Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (15 page)

"Good!" Air caught in her throat as his
fingers curved and found just the right spot to turn her brain to
mush. Clinging to resistance didn't make sense any more. "After.
After I don't know . . . ."

"But I do. You intrigue me, Silver." He bent
down and laved her lips with his tongue, thrusting in deep while he
looked into her eyes. "Do you want to know why?"

She shook her head as her vision blurred and
her body took over. "Why?"

"Because you're not as detached as you
pretend to be." He smiled down at her. "I am surprised that you
didn't have more success as an actress, though. I've never met a
sub so difficult to read."

"I'm not a sub. And maybe that's a problem,
but . . . ." How she managed the words, she couldn't say, but they
came out, putting up a safe wall between her and Dean. "I just need
you to get me off."

"You need more." He closed his lips over one
nipple, sucked hard, then moved to the other and stretched it with
his teeth. When a strangled scream left her, he released her and
chuckled. "But hold back all you want. I'm up for the
challenge."

"Stop. Talking." She thrust her hips up and
took his finger deep inside her. Pride sneered at her and she spoke
just to appease it. "You're boring me."

"Am I?" He released her hands and gave her a
hard look when she moved to bring them down. "Latch your fingers to
the edge of the desk."

"Why—?"

A hard
smack!
on the side of her
breast made her buck and cling to the edge of the desk. Heat and
pain flared downwards, spilling moisture which he spread with his
fingers before dipping them into her. He fucked her hard and fast
with two fingers, then three. The violent, erotic sensation dragged
her up, up—then he stopped.

"Look at you." The edges of his lips quirked
as he fisted his hand in her hair and made her face him. His
thrusting resumed, slow and shallow, engaging the tight ring of
muscles at her entrance. "One minute you hate me, the next you're
laid out on my desk like a fuckable buffet. I know why I want you,
but why do you want me?"

Her ass lifted rhythmically off the desk and
her nails scraped the edge of the desk. "Because you can give it to
me rough. I do hate you, but you're good, okay? Satisfied?"

"Not quite." He pressed his lips together,
released her hair, and gave first one nipple, then the other, a
brutal twist. "But you're right about one thing. I can give it to
you rough."

He drove his three fingers deep, his knuckles
slamming into her as he pistoned in and out. She let out a silent
scream as she came, and he slapped her breasts while rubbing his
wet fingers over her clit. Her insides rippled, sore, yet already
craving more. Pleasure slashed through her and erupted over and
over. A third climax latched on before the intensity of the first
two had dwindled.

"Oh fuck. Dean, please . . . ."

"Thank me for making you come, Silver." He
kissed the edge of her lips, then whispered in her ear. "Thank me
and I'll let you come one more time."

She shook her head as tears rolled down the
sides of her face. "I'll thank you if you fuck me."

"I won't fuck you." He rubbed her pussy with
his palm, torturing her with just enough pressure to keep her on
the precipice, but not enough to let her take that last dive into
ecstasy. "But I'll finish this if you say the words."

Damn you!
She clenched her thighs
around his wrist and gasped out. "Thank you for making me come, you
son of a bitch."

"Bad girl." He slapped her aching nipple and
clucked his tongue. "Say 'Thank you, Sir'."

Defiance caved under desperation. She pressed
her eyes shut. "Thank you, Sir. Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

"Much better." He bit one nipple, pinched the
other, and shoved his fingers inside her.

The orgasm fractured everything within into a
million white hot shards. She bit her tongue until she tasted blood
to keep from howling out her satisfaction. The aftershocks carried
on long after Dean pulled her into his arms, holding her close as
he rocked back and forth on his chair, murmuring meaningless words
like 'beautiful' and 'precious'.

She somehow managed to speak after what
seemed like forever. "I should go."

"Not just yet, sweetheart." He kissed her
cheek and whispered. "Stay with me for a bit."

Cradled there, with her cheek cushioned on
hard muscle covered in surprisingly soft white cotton, she couldn't
imagine anywhere else she'd rather be.

Until reality hit her like a steel bat
cracking the back of her skull. Stay with him? No. She couldn't.
The control she'd given up to him already was a big huge sign that
she better not go there.

I came to get fucked. Not for . . .
this.

Whatever
this
was.

She pushed away from him and quickly gathered
her clothes, dressing without looking at him. Confidence never
failed her when she was naked, but it did now. It wouldn't take
much for him to change her mind.

He doesn't want Silver Delgado, Uber Diva
Bitch Extraordinaire. About time she made an appearance, don't you
think?

"That was . . . interesting." She gave him a
cold smile. "But stupid. You got nothing. And I'm not the type to
care about returning the favor."

"I wouldn't say I 'got nothing'." Dean leaned
back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. "And I'd
never expect you to return the favor. You'll do so when you're
ready."

You're in for an unpleasant surprise.
She smirked. "If you say so. I just hope you can be discrete?"

"Of course." He stood and picked up a folder
from his desk. "I took the liberty of listing all the reputable PR
agents in the area. Let me know if you need any help choosing
one."

She snatched the folder and jutted out her
chin. "I can manage."

"I'm sure you can." He sat on the edge of his
desk and hooked his thumbs to his belt. "I'll be at the club on
Saturday, if you're interested."

"Oh, I might swing by." The conversation felt
stilted, weird after what they'd done, but his nonchalance made her
want to take one last jab. "But I won't be there for you."

"Really?" Folding his arms over his chest, he
looked her over and shook his head. "So who
will
you be
there for?"

Shrugging, she turned away and opened the
door. "Oh, I don't know. So many men to choose from . . . and I
want to get to know the team better. There are twenty-three guys to
go through, Dean. I really can't say."

"I see," he said, his tone telling her
nothing. "Well, good luck."

In the hall, with the closed door against her
back, she ground her teeth and cursed at the ache in her chest. Why
the hell did it bother her that he didn't seem to care?

He will.
She squared her shoulders and
strode to her office, slamming the door behind her.
And really,
does it matter?

It did. But it wouldn't, not for long. Even
if she had to fuck the whole team, she'd prove to him, to herself,
that she didn't need him.

I am Silver Delgado.
She took a deep
breath and dropped into Daddy's chair.
And he has no idea what
I'm capable of.

Four pans spit and sizzled and smoked on the
stove. Landon sighed as he dumped another burnt pancake in the
trash and cleared his throat into the phone tucked against his
shoulder. "Becky? You were saying?"

"What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast. I figured I should use
some of the food my sweet sister stocked my fridge with." He poked
the bacon with a fork, then frowned at it. Damn stuff cooked too
slow. "I'm tired of eating out and I miss the breakfasts you used
to make me."

"Yeah, you were spoiled." Becky laughed. "But
don't you have a girlfriend to do that for you? We both know you
can't cook."

"No, you just wouldn't let me. I think I can
manage."

"And the girlfriend?"

"I don't have a girlfriend." The dryer in the
closet down the hall beeped. Landon spooned some batter onto the
hot frying pan, then checked the hash browns in the oven with the
bacon fork. His knuckles grazed the red hot element.
"Fu—fudge!"

"What happened?"

"It's hot!" He chuckled as she muttered under
her breath, clenched and unclenched his throbbing fist, and headed
to the washer-and-dryer nook to retrieve his laundry. "I know you
and Mom think I need a woman to take care of me, but I've been
managing just fine on my own."

"Landon, it's been two years—"

"We're not discussing this." He dumped his
clothes into a laundry basket and straightened to shake out his
dress shirt before it wrinkled. "Hey, guess what?"

Becky was silent for a few minutes, breathing
the way she did when she was counting to ten in her head. Finally,
she replied, "what?"

"I did my own wash—separated the colors from
the whites and everything." He smirked at her long-suffering sigh.
"Aren't you proud of me?"

"You are such a pain in the ass. Fine, you
don't need a girlfriend." She said it like she didn't really
believe it, but she probably wanted to move on to nagging about
something else. "There is more to life than hockey though. Please
tell me you do more than workout and practice."

"I do more than workout and practice."

"Like what?"

He thought of his trip to Blades & Ice
and grinned. "You really want to know?"

"Oh. That." She sighed. "Well, at least you
have a hobby."

A hobby?
He snorted.
I guess you
could call it that.
"So what about you? Dickhead start paying
child support yet?"

Her sharp exhale sounded loud in the phone.
"We are so
not
discussing
that
."

"Fair enough." After bringing his clothes to
his room, he laid a fresh suit out on his rumpled bed. "So how's
mom? Her and Dad back from their—what is it, third honeymoon?"

"Not yet. They . . . ." She paused, then
groaned. "What are you doing now?"

"About to get changed." He looked down at his
faded jeans, with the left knee ripped and the right almost worn
through. His outfit for his early morning jog. Not something he
could wear to his first pre-season game. Or any games. Richter had
included a pretty strict dress code in his contract. "I want to
head to the forum early to meet the new goalie coach, so I
can't—"

"You're cooking, Landon. You should stay in
the kitchen."

"Yeah, yeah." He rolled his eyes and started
down the hall. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the flames
rising from the frying pan. "Shit!"

"What—?"

Tossing the phone onto the table in the hall,
he darted into the kitchen, rushed to the sink, and filled a coffee
mug with water. The damn bacon was crispy now—he tossed the water
and threw himself back as a huge fireball flared up.

"Holy fuck!"

The smoke detector screamed and black smoke
filled the room in waves. Scrambling down the hall, he grabbed the
phone.

"Landon!"

"I'll call you back." Without waiting for an
answer, he hung up and dialed 911 as he abandoned his apartment to
the fire.

* * * *

Sitting on the sidewalk, Landon turned his
phone in his hand and stifled a cough with his sleeve. A medic
approached him, but he waved her off. He didn't need to go to the
hospital—unless it was to have his head examined. How the hell
could he have been so stupid?

The entire building had been evacuated as a
precaution, but thankfully the fire had been contained to his
apartment. Still, it made him sick to see the mother with her baby
pacing outside in her PJs, trying to soothe the infant as the
firemen rushed in and out of the building and the sirens wailed.
Again his actions could have cost someone their life.

His phone vibrated in his hand. He checked
the number, then brought it shakily to his ear, his voice raspy as
he spoke. "Good morning, Silver. How you doing, beautiful?"

"Fine, I just—" She cut herself off. "Are you
okay?"

"Just had a little mishap."

"What kind of mishap?" She didn't wait a
breath before snapping. "You told me to call you if something was
up. You said we were friends. Doesn't that go both ways?"

"Yes, but—"

"Uck! Men are such hypocrites!" She let out
an angry cat growl. "You better start talking, Mister."

He clenched his jaw to keep from smiling.
Damn, I'd love to see that girl all riled up
. "You're right.
I would have been pretty pissed if your house caught fire and you
didn't call me. Can I make it up to you by letting you buy me
breakfast?"

"Your—you—What?" This time she hissed.
"Where. Are. You?"

He gave her directions, remained silent as
she cursed at him, then hung up after promising not to go anywhere.
Only after staring at the phone for about ten minutes did it occur
to him that he never let
anyone
speak to him like she had.
And she was a sub to boot.

Not your sub.

He stuffed his phone in his pocket and
scowled at the thick hose snaking across the lawn and into the
apartment.

Right. Mustn't forget that.

* * * *

"Why are you just sitting there? Why aren't
you with the medic?" Silver glared at Landon and slapped his chest
as he stood. "Do you have any idea what smoke inhalation can do to
you?"

He caught her wrists and smiled down at her.
Soot and stubble darkened his cheeks, stealing some of his
disarming charm. "I'm fine."

Her body shook with fear and rage. Damn it,
she could have lost him. They were just getting to know each other
and it could have been over. Her vision blurred and she sucked in a
deep breath as a hand settled on her shoulder. The way Dean
steadied her reaffirmed her decision to call him on the way here.
Most times she wanted to scream and throw things at him, and after
yesterday she should know better than to let him get close, but at
the moment, she welcomed his strength.