Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (8 page)

"I won't fuck your ass. Not tonight." He
pushed his thick fingers into her and moved them in time with the
thrusting of his dick. "But I will take all of you. You enjoy this.
You're a little ass slut, aren't you? That's why you thought your
gay men could satisfy you."

"Oh! Oh!" She bucked and cried out. Her
asshole clamped around his fingers. "I didn't know!"

"Didn't know this was all they would give
you?" He slipped his dick out of her cunt and continued fucking her
with just his fingers in her asshole. He was tempted to put his
cock in there, but she'd been used that way too often to truly
enjoy it now. "I'm bigger than they are, I could take you there and
make you feel like an anal virgin." He thrust into her pussy until
his dick filled her completely. "But, if given a choice, I prefer a
nice, wet cunt."

"Don't stop!" She panted. "I like that. I
like you taking it all."

He frowned as he drove his fingers and his
dick in harder. "You're with two men. Don't they ever—"

"Never. I've asked, but Cedric can't really
get off with a woman . . . ." She hissed a curse. "Why are you
doing this? I don't want to talk! I want here and now!"

"I won't always give you want you want." He
pounded in, feeling her pussy grasping at him as she came. "But
like I said, tonight I'm feeling generous."

He hugged her to him as he found his release,
cursing himself as she sobbed and curled into a little ball before
he'd even drawn out. He'd given her pleasure, but, at the same
time, he'd made her acknowledge things she wasn't ready to
face.

Sometime during the night, she shifted in
sleep and snuggled up to him, a shuddery breath escaping her as she
burrowed her face between his neck and his shoulder. He rested his
cheek against the top of her head, sharing her pillow, amazed at
how good it felt just to hold her. He couldn't remember the last
time he'd looked forward to seeing a woman in the morning
light.

His lips twitched into a smile as he inhaled
the honeydew scent of her hair.
When's the last time a man
served you breakfast in bed, sweetheart?

Silver fingered the lapel of her light grey
suit jacket and flipped through the pages of the tome she'd been
reading for—she glanced at the clock over the door in daddy's
office and groaned—just an hour? Incredible. How in the world was
she supposed to learn anything about the game if all the stupid
facts bored her to tears? She'd gotten here early,
despite
her crazy night, all motivated to take on the role as the new
owner, but no matter how hard she tried, she just didn't get it. It
was a game. Big strong men got suited up in bulky equipment and
bashed each other around while trying to get the puck in the net.
Sometimes the guy standing there stopped it. Sometimes he
didn't.

And she was paying millions for these guys to
mess around on the ice? Seriously?

She sipped at her coffee and made a face at
the cold mouthful. Pressing a button on her phone, she waited for
Anne to answer, tapping her fingers on the desk at the silence.
Hell, am I paying anyone to actually work around here?

Pushing away from the desk, she stood and
strode to the door. Throwing it open, she shouted. "Anne!"

"Yes, Miss Delgado?" Anne scurried out of the
bathroom across from the reception area, still doing up her skirt.
"I'm sorry. I can't seem to go for more than five minutes without
having to pee . . . oh . . . you didn't need to know that."

Well, don't I feel like a bitch.
Silver plastered a smile on her lips and held her hand up. "It's
okay. Being pregnant must suck. I just wanted a fresh coffee."

"I'll get it now," Anne said.

Silver shook her head. "No. Take it easy.
Just tell me where to go—"

The elevator dinged and Silver smiled as
Asher stepped out with two coffees in hand and a small paper bag.
His expression told her he planned to do some sucking up.

Perfect.

"Never mind!" She held the door to
Daddy's—no,
her
—office and then joined Asher inside. "This
is a nice surprise."

"Silver . . . ." Asher placed the tray on the
desk, his blue eyes wide as he turned to her. "I'm sorry. I was an
asshole last night. You didn't give me a chance to apologize when
you came home to get ready for work—I couldn't leave things weird
between us. I never should have left you at the club."

The club
. She closed her eyes and saw
it all. The spanking, escaping from Dean in a haze and sitting with
Landon who'd taken care of her when she was ready to fall apart.
Then leaving him for some hot sex—some
really
hot sex—with
the man that had beaten her ass. What the hell had she been
thinking? Dean Richter, of all people? A fucking Dom! She'd almost
lost herself to him . . . almost, but not quite. Her brain had made
an appearance before dawn. She'd left him a nice note to wake up
to.

Yeah, I'm sure he loved that.

Too bad. She seemed to recall telling him she
wasn't into guys that wanted to 'keep her'. And he'd said he
understood.

Making her way around her desk, she let out a
shallow laugh. The rich aroma of coffee had her feeling very
forgiving. "I made it clear I wanted to stay, Asher."

"So you're not mad?"

The coffee burned her bottom lip so she
pressed her finger to it. Sitting reminded her of worse pain and
she frowned, leaning forward to take some pressure off her butt. "I
didn't say that."

"Damn. How bad did he hurt you?" Asher came
to her side, took her coffee, and set it aside before pulling her
to her feet. "Let me see."

"Here? You've got to be kidding!" She brushed
his hands away and straightened her wide legged grey trousers. "I'm
fine. My butt's just colorful. No big deal."

Asher cocked his head. "You've got the
professional thing going for you. But I've got to ask." He grinned
as he opened the front of her jacket. "What happened to your
shirt?"

Well fuck. Silver had hoped no one would
notice. The jacket buttoned up high enough to completely cover her
bra. Her face heated up. "You starched it. I tried it on, but it
felt weird and I don't have any other shirts that go with this
suit."

"You're so cute." He did up the buttons, then
cupped her cheek in his hand. "So, how's your first day so
far?"

"Horrible." She plunked into her chair and
clenched her jaw when her butt throbbed in protest. "I'm going to
go crazy if I don't do something. I know I need to learn more about
the game, but there's got to be more to this job than signing
checks."

"Depends." Asher picked up one of the
magazines she'd left on the corner of the desk. "Cosmo?"

"For my free time."

"They have a hockey feature." He flipped
through the pages and whistles. "There's a sniper from Florida who
made the sexiest bachelors top twenty. He looks familiar . . .
."

A sniper . . .
Daddy had left a
message on her phone last night, and among a lot of incoherent
grumbling had mentioned the team needed a sniper. Googling the word
told her a bit—basically it was a 'great goal scorer'. All right,
Daddy hadn't specifically said he wanted
her
to get the
'sniper', but why else would he have called?

Your job is to run the team while he can't.
So do it!

Silver sighed and took in the full page image
of the heartthrob as Asher held out the magazine. Oh, yeah, she'd
buy season tickets to watch him play. Too bad the Cobras didn't
have more men like that. Fine, they had Max, but he was taken.
Dominik was a little too intimidating for her tastes and Sloan . .
. well he was just an asshole. A few guys on the roster were worth
a second look, but this guy . . .

"That's it!" Asher smacked the sports rag
from the pile onto the desk in front of her. "He's a free agent.
And he's made waves making it clear that he's looking for the best
offer. You've got space on your cap for him, and another
high-profile player."

She bit her bottom lip. He'd lost her. "The
cap?"

"There's a limit on how much you can spend on
players. From what I know about hockey, a sniper is always a good
investment." Asher ran his finger down the center of the picture,
pausing over the soaked white boxer concealed crotch of the man in
question. "Want me to make the call?"

"I don't even know how this works." She
wrinkled her nose at the big dusty book that hadn't helped her at
all. Where was the book that would tell her whether the hot guy was
any good? "Shouldn't we look at his stats first?"

"Sure." Asher flipped open the sports
magazine and pointed at a long list of names and numbers. "Pretty
impressive if you ask me."

"You're a lawyer, what do you know about
player stats?"

Asher rolled his eyes. "It's not
complicated."

Right.
It might as well have been
Chinese. But she'd asked Asher to come work with her because she
trusted his advice. Mostly. He'd never screwed her over when she
was signing his paycheck anyway. "Do we just make an offer?"

"Sure." Taking out his phone, Asher glanced
at her as he dialed. "I'll find out who his agent is. If this is
what you want . . . ."

The whole paying insane amounts for players
had escaped her, but suddenly it kinda made sense. It was just like
casting parts for a movie. Big names brought extra exposure. And
this man was obviously a big name.

"Go for it." She squared her shoulders and
took another gulp of coffee. Daddy had chosen her to take over for
a reason. Maybe this was it. Much as she loved Oriana, she couldn't
very well make unbiased decision with three of her men on the
roster.

And
Sloan
was one of those three men.
The only reason she'd woken before dawn was because she'd dreamed
of him using the whip on her sister. But in the dream it was much
worse than at Oriana's wedding. So much blood—Sloan asking if
Oriana wanted more. And through lips bitten clean through, Oriana
had whispered
'Yes'
.

Oriana's not stupid. She won't let Sloan go
that far.

Did it need to go
that
far? Dominik
and Max obviously wouldn't stop him.

But maybe I can.

Speaking of which . . . . "When you're done
with that, find Sloan Callahan's contract. I want to know how long
we're stuck with him."

"Got it."

While Asher made himself familiar with all
her daddy's files, Silver leaned back in her chair and finished her
coffee.
Maybe this won't be so hard after all
.
People
want entertainment. Hot guys who can score. I can give them that.
And this is a family business. For once, it's me looking out for
them.

Fifteen minutes later, a contract was drawn
out and placed before her for her signature.

She signed at the bottom line with flourish,
enjoying the feeling of power.

Damn, I love my job.

* * * *

"Sir?"

Dean glanced over at Guy Bolleau, the
assistant general manager, and shook his head. "I've asked you not
to call me that, Bolleau."

"Sorry, Mr. Richter." Bolleau quickly stepped
aside to let Dean pass. The approaching season left Dean with
little time for pencil pushing, so the ever practical man had
temporarily taken over Dean's office.

He was probably the only person Dean would
let infringe on his territory. Even after spending the whole
morning hard at work, Bolleau managed to keep the place looking
undisturbed. The man was like a very efficient ghost, invisible
except for how smoothly he kept things running.

After shedding his suit jacket and hanging it
in the small closet beside his desk, Dean settled into his large,
leather chair and gestured for Bolleau to take the seat across from
him. "What is it, Bolleau?"

Bolleau approached the chair, fiddling with
the pen in his breast pocket as he eyed the papers on the desk.
"I'm not quite sure how to tell you—"

"Spit it out, man!" Dean pressed his lips
together and immediately regretted snapping at the man. Bolleau
didn't do nervous. Whatever he had to say must be bad. "I
apologize. Training camp has revealed several . . . weaknesses in
the team I had not foreseen. Including my brother's tendency to
coddle rookies—which we have in excess. I may have to replace him
if he doesn't smarten up."

"I see." Bolleau sat and fidgeted with his
tie. "Well, I'm afraid the coaching staff is the least of our
problems. The Dartmouth Cobras made an . . . inadvisable
acquisition this morning."

Leaning back, ankle on his thigh, Dean folded
his hands over his raised knee. "Excuse me?"

"Scott Demyan." Bolleau held his hand out
towards the papers on the desk. "His contract was faxed earlier
this morning. He should arrive sometime tomorrow."

Icy calm flowed through Dean as he picked up
the contract and looked it over. A cursory glance at the signature
gave him the sensation of chewing tinfoil. He took his time going
over the small print. All in order. Already approved by the
commissioner.

The bastard was likely on the green
somewhere, laughing his ass off at the joke the Cobras had become.
If the contract had been obscene, he would have been forced to
refuse it, but a one year deal at 2.5 million for a player of
Demyan's caliber didn't warrant his concern. That an ignorant,
twenty-two year old girl had signed the contract made no
difference. She had the legal right to sign anything she
wanted.

Revenge?
He tapped his fingers on the
contract and discarded the idea. Silver had snuck out early,
leaving a short note assuring him she'd 'had fun', promising to
return of his shirt as soon as she had it dry-cleaned. Impersonal
and straightforward. What had passed between them was nothing but a
one-night-stand.