Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) (5 page)

Dominik glanced over at Sahara and grinned as she giggled when their performing waiter caught her eye in the middle of a joke about fainting maidens. When the act ended, the waiter came over and snatched up Sahara’s napkin, folding it and fanning her with it when she pressed her hands to her cheeks, which were red from laughing so much.

The young man gave Dominik a sideways glance before sweeping the napkin over Sahara’s lap and moving as though to kiss her on the cheek. Dominik’s eyes narrowed and Sahara ducked out of reach, which, strangely enough, pleased him. With a dramatic bow, the waiter shifted away from her and gathered their empty plates.

After the second course was served, the actors prepared for the next act. Sahara smiled at Dominik, looking so happy he couldn’t think of a thing to say. He’d rarely seen her this carefree and relaxed.

Actually, he couldn’t recall feeling this laid-back himself. There was no pressure. Instead of the tension of a first, awkward date, this felt like spending time with a friend. One he hoped would become more.

Just before the show continued, Sahara returned her hand to his and met his eyes. “Thank you for bringing me here. I was so nervous, but you’ve proved I don’t have to be. Not with you.”

He turned his hand, stroking her long, delicate fingers with his thumb, amazed at how comfortable he felt touching her. She didn’t come off as the type of woman to play games, and he could tell she wasn’t holding back from him. His only regret was not bringing her somewhere where they could talk more. He wanted to know more about her. What she liked. What she wanted.

But that would come. There was no need to rush things; they were off to a good start.

“I’m glad you like it. Cam wasn’t crazy about the food, but my brother’s spoiled rotten. He goes home a few times a month just so our mother can cook for him and he can complain that nothing else measures up.” Dominik took a bite of his steak, thinking about how Cam had mentioned their mother’s homemade BBQ sauce was ten times better. He had to agree, and their mother had been flattered, but as someone who didn’t have the luxury of home-cooked meals very often, Dominik was more than satisfied.

Sahara chewed slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I’m a decent cook, but I find the best meal is one you don’t have to make.”

“Very true.” The act had begun, but Dominik could tell Sahara wanted to talk, so he gave her his full attention.

“Can I ask you something?”

He inclined his head, about to tell her she already had, but refrained when she hunched her shoulders and dropped her gaze. Whatever she had to say was too serious for him to start teasing her.

“You’re playing Grant’s team. I know you guys don’t like him because of the past, but…” Her brow furrowed. She looked frustrated. “What he did was horrible, but it’s in the past. He recently lost his mother and he’s trying to change. I don’t want him targeted because of me.”

Dominik clenched his fist under the table, thinking of all the times Grant Higgins had instigated fights on the ice, calling Sahara names and taunting those who cared for her. She should have pressed charges a long time ago and made the man pay for what he’d done to her. Dominik didn’t know the extent of Higgins’s abuse, but he did know Sahara had still had bruises when she’d joined the Cobras’ Ice Girl team.

The man wouldn’t even be playing in the league anymore if charges had been filed. Cases like this were on the news all the time, and no professional sports team would tolerate that kind of behavior. Unfortunately, rumors didn’t hold much weight, and Sahara seemed to have decided getting out of reach was enough.

Perhaps Higgins had made some drastic changes after his mother’s death. Dominik had a hard time trusting that, but telling Sahara as much would only drive a wedge between them. He had to take her lead, despite his misgivings.

So he schooled his features and nodded. “I’ll do my best to keep the games clean, but I take no responsibility for Demyan’s reactions. Higgins seems to enjoy pushing his buttons.”

“He won’t anymore. And don’t worry about Scott, I’ll talk to him.”

“Fair enough.” Dominik took another bite of steak as he shifted his attention back to the stage.

He could feel Sahara’s gaze locked on the side of his face. “That’s it?”

Brow arched, Dominik turned back to Sahara. He wasn’t sure why everyone expected him to react badly whenever they told him about their problems. He didn’t consider himself a judgmental man, but perhaps he came across that way?

“My turn to ask you a question.” Dominik steepled his fingers and regarded Sahara for a moment before continuing. “Did you expect me to be unreasonable? Or tell you how to handle the situation?”

She ducked her head and her cheeks reddened. “I don’t mind you telling me what to do.”

He tightened his lips and shook his head. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“All right, fine.” She wrinkled her nose, a habit she had that he found endearing. And distracting. If they were at the club, he’d be tempted to spank her for what edged on brattiness, but they weren’t and he couldn’t let her lead the conversation in that direction.

Not yet anyway.

Tonguing her bottom lip, she studied his face. “Apparently kink is off the table.”

“A fact I’m sure the staff here appreciates. Bending you over the table to punish you for being a brat would make the other patrons uncomfortable.”
So much for steering clear of that subject.
Dominik leaned back in his chair and smiled at the way she covered her cheeks to hide her blush. “Will you answer me now?”

Picking up her glass of water, she took a sip, then licked her lips. “I respect your opinion, and I appreciate how you’ve stuck up for me in the past. I was afraid you’d be disappointed in me for forgiving him.”

“Have you?”

“I…” She frowned, as though she wasn’t sure. “I feel bad for him, and I’m hoping he’s serious about changing. I wouldn’t mind being friends with him, but I’m not stupid. I’ll be careful about it.” Her gaze met Dominik’s, and he could tell she was looking for his approval again. He wasn’t sure he could give it, but he inclined his head so she’d continue. “I don’t expect anyone to understand. I guess… I fell in love with him for a reason. Even though I’ll never feel that way about him again, part of me wants to see him as the man I know he can be. I can’t forget what he did, but not forgiving him feels like I haven’t moved on. And I have.”

Her reasoning made a lot of sense. Dominik was still concerned that Higgins would take advantage of Sahara giving him any opening to get close to her.

“What makes you think no one will understand? Everyone’s seen the steps you’ve taken to protect yourself. You’ve been taking self-defense for quite a while. You’re not the same woman who came to us with bruises, shying away from sudden movements.” He had to force his tone to stay level as the memories came to him and rage simmered within. The color had left her cheeks and he took her hand, knowing all she needed from him right now was his support. “I won’t lie to you. I hope you won’t regret offering him your friendship, but you’re not walking into this blindly. Forgive, but don’t forget. Even if he screws up—which he damn well better not—you’ve got to do what’s right for you.”

“Thank you!” Her eyes brightened and she lunged forward to hug him. Her lips brushed his throat as he held her. “Akira’s so mad at me, and Cort…”

She slipped out of Dominik’s arms and sat back in her chair. Then she went over what had happened with Higgins and Cort earlier that day. Dominik was tempted to call Cort and thank him, but Sahara wouldn’t appreciate that if she found out. His only option was to make sure she knew he’d be there for her no matter what.

Thankfully, she was eager to change the subject, so conversation moved to the playoffs and the next show the Cobras’ Ice Girls would put on. She brought up the club a couple of times with offhand, teasing remarks, but he refused to take the bait. Their interactions at the club they both went to, had mostly consisted of her acting out and him having to discipline her because he was one of the regular Dungeon Monitors. He missed seeing her there, but neither of them was ready to delve into the lifestyle. He couldn’t say for sure he was even interested in being a Dom anymore. To her or anyone else.

“Is it me?” She let out a frustrated sound when he dodged another remark about BDSM by bringing up her music choices for the Ice Girls’ next performance. He opened his mouth to assure her it wasn’t, but she cut him off. “I know I’m not the perfect sub, but I could learn to—”

“I’m not looking for a sub, Sahara.” He took her hand, squeezing gently to soften the impact of his words. He used his other hand to tilt her chin up when she dropped her gaze. “Hey, that’s not a bad thing. What that means is what we’re doing, right here, is all I want.”

She nibbled her bottom lip, her eyes sad. “But you need more.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Really?” She brushed her hand over her chest as though there were crumbs there, a crooked smile on her lips. “So do you like the dress? I’m happy I didn’t have to choose my own outfit; we would have missed the first act.”

Cheeky little thing, isn’t she?
Dominik chuckled and tugged her closer, whispering against her lips. “Are you fishing for compliments, pet?”

“No,
Sir
.” She held still as he gently stroked her lips with his. Then sighed when he shifted away. “Dominik—”

“Watch the show, Sahara.” He wasn’t sure whether he should spank her or bring her home with him, but for the moment, she had a point. He did need to exert some control. Over himself. “You’ll like how this ends.”

Meanwhile

Max Perron stood in the shower behind Oriana, loving the dreamy look on his wife’s face as she gazed up into his eyes. That was all he needed to see to know tonight would go well. To be perfectly honest, he’d been nervous at first, but there was something erotic about setting up a scene that gave the two most important people in his life exactly what they needed.

He enjoyed watching the scenes between her and Sloan, but sometimes he was torn between his desire to watch and his need to participate in their pleasure. He hadn’t been sure he’d be of much use this time, but Sloan insisted that he make sure to get Oriana nice and clean while other preparations were made.

The intense focus in Sloan’s expression as he’d pulled out his knife kit was enough to make the hairs rise on the back of Max’s neck. And blood to pulse steadily into his cock as he considered how fucking hot the whole scenario would be.

He took a deep breath as he cupped his hand to fill his palm with the coconut- and vanilla-scented shampoo. The sweet aroma rose in the steam as he worked it through Oriana’s waist length, burnished gold hair. He massaged her scalp, loving how routine intimate moments like this had become over the years. Sex had never been an issue for them, but his biggest fear in their unconventional relationship had been that the little things he enjoyed doing with her would seem boring.

Instead, it was the little things that she craved when life got rough. Yes, she enjoyed a high level of pain when they played, and she found peace in submitting to him and Sloan. But cuddling on the couch, having her hair washed or brushed, soft kisses, and holding hands while walking down the street, were all she needed to make her smile and laugh when she was on the verge of tears.

Casual affection was a bit harder for Sloan, but he did his best. His efforts were appreciated, but Oriana had told Max once that so long as she had one of her men who showed tenderness easily, she’d never feel like their relationship was lacking.

Which made him happy. And yet…hell, he couldn’t even explain why it still bothered him that he had to step in after every edgy scene to ease Oriana back to level ground. Sloan was capable enough in providing aftercare, but there was a jarring disconnect in the way he tended to their girl. Almost as if he’d gone so far into himself that he had trouble coming back.

Max suspected Sloan could use some aftercare himself, even if it was just to snuggle and hear he wasn’t fucked up for wanting to hurt the woman he loved. Not when it satisfied them both and he was so goddamn careful with her.

“Max?” Oriana glanced over her shoulder, putting a hand over the one he’d rested on her shoulder while drifting away in thought. “Are you okay? I lost you there for a little bit.”

He smiled and grabbed the showerhead to rinse her hair. “I’m fine, love. Just thinking about the scene.”

She inhaled roughly, closing her eyes to keep the soap out of them. “In a good way? You’re not worried, are you?”

He wasn’t worried about the scene itself, but he took his time answering. Sloan had mentored with an experienced knife Top for almost a year. He’d renewed his first aid certificate. He’d done everything a responsible Dom could possibly do to make a potentially dangerous scene safe.

But preparing emotionally for a scene that could hit unexpected triggers for the Dom and the sub? There was no course for that. One could prepare for every imaginable outcome and still be blindsided.

Using a washcloth, he wiped away the suds on Oriana’s face so she could open her eyes. “I always worry, but it’s not a bad thing. Nothing pleases me more than you both exploring all your twisted kinks.”

“But?”

“But I never know if I’m doing enough. During the scene…and after.” He gave her a crooked smile and shrugged as he soaped up the sea sponge to wash her beautiful body. “I hope you’ll let me know if I’m not.”

“I will. But I don’t see it happening.” She squirmed as he washed her breasts, then giggled as he scrubbed over her ribs and the luscious swell of her belly and hips. A soft sound of pleasure left her as he moved in closer and pressed the sponge between her thighs. “You never miss anything, Max. Even when you’re not touching me, just feeling your eyes on me makes me feel…” She pressed her hand to his cheek and smiled at him. “I’ve seen the girls you were with in the past. They were skinny and perfect. I used to wonder why you’d even want me, but not anymore. I don’t see a chubby woman when I look in the mirror. I see the woman you can’t take your eyes off of.”

“Good. Because I’ll take the whip to you myself if you dare compare yourself to anyone.” He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her wet lips, putting his misgivings aside so he could lose himself in the moment.

Some might assume sharing his wife with another man would make him jealous, or bitter, but he found that it made him appreciate times like this in a way he might not if he had her all to himself. He could be wrong; he didn’t have much experience
not
sharing a woman. And yet, he wouldn’t change a single thing.

Helping Oriana step out of the shower, Max drew her close and claimed her lips again, not caring that they were both dripping water all over the floor. He’d take care of the mess later—or perhaps make Oriana do it since Sloan often accused him of being too easy on her. For now though, he simply wanted to drink in her excitement. And hold her one last time before she floated away in ecstasy.

She gave him a playful look as he grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist before opening the door that led into the master bedroom. “Speaking of whipping, I noticed you couldn’t take your eyes off Sebastian and Luke at the club. Even
after
Sebastian put the whip away.”

Max blinked, thinking back on their last visit to the club and wondering what she was getting at. She knew he got off watching people fuck. He wasn’t picky about who he watched, and she’d never complained before.

“Does it bother you?” If it did, he’d stop. He just hadn’t considered that giving in to his urges as a voyeur might become an issue.

Standing by the bed, Sloan snapped on a pair of sterile gloves from the large first aid kit on the nightstand and let out a soft chuckle. “I do believe she’s noticed you’re just as interested in watching the men being fucked as the women.”

“I…” Max frowned as he realized his focus
had
shifted. He’d never had a problem with who was getting off, but the soft body of a woman had always been more appealing. Lately there was a greater variety at the club, and he was drawn to the passion laid out before him.

“It’s not a big deal, my love.” Oriana came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I enjoy watching them too. Sometimes I wonder…”

Her voice trailed off and Max looked over his shoulder, eager to know what had her blushing and biting her lip. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

She ducked her head and pressed her cheek to his back. “Never mind.”

Max frowned. “Pet, you—”

“Does she need to spell it out, Max? She gets nice and wet seeing two guys together. Seems like her sister is living every woman’s fantasy.” Sloan rolled his eyes as Max’s brow furrowed. “She wants to be able to watch more often.”

All right, he didn’t see a problem with that. Max grinned as he pulled Oriana in front of him so he could go back to kissing her sweet lips. She wouldn’t be able to squirm once Sloan started playing with her, so Max would enjoy making her do so now.

And tease her a little with her kinky needs, which meshed well with his own. “The guys who go to the club don’t mind an audience. I’ll make sure you’ve got the perfect view next time we go. Carter might like it rough like you, but you should see how Zovko and Chicklet torment Vanek. It would amuse Chicklet to have your eyes on them while I toy with you.”

Sloan snorted as he lifted a dagger from the array of sharp implements he’d sterilized and lined up on a raised tray by the bed. “Probably, but Oriana would much prefer watching me fuck you.”

With an involuntary shudder, Max shot Sloan a dirty look. “You’re crazier than a shithouse mouse.”

“And sometimes you make White look like a rocket scientist. Not sure how many different ways you needed her dirty dream scenario explained to you.” Sloan tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully with the tip of the dagger, his lips slanting in a smirk. “From the expression on your face, you were willing to give her whatever her heart desired. Did that change, Romeo?”

What kind of question was that? Max stifled the urge to swallow, fully aware that Sloan was in the dark headspace where any discomfort he caused would satiate him. And Max refused to give the man the upper hand.

So he shrugged. “I don’t deny our beautiful wife very much.”

“Fuck off.” Sloan’s eyes narrowed at Max’s level gaze. “Are you serious?”

“If I am?”

It was Sloan who swallowed before quickly shaking his head. “I couldn’t… Hell, you’re like a brother to me. Cutting you when you wanted to see how it would feel was almost too much. I won’t judge you if you wanted to try—”

“So it wouldn’t bother you if I was with another man?” Max ran his fingers up the underside of Oriana’s arm, never taking his eyes off Sloan. “Reckon that would be good enough for our girl.”

The muscle in Sloan’s jaw ticked. “Guess that would be fine.”

Max kissed along Oriana’s throat. “We’ve both agreed she can only be shared between us, so she wouldn’t participate.”

Oriana let out an irritated sound. “
She
is right here.”

Sloan ignored her. “We agreed the three of us were committed to this relationship.”

Inclining his head, Max ran his teeth down the curve between Oriana’s neck and shoulder, grinning when she shivered. “True. But you wouldn’t object if it was what I needed?”

“No.” Sloan inhaled roughly. “I’m surprised—I thought you talked to me about everything, but—”

“That’s good to know, Sloan. It’s not an issue, but I appreciate your support.” Max drew away from Oriana and reached out to pat the bed, which had been stripped down and covered with a disposable, sterile sheet. “Are you ready, darlin’?”

Covering her mouth to muffle a giggle, Oriana hopped onto the bed. She schooled her features when Sloan frowned down at her.

The disgruntled look shifted to Max. “You were fucking with me, asshole?”

“Yes.” Max had to fight not to laugh as Sloan continued to stare at him. Then something occurred to him that made the situation not so funny anymore. “I done pulled you out of your headspace. Sorry about that.” He gently petted Oriana’s damp hair as she rolled to her side, facing Sloan. “Did I ruin the scene?”

Eyes dark, but expression relaxed, Sloan seemed more
with
them than he had before. He moved to rake his fingers through his black hair, stopping as though he’d suddenly remembered the gloves.

Then he chuckled. “No, but I will take credit for how good you’re getting at playing head games. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Careful, Sloan.” Max casually drew his fingers down between Oriana’s breasts, deciding to tease her a little more now that he and Sloan were on the same page. “The idea of you rubbing anything on me might make me change my mind.”

Sloan held up the dagger, blade down, hands wrapped around the handle with the top one moving up and down slowly. “That so? How about this: you suck my dick and we’ll go from there.”

“I say we make a wager. I score tomorrow night, you suck
my
dick. I don’t, and—”

Oriana thumped her fist on the mattress. “You’re both horrible! We all know you’re never going to do anything together. Or with any other guy. Why do you have to torture me with the images of what will never be?”

Flipping the dagger in his hand, Sloan bent over Oriana, brushing the tip of the blade down her cheek. The dagger had no edge, so Sloan would have to press hard to even scratch her, but the subtle threat of metal against her flesh had the desired effect. Oriana went still, her lips parted and her eyes holding the delicious kind of fear she craved.

“Why do we torture you, pet?” Sloan’s slow smile was filled with danger. In scenes like this, he reminded Max of the onscreen killers women swooned over. Deadly and alluring all at once. Sloan was as skilled using fear as he was with every tool in his arsenal. He wielded words with the same careful edge as the lash of his whip. “Because you love it.”

A simple gesture from Sloan had Oriana rolling onto her back. He slapped her thigh and she jumped. Then bent her knees and spread her thighs. The scene was about to begin.

There would be opportunities for Max to touch Oriana, even if only to hold her still. Enough contact for Max to assure her, and himself, that it was just a twisted, erotic game. But for the most part, he would watch them in their balance of pain and pleasure, dancing along the edge. Always a sight to behold.

* * * *

Oriana relaxed into the mattress, taking a moment to watch her infuriating, yet wonderful men prepare for the scene with the same harmony they’d once had on the ice. Sloan still held the dagger, but he acted almost as though he’d forgotten her as he observed Max lighting a few red candles—not for light, the room was bright enough and Sloan wouldn’t do a scene like this in the dark. They added some ambiance, but Max put one on the nightstand by the first aid kit, within Sloan’s reach, meaning blades wouldn’t be the only things on her flesh tonight.