Bonds of Courage (20 page)

He upped the movement on her clit and dipped his head to suck on her nipple through the shirt. The material was quickly dampened and he wished like hell he could reach her skin. The cotton didn’t taste or feel right but he endured.

His knee cracked against the dash, a kink formed in his side and his dick was wedged so fucking tight against his shorts there was a serious chance of the circulation being cut off. None of that mattered though. He had to get her off. Watch her come.

Her cries were soft and rose higher with the rapid rise and fall of her chest. He dipped his hand lower, thrusting his fingers into her multiple times before coming back to the bundle of nerves that were so hard and flooded with blood. He clamped his teeth down on her nipple, needling it as he sucked. She tensed, every muscle pulled tight before she tumbled over, her cry a sweet rapture in his ears.

He eased up when he sensed her coming down, her limbs going limp, the hard clench she had in his hair loosening. He straightened enough to nuzzle her ear. The richer scent of his shampoo was odd on her, but he liked it. It marked her as being a part of him somehow.

Their heavy pants filled the car and the heat was suddenly suffocating. A drop of sweat slid down his forehead and caught by his brow before another one took its place.

“Wow,” he murmured. His erection was still harder than nails, damp with sticky precome pressed between his skin and shorts.

Her chuckle shook them both. He sat up, taking care to pull her shirt down to cover her as he did. It was a somewhat silly move, considering they were now sitting safely in the quiet of her driveway, but it seemed right. Respectful.

He wiped his fingers on his shorts, barely resisting the urge to sniff them or, better, lick them clean. His hand was shaking when he reached to lower the windows. They went down with a low buzz, letting him know that ten minutes hadn’t passed since he’d cut the engine. It felt like hours had gone by. The outside air was only slightly cooler, but it rushed in to grab at the dampness that drenched him.

“Your hair got messed.”

A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed what she said. Dark locks stuck up at odd angles on both sides right about where his scalp still stung. He puffed out a laugh and ran his fingers through it. “I can’t imagine how that happened.”

The seat creaked as he shifted again. He tugged on the hem of his shorts, trying to pull the material down to get more space where he needed it.

“Problem?” The rise of her brows and smirk on her lips let him know she knew exactly what was wrong.

“Yup. What to help me out?” He shot her smirk back at her and reached for the snap at his waist.

Her laugh was not one of joy, but evil intent. She shook her head and grabbed her bundle of dirty clothes off the floor. “I don’t think so.”

He dropped his head back, his groan released through clenched teach. Her smile was definitely wicked as she sat up and reached for the door handle.

“I’ll be on the road with the Flash all week.” She reached back to run a finger over the prominent ridge of his erection. His twitch was pure reflex that he had no hope of controlling. “This orgasm right here is mine.” The husky tone of her voice was all Domme now. “Keep it for me until I return.”

His head jerked toward her, eyes wide.
No fucking way
. His breath was stuck in his chest as he waited for her clarification.

She was nodding, that knowing smile on her lips like she could read everything he was thinking. The doubt, frustration, anger and, most of all, the raging desire. “No coming till I say so.”

She has got to be kidding.
That would be impossible. Unless...

He swallowed and finally took in a breath. “Can I have the cage then, Mistress?” A part of him couldn’t believe he asked to have the device put back on, but how else could he control himself for that long when every thought of her had him hard?

He had his answer before she spoke. The slow shake of her head had his heart sinking clear to his oversensitive balls. He squeezed his eyes closed.
Hairy balls.
Hairy balls and ass cracks.
The visual didn’t help when her scent enveloped him.

“You can do it,” she said, triggering his eyes to open. “All on your own.”

She got out the car, her shirt sliding up to give him a glimpse of the round underside of her ass before it fell down to her thighs. The slam of the car door was somehow soft in his foggy brain. He tracked the sway of her hair and grace of her stride as she rounded the front of the car and came to his open window.

Her lips were gentle, light touches that teased his mouth open, only to have her pull away.

“You’re beautiful like this,” she whispered, stoking the line of his jaw. “All aroused and frustrated for me.”

His thoughts and emotions were too jumbled for him to form a response. She was working her magic on him, and he was powerless to shake it off. Not that he wanted to. This was another
more
that he hadn’t expected, but fuck if he didn’t love it.

She kissed him again and turned to leave.

“Wait,” he finally got out, snapping out of his daze. He shot his hand out the window to grab her arm. “I thought we were playroom only?”

Her thoughtful frown had him kicking himself for bringing it up, especially when he didn’t care. But he wanted to know where her thoughts were, and she’d said communication was key to their play being successful. That applied to relationships too, and he sure as hell hoped that was what they were building.

“I’m okay with this,” he rushed to clarify, his thumb stroking over the skin of her arm. “Really okay. But I need to know where you stand.” The playroom-only rule had been a gray line since the first night with the chastity device if they were getting nitty gritty about it.

She studied him a bit longer. The dim hue of twilight had settled in, but there was plenty of light to see the emotions that flickered over her face—something he doubted she realized. His heart skipped as he realized what she was showing him. Trust.

Distantly, he logged the high chatter of frogs croaking that indicated a pond was nearby. Up close, he caught her inhale, the soft sigh, the gentle drop of her shoulders as the tension left her body.

A smile flickered on her lips before it flattened. “We should’ve talked about it before I overstepped,” she said, her voice just loud enough for him to hear. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He wished like hell there wasn’t a damn car door between them. But he also feared she’d retreat if he got out. “Not at all. It happened naturally and that’s pretty cool. It’s working for us, or at least I think it is.” He hoped it was for her too.

Her soft smile eased his growing anxiety. “It is, isn’t it?”

He nodded, staying silent as she processed the change, but he kept up the gentle stroke on her arm that she was now leaning into.

She flicked her chin, smirking. “So that orgasm is mine. If you’re good all week, I’ll take care of it on Saturday.”

“Fuck.” He didn’t know if his low curse was in relief or frustration, but it didn’t matter. Both were fine with him. “Yes, Vanessa.”

She dove in and stole one more searing kiss that left his lips and mind numb when she pulled away. “Good night, Holden. I had a good time today. Thank you.”

She was halfway up the walk, bare feet silent on the cement before he found his voice. “Me, too.” There was only a glimmer of a smile tossed over her shoulder to indicate she’d heard him. Where in the hell was his voice?

He waited until she was safely inside before he started the car and drove away. He was almost home, his thoughts lost on the changes his life had taken that weekend, before he remembered that her bike was still in the back of his car. Evidently, both of their minds had been on more important things.

A smile was still plastered on his face two hours later when he crawled in bed with a woody that throbbed along with his still-tender balls. A bag of frozen peas would help both problems, but that would take away the reminder and dilute the point.

This was one challenge he was all for and he would succeed without cheating. He was positive her reward would be worth it.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Twelve days later, Holden wasn’t as upbeat about his situation. He hadn’t given in to the almost overwhelming urge to jerk off, but he’d been damn close more than once. Especially during this second run of self-imposed chastity.

Every shower, every time he crawled into bed, every morning when he woke with an erection from hell, he had to physically restrain his hands behind his head to keep from beating off. The thought of hairy butts and ass cracks had no impact on the need that fueled his erections.

He’d championed through that first week with a cocky grin and arrogant attitude. His reward had been a night of personal denial and service to his Mistress. He’d given her three orgasms before she’d bound and flogged him until his entire back from shoulders to knees had been one big flame. The headspace had been fucking phenomenal. He’d floated for hours with her wrapped around him.

What he hadn’t expected was her leaving the next morning on another business trip and the instructions to keep his orgasm. Again.

He shook his head, sweat flying from the ends of his soaked hair as he took off down the ice. His lungs burned, along with his thighs, calves and glutes. The ice flew up, blades shaving over the surface, digging in until he stopped. He was back down the ice in the next instant, the goal line his target.

Blue line, back, red line, back, blue line, back then down to the other goal line and back, only to do it again. The pattern occasionally broken by the red line, blue line, red line hiccup he threw in for fun. Ten rounds of self-imposed suicide drills, and his mind was finally off his dick. At least for the moment.

He hunched over, hands digging into his thighs as he sucked in chilled drafts of air. His shirt clung to his back in wet patches and his legs shook, but it felt good. He pushed off and started doing crossovers backward down the ice, wall to wall, down and back, each stroke his only focus. Dig in, grip the ice, cut it clean, go faster, keep it smooth, stick on the ice.

“Hey, Hauke. Who’re you trying to outrun?”

The shout echoed through the empty rink, the cold air carrying it into the rafters before it bounced back down. He skidded to a stop, swinging around to see Walters gliding toward him, stick in hand.

Holden sucked in a breath and pushed off to meet the man at mid-ice. He circled around Walters, jabbing in to steel the unguarded puck from him. Walters gave chase as Holden raced to the open net, his wrist shot nailing the puck in the net before the other man could block it.

He skidded to a stop next to the boards to suck down a good portion of his water bottle.
Fuck
.

“Damn, man.” Walters glided up to him, a grin on his face. “Where’d your energy come from?”

Holden blew out a breath and avoided the inquiry by scrubbing a towel over his face and hair. Walters had his jack-o’-lantern mug aimed right at him when he finally draped the towel around his neck. Missing teeth were worn like a badge of honor, and no one played or practiced with their false teeth in.

Holden ran his tongue over the crown covering his top front tooth. He’d been mostly lucky but not exempt from that injury. Few were at their level.

He leaned into the boards, stretching his legs before he tossed the towel down and started a slow lap around the edge of the rink. Walters was at his side a second later, matching his pace.

The man gave him a shove. “What’s eating you? You’ve been a cranky fucker for days.”

Holden’s snort was fast and decisive. “I’m fine.” He was. Ornery—definitely. But his game had never been better. “Thanks for coming by the youth center the other day,” he said to change the subject.

“You’ve already thanked me.”

“So are you in for the charity event then?” Holden had focused a lot of his frustration at getting details in place for the event. Once he’d gotten an exuberant
yes
from Liv, she’d dove into the planning with the same gusto she seemed to put into everything.

“From the sounds of it, most of the team is.” Walters chuckled. “I thought it was a crazy idea coming from you, but you’ve managed to get more people on board than I expected.”

Vanessa had pushed the idea with the Glaciers’s PR team and had somehow gotten Segar’s support as well.

“It’s for a good cause,” he said lamely.

“And you’re the king of supporting good causes.”

“Fuck off.” He gave Walters a shove and stole the puck that he’d retrieved from the net.

“You wussies ready to practice?” Henrik Grenick barged into the rink, his big frame cutting over the ice with the grace of a charging bull. The man wasn’t known for his finesse, but his brute strength made up for whatever he lacked in refined skill. He didn’t earn the nickname
Steamroller
by tiptoeing around the other players.

“I’ve been here for an hour, Roller,” Holden taunted. “While you’ve had your face buried in your girlfriend’s pussy.”

The man barreled toward him, a scowl etched into his forehead. “Better a pussy than the ass you’re getting.”

“Hauke’s getting ass?” Dylan Rylie chimed in as he hit the ice. Holden shot him a wink as he sprinted by. “Well, hell. How come everyone’s getting some but me?”

“Don’t tell me all the puck bunnies have abandoned you, Pretty Boy.”

Rylie flipped Walters off before he shoved his glove on and dove into the impromptu game of keep-away. Holden lined up with Walters and took off against the two defensemen. If he exhausted himself on the ice, his nights were easier.

Thoughts of Vanessa would stay at bay until she called. She had every night, even if it was only to tease him with her sexy voice and descriptions of what she was doing to herself. She called. That alone got him hard.

This was one slippery fall that was bound to hurt when his face cracked against ice, but he was long past stopping the descent. Long, long past.

Vanessa owned him and was very close to owning his heart too. She didn’t know that, but he did, and for now, that was fine. Someday it might not be, but that day wasn’t now.

Now he had a puck to steal and two defensemen to school.
That
was now.

* * *

The roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium as the ball sailed high into left field. The Flash fielder ran toward the wall, but it did no good. The ball easily landed in the stands, sending a swarm of fans scrambling for the souvenir.

The curses that rang around Vanessa had been pretty consistent throughout the long road trip. She glanced at the other occupants of the box suite and silently agreed with their sour faces. With the midseason break already past, the losing streak wasn’t welcomed by anyone sitting around her.

The jubilant roar of the announcers and corresponding music that blared from the speakers was well earned by the home team, and Vanessa didn’t begrudge them their celebration. However, the Flash were on their way to handing over their fifth game in a row. Not just losing, as the gnarly, disgruntled owner ranted three rows below her, but fucking giving their opponents the win with their poor play and errors.

She crossed her legs and sat back in the uncomfortable plastic seat. Her three clients were playing decent games, but the men weren’t at their best. She’d spent half the week dealing with the Mickels’s daddy claim. She’d proven it was a hundred percent false, thanks to the money slipped to the bar owner in exchange for the security tapes that monitored his office.

Discretion, manners, courtesy, brains—the four things she tried to hammer into all of her clients. Keep those in mind no matter what they did and most of the scandals could be avoided, even if they fucked jersey chasers until their balls turned blue.

That thought put a grin on her face. Holden’s balls had been a nice shade of blue in her playroom. Trussed up tight, they—he—had been perfect.

“Hey, Vanessa.” She glanced over as Bill Hower sat down in the seat next to her. “That’s quite the smirk you’re wearing. Thinking of anything good?”

She nodded. “I always have good thoughts.”

Bill tipped his head back, his burst of laughter overdone and forced. As a fellow PR agent, the stocky man was someone she dealt with and oftentimes endured, even if she didn’t particularly care for him. He’d been in the business longer than her, long enough to have a bitter edge that trickled into his dealings and attitude. But he was an excellent businessman who had even better contacts. If something was going down, Bill usually knew about it before anyone else.

“I just bet you do,” he said before brushing a hand through his hair that avoided being gray only due to his monthly dye jobs. His finger fluff did nothing to hide his retreating hairline, but it was a habit she’d been tracking for the last four years. It usually came out when he had a question to ask or a favor he needed.

She took a sip of her watered-down lemonade, patient. The shaded box didn’t prevent the heat from getting to them. Her cotton tank with the lace edging was professional and comfortable with her lightweight capris and heels. A classic business suit didn’t work at a ball game, but her summer-weight suit jacket was folded, waiting for her inside. She could watch from inside the enclosed air-conditioned portion, but it always sucked part of the experience out of the game for her. The atmosphere of the crowd, the scent of popcorn, hot dogs and spilled beer, the chatter and echo of the announcer was all part of the fun.

“So,” Bill said, the word drawn out. He shifted his bulk in the too-small seat, his gaze intent on the field below. “I hear there’s a hockey player checking out an interesting club in your area.”

A chill instantly swept in to send goose bumps over her arms. She kept her internal reaction hidden, the clenching of her stomach and the stutter of her heart known only to her. She tilted her head, brows arched in curiosity. “Really? Hum. I haven’t heard anything.” She changed her expression into concern. “Is it one of my guys?”

Bill shook his head, his eyes shifting to hers before he pretended interest in the game. There was no way he wasn’t monitoring her reaction. “No. But he’s been linked to something like this in the past.”

The bombshell that exploded within her didn’t penetrate her outer shield. “So why are you telling me?”

His shrug was casual. “I thought you might be interested.” He shot her another side glance before he took a sip of his drink. “I hear you were pretty influential in landing him his current team. I didn’t want to see your work thrown away.”

Her laugh was harsh and instinctive. “Right.” She shook her head, the sigh bit back before it escaped. “Rumors are everywhere. You know that better than most. It’s nothing until it’s proven.”

“True.” He glanced around. They were in the last row of the booth and the seats in front of them were empty, but there were ears everywhere. He leaned in. “That includes the ones about you. Watch your back, Vanessa. The vultures are circling.”

With that, he stood and moved across the aisle to sit next to the owner’s teenage son. The shock settled, every muscle turning to stone as the implications riffled through her mind. She didn’t trust Bill, but his warning couldn’t be ignored.

Connections were already tracking. Who, how, where, the potential impact and repercussions were all assessed. The temptation to fire off texts was strong, but not enough to override her preservation instincts. Bill was watching for her reaction, even if he seemed completely absorbed in the game and his discussion.

A crack rang through the air, a cheer following close behind. Vanessa tracked the rise of the ball, the high arc making it disappear in the glare of the sun before it dropped down to land in the glove of a Flash outfielder. She clapped, her cheer coming out automatically with the others around her.

She sat through two more innings, chatted with the people around her, checked in with the reporters scheduled for after-game interviews with her clients and kept a smile on her face. At last, she made her way to the restroom, where she finally let her shell crumble behind the safety of the closed stall door. Briefly, just a moment to suck in a shaky breath and squeeze her eyes shut.

In the next instant, her phone was out and texts were flying. One to Angie to get an earlier flight. Another to Deklan and Rock about the security breach. A third was composed, but her thumb hung poised over the Send button before she shook her phone and deleted what she’d written. Holden didn’t need to stress about speculating gossip. It was more her problem than his.

Damn it. She pressed a hand over her mouth and breathed, long, slow inhales until the panic passed. She’d sort it out. Keep it all separate. Yet she couldn’t ignore the thread that had started her worlds colliding in the first place.

Holden.

Was he worth it? Was any man worth it? She’d always said no, but now...she didn’t know.

Shaking away the doubt, she straightened her shoulders and exited the stall. She’d shut down the club problem and that would be the end of it. Nothing to stress about. She was good at her job, and this little rumor was no different than the ones she fielded every week.

Lipstick reapplied, hair brushed, she headed back to the game. She had clients depending on her and reporters to round up. Her personal life wasn’t in play right now. Vanessa Delcour, PR rep, was front and center. The rest would wait.