Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (31 page)

Bower went still. "If I wasn't her friend,
I'd have her bent over the table with my dick in her cunt. She
wouldn't fight me now, would she?"

No. Right now, Silver wouldn't fight anyone.
The pain had gone beyond what her body could easily process. Not
that it made Bower handing her off okay, but Dean felt sick just
thinking about what could have happened to her if she'd crossed the
wrong Dom.

He gave Bower a curt nod and turned away.
"Next time, bring her to me."

"Next time?" Bower laughed. "If there's ever
a next time, you don't deserve her."

Dean didn't reply. Hell, he wanted to kill
the man, but he agreed with him. Carrying Silver to a loveseat
angled off the bar, he spoke softly as she stirred, glancing up
just once to thank Chicklet for the blanket she laid over them
both.

The second Chicklet moved out of hearing,
Silver let out a broken sob. "I really fucked up."

"Silver, look at me." He locked one arm at
the small of her back and curved his hand around the back of her
head. "You were punished. It's over. Clean slate."

A little hiccup escaped her and the hope in
her glistening eyes broke his heart. "Clean slate? Really?"

"Yes, baby." He kissed her forehead. "But
you're going to be sore for awhile. Let me take care of you. I know
a way to make it bearable."

Burrowing her wet face into his shoulder, she
nodded.

"Up with you." He stood and smiled as she
wrapped her arms around his neck. "Have you had enough of the club
for tonight? I'd like to take you upstairs."

"Upstairs is good." She wiggled a little and
hissed in pain. "Soft bed. No more pain."

"No more pain." He gave her a little squeeze
and lowered his face to her mussed up hair. "I'm proud of you
though."

"Proud of me? But . . . I was bad."

His lips found her ear. He whispered. "You
weren't bad. You made a mistake."

"I'm always bad. I don't want to be. Didn't
want to be. Not this time."

"I know." He looked around, found his
brother. Tim nodded, letting him know he'd watch the club. Leaving
Dean with no worries besides the contrite little bundle in his
arms. "That's why I'm proud. You didn't run away. You faced what
you did and accepted the consequences."

"He's still mad at me." Her tears soaked
through his shirt and dampened his flesh. "I didn't make things
better."

Carrying her up the stairs, he whispered all
the right platitudes, telling her she'd done well, that she was a
good girl, strong and brave, repeating again and again that he was
proud of her.

But she hadn't taken the cane to please him.
She'd taken it for Bower and he wasn't here to say what she needed
to hear.

Which meant he had to find a way to show her
Bower's opinion didn't matter.

Laying her down on his bed, he tucked her
under the blankets and stretched out beside her. With her nestled
against his side, he spoke quietly, feeling her body relax as she
absorbed his words. "What he thinks, how he feels, doesn't matter
anymore. You've proved yourself to me and to anyone else watching.
They all saw how strong you were."

"I don't care what
they
think." She
chewed at her bottom lip and gazed up at him. "I'm . . . I'm
surprised you're not mad at me too. I broke
your
rules."

"You paid for it. You more than paid for it.
I deserve twice the beating you got for letting you come to the
club all alone. I should never have left you alone. It won't happen
again."

"Promise?"

Tomorrow, she wouldn't be asking him that.
Tomorrow she'd likely curse him and Bower and every Dom in
existence while wishing them a slow, bloody death in a pit full of
broken glass. She'd be cold with Bower and likely stiff and
professional with Dean.

If he let her.

Which he wouldn't.

"I promise." She was already asleep when he
answered, but it didn't matter. Granted, tomorrow things would
change. But not this.

Because tomorrow, he would still be the man
who could keep that promise. And she would still be the woman who
needed it.

* * * *

Everything changed as closing approached.
Landon hunched over the bar, tipped back a vodka shot, then chased
it with a few gulps of beer. Around him cracking whips and piercing
screams became flesh slapping flesh and low moans. The lights
dimmed, a subtle hint to wrap things up.

He should leave. There was no reason to stay.
And he wanted this fucked up night to end. But he had nowhere else
he needed to be.

'Don't give up on me. Please.'

He rolled his head from side to side, cracked
his neck, and gestured for the bartender to refill his glass. The
man didn't hit on him this time. Smart guy.

'If you weren't willing to finish this, you
shouldn't have touched her.'

He used his fingertips to massage his
temples.

I shouldn't have touched her.

She hadn't given him a choice.

Before the willowy, submissive
bartender—who'd likely leave the bottle if Landon asked—could pour,
a tall woman slipped up behind him and said a few sharp words under
her breath. The man bowed to her and scrambled out from behind the
bar with a rag and a spray bottle.

"Hey, I'm Chicklet." She leaned across the
bar and gave him a toothy smile. "And I know you're new here, so I
won't make an issue of it, but there's a rule about getting
shitfaced and driving home. Do it once and don't bother coming
back. Want to throw me your keys?"

"I walked."

"Good man." She laughed and took out another
shot glass, filling them both. "Guess you're smarter than you
look."

One brow raised, Landon stared at her.
"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well . . . ." Chicklet let out an
appreciative sigh as she tossed back her shot. "You've been over
here for awhile, trying to erase the night with some 80 proof. And
I've been over there trying to figure out why. Figured I might as
well ask, but let me tell you, if you're beating yourself up over
punishing that little girl, I'm going to knock you off that stool
and make you look like you tried to stop a puck with your
face."

Woman looks like she could do it too.
He almost smiled as he shook his head. "No. It needed to be
done."

"So what's the problem?"

He clenched his jaw and held up his shot
glass in a mock salute. "Tell you as soon as I figure it out."

Liquid fire and a split second of numbness.
Not nearly enough. Eyes closed, he let the buzzing in his head
drown out the sound of Silver's sobs. The sight of her sweet
submission as she handed him the cane . . .

Sacrament!
It had taken every shred of
discipline he had to keep going. To carry out the punishment. To
step back when her defenses were down and she might have let him
in. If Richter hadn't shown up when he did, she'd be in Landon's
arms now, and this time he couldn't have pretended he didn't want
more.

Chicklet snorted. "It's like that, is
it?"

Definitely a Domme. And a bartender. Kill
me now.
"Like what?"

"Well, you're either friends with her or
you're friends with him. And you've got it bad." Chicklet sloshed
more vodka into both their glasses. "Noble and just a little
stupid. I think I'm going to like you."

Landon's lips quirked. "Thanks, I guess. But
you're wrong."

"I'm never wrong." She took his empty glass
and washed it in the sink behind the bar. "Not about stuff like
this. That girl flipped things on my baby Dom, but I can't see her
pulling that with you. She didn't make you do anything you didn't
want to."

"Like hell she didn't!" He stood, rage
searing from his scalp to his fingertips. "She forced me to punish
her! He should have been watching her!"

"Yeah.
He
should have." Chicklet
cocked her head. "But you're her 'friend' right. Why weren't
you
watching her?"

"It's not my place."

"So what's your place?"

He snatched up his bag and turned his back on
the bar and the nosy Domme. "We're just friends."

"Uh huh. Well, just one problem with
that."

He stopped and his spine went stiff. "Which
is?"

"I can't remember the last time I beat a
friend's ass."

Stinging pain woke Silver. Sharp, shocking
and abrupt like her first Brazilian wax, only this didn't fade.
Light pressure, slickly coating her bottom with some kind of cream,
lessened it.
So nice.

She groaned and pressed her face into her
pillow. Asher didn't usually wake her up for sex—jumping her in the
heat of the moment was more his style, but she wasn't about to
complain. As long as he took it easy on her ass because . . . .

Because Landon had hit her with a cane.
Fifteen times. At the club. She was still at the club.

And that
wasn't
Asher.

Rolling and scooting up, she came face to
face with Dean.

"Sorry to wake you, sweetheart." His hooded
eyes held a hint of amusement. "You snored right through the last
coat, I figured you'd sleep through this one too."

Still at the club and in
his
bed.
After the night she'd had, how the hell had she fallen asleep at
all? He had to be lying. "I zoned out for a bit, that's all. And I
don't snore."

"You're not loud. It's adorable actually,
like sleeping next to a noisy kitten." Dean patted the bed beside
him. "Now come here. I'm not finished."

Noisy kitten? Bite me!
She pursed her
lips. "What if I don't want to?"

Dean sat up and squared his shoulders. "Then
I won't press the matter. It would be silly of you—this cream
speeds up healing considerably—but you haven't agreed to be my sub
yet—"

Wait. What?
"Yet? As in I will?"

"As in we will discuss it."

"Oh no we won't." She pushed up with one
hand. "With what happened last night—"

He pressed on her shoulder and forced her
back down. "We
will
discuss it, Silver. After."

She didn't bother asking 'After what?'. She
knew. But really, why not discuss it now? Shouldn't take too long.
"It's not happening. I've made my decision already. I don't want to
be anyone's sub."

At first, he didn't comment. He held up the
little glass jar. When she sighed and rolled over, he resumed
spreading the clear creamy stuff over her sore bottom. His soft
touch was almost as soothing as the cream itself.

Then he spoke, his tone rough and low. "It's
actually not that bad. He didn't hold back much, but he didn't
break the skin. The deeper bruises will be an unpleasant reminder
for a few days—you might want a pillow for your office chair."

Tears sheened her vision. She hid them in the
pillow.
Landon
hadn't held back, and she hadn't wanted him
to. But it hadn't made a difference.

Screw him. If being a Dom is more important
than being my friend, I don't need him.

Her throat locked and she let out a little
cough. No better. Losing Landon hurt worse than every lash of the
cane combined. It would be hard not to have him in her life.

You'll get over it.

"What is it, Silver? No, stop hiding your
face." Dean's hand curved around her shoulder and he pulled until
she lifted up enough to look at him. "Tell me what you're
thinking."

Her chin quivered. She glared at the center
of his chest.

Dean let out a slow exhale through his teeth.
"Fine. How about this—tell me why you went to the club last
night."

No harm in that. She shrugged and toyed with
a loose thread on the black comforter. "I was curious. I figured
maybe I just liked a bit of pain and if I could get a man like
Carter, a man who wasn't—"

His expression softened into a grin. "An
'uber Dom'?"

"Yeah." She tugged at her bottom lip with her
teeth. "If he could get me off with just a bit of pain, without all
the other stuff, then that would explain why sex is better with
you."

Most men would have gotten all puffed up and
smirky. But Dean's brow furrowed as he came down to her level, his
head braced on his hand. "So you went through all that because you
didn't want to be with me?"

"No! It was to prove to myself that I didn't
need
to be with you. Or someone like you." She shook her
head, absolutely positive he wouldn't get it. "I've been on my own
for years, doing whatever I wanted, not answering to anyone. I
enjoy my independence. I don't want to give it up."

"Who says you have to?" He reached out and
brushed her hair off her cheek. His hand hovered there for awhile,
then rested lightly on the curve of her jaw. His thumb smoothed
over her bottom lip. "What if all you need to give up is a bit of
control, in moments like this. I already see you pulling back
because you're afraid to let me get too close. What if you need me
to stop letting you?"

What if . . . ? No.
This wasn't him
just asking to be her Dom. He wanted more. She drew back. "I
can't—"

"But I can." He raked his fingers into her
hair. "Don't. Move."

Pure liquid heat spilled. She panted. This
was exactly the reaction she was afraid of.

He moved before she could react to her fear,
grasping her wrists in one hand and drawing them high above her
head. Fur lined cuffs snapped around them. "I'm going to take you
now, love, and you will let me. While I have you, your focus will
be on feeling everything I'm doing to you." His fingers slid from
her wrist, down her arms, slowly, so slowly, awakening every nerve
with his soft touch. "You will demand nothing." He pushed the
blanket away from her naked body. "And you will hold nothing
back."

Nonono!
She couldn't do what he asked.
This wasn't about sex. Sex she could do. Hot rough sex with no
strings attached. This, with him, wouldn't have strings. No, it
would have goddamn shackles.