her head, his expression showing that he really hoped she’d say “yes.”

“A little.” She dropped her gaze to his snug, dark blue shorts, drew them up over his chiseled chest, nicely outlined by his skintight T-shirt, and felt . . . nothing. He was still sexy as hell, but her body didn’t react to his the way it did to Max or Sloan or Dominik.

He cupped her cheek and studied her face. Then his eyes turned cold. “I don’t measure up to them, do I?”

Oh no!
Was she that easy to read? She really didn’t want to hurt him, but she couldn’t pretend . . .
Damn it, he’s gonna think I used him. Which I basically did.

She put her hand on his chest, pleading with her eyes for him to understand. “You must think I’m so selfish. I didn’t mean—”

He silenced her with a kiss, then whispered. “I don’t think you’re selfish. I think you’re confused because you’ve never really been loved before.” He kissed her again. “How does it feel?”