Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) (6 page)

While Max shifted his attention from the candles to the Beatbox on the dresser, putting on a playlist of haunting classical music, Sloan turned his dark gaze to Oriana. In black jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, his black hair mussed up and a slanted smile on his lips, he looked positively evil. His muscles seemed even bigger with him standing over her, and she couldn’t dismiss the knowledge that this man could hurt her badly if he chose to.

She wanted him to hurt her. And she craved the slice of fear that she experienced whenever they played like this. From the beginning, she’d thought she’d need more and more pain to reach the exquisite high she felt with every bite of the whip or thud of the paddle. Not many would consider what they did safe, but rarely were there any marks that left her more than a little sore for a few days. She loved each and every bruise. When the whip or the cane drew blood, she would admire the marks as Sloan or Max tended to them. They were beautiful reminders of scenes that satisfied her in every way.

But it ended up being fear that made an excess of pain unnecessary. During a scene, she would let herself believe that this time it might go too far. Her trust in Sloan made doing so feel safe. He’d never harm her in a way she couldn’t easily recover from. He was careful and he knew what he was doing.

Which included enough of a mindfuck to keep her guessing what he would do next. She always thought she was prepared for anything.

And she was always wrong.

In a swift motion, Sloan raked his fingers through her hair, tipping her head back as he laid the flat of the dagger against her throat. She hissed in a shocked breath and her eyes went wide. A surge of adrenaline had her shivering though she tried to stay very, very still. Heat pooled in her core even as she whimpered at the pain in her scalp.

“So pretty.” Sloan tugged harder at her hair and bent down to lay a gentle kiss on her lips. “I shouldn’t want to hurt you as much as I do. I should let you go, shouldn’t I?”

She wanted to shake her head, but moving with a blade at her throat and his firm grip on her hair was impossible. So she wet her lips and whispered, “Yes.”

A movement behind Sloan caught her attention. Max had shifted closer, and for a second, she was afraid he might have changed his mind about the scene. He’d been in the lifestyle long enough to understand using safewords to stop play rather than “No” or “Don’t” or any other words that might be spoken to spice things up. He trusted Sloan as much as she did, but…there had been times in the past when he’d needed more reassurance that she was really all right.

His lips quirked and he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. And she let out a sigh of relief. This wasn’t one of those times. If she’d read him right, he was enjoying the show.

“Were you expecting him to help you? Let me tell you something about him.” Sloan bent down to whisper in her ear. “He’ll take whatever’s left of you. He’s a very patient man.”

“Please…” Oriana wasn’t even sure what she was asking for, but she needed more. Sensing Max so close, feeling Sloan’s restraint as he slowly laid the groundwork for their erotic role-play, made her want to struggle to push it to the next level. But she wouldn’t risk any sudden movements with the blade at her throat. Not even when she knew the blade was dull.

Sloan cocked his head, pulling the dagger away and releasing her hair. “Please? Do you think I’ll let you go if you beg?”

Holding her breath and giving no warning, Oriana lurched to the other side of the bed. She screamed as Sloan dragged her back by her hair while Max latched on to her ankles. Her eyes teared, but she almost laughed with nervous excitement as they pinned her down.

Dropping the dagger as she swung at him, Sloan caught her wrists in one hand and pulled them up over her head. “Silly girl. Now I’m going to have to hurt you.”

Yes!
Oriana twisted as Sloan pulled out the cuffs permanently attached to the bed frame, but Max moved up the bed, straddling her and pressing his hands to her shoulders to hold her down. She tried to bite him and he lightly slapped her cheek.

Not hard enough to even sting, but it shocked her. He didn’t usually participate in the edgier aspects of their games, and slapping her face was something even Sloan rarely did. Caught off guard, she stared at him as Sloan secured her wrists with the cuffs. It took a moment to sort out her thoughts, but when she did, she realized she loved that he’d gotten into his role enough to do something unexpected. She wet her lips, hoping he’d take that as a sign that she was fine with what he’d done.

But, as he’d say, bless his heart. He’d caught himself off guard too, and his brow furrowed with concern. “I—”

“Just made her very happy. Don’t spoil it, buddy.” Sloan patted Max’s shoulder as he studied Oriana’s face, inclining his head when she gave him a quick, reassuring smile. “This slut is probably dripping wet. Are you wet, girl?”

She shook her head, heat spreading over her cheeks as she felt the sheet under her ass grow damp with her arousal. Sloan didn’t miss a beat. He put his hand on her throat and smirked. “Why don’t you check, Max?”

As Sloan’s grip on her throat tightened, her thighs were spread even farther apart. Max thrust two fingers into her, letting out a soft groan as he lowered his head to flick her clit with his tongue.

Her hips bucked and she gasped. “Oh God!”

Sloan chuckled, running his hand down her body, between her breasts, over her stomach, then back up so he could squeeze her breast. “He’s not gonna save you either, little girl. The only thing that will save you is if you make me happy. And I’m not easy to please.”

The candles on the nightstand flickered as Sloan reached out, taking one and tilting it to let a few drops fall on the back of his own hand. He shifted to hold it over her chest, upending it to drizzle the hot wax across her breasts, using a circular motion to draw wax spirals from the base of one breast all the way to her nipple.

A slight burning sensation hit her with each droplet, and she moaned as the sweet haze clouded her mind. Her skin felt tight under the wax and sensitive where her flesh waited for the bite of pain. Looking down her body, she watched the red cover her pale golden flesh, meeting Max’s eyes when he lifted his head and pulled his fingers from her body to slip them into his mouth. Her cunt clenched against the emptiness, more juices spilling at the erotic visual. Combined with the fresh sting of heat, the sensation brought her to the verge of either floating away in ecstasy or being thrown into a fierce orgasm.

She fought both, needing this to last as long as possible. Sloan had promised to do things to her that he’d never done before. The role-playing, the wax, and the knife were all old favorites, but Sloan had spent the last year training to fulfill one of her edgiest fantasies. There was no way she’d give in to the shallow desires of her body and miss the ultimate experience.

“Where are we, my love?” Sloan’s tone was soft, letting her know he was checking on her before he went any further. He usually avoided pulling her out of her headspace, but when they tried something new, he always made sure she was in a good place first.

Inhaling slowly, careful to keep her tone level, she smiled at him. “I feel amazing, Sir. Are we role-playing for the rest of this?”

Sloan’s expression grew thoughtful. Then he nodded. “Yes. You’re not as far gone as I’d let you get during a milder scene. This won’t be…pleasant if it becomes too clinical.”

“Then please don’t worry. I’ll tell you the same thing I did when we planned this.” She held his gaze, happy to see he was taking in her every word. “I know what I’m asking for.”

“I know you do. If I doubted it, we wouldn’t be here.” He inhaled and pressed his eyes shut. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Sloan.” She used his name to bring him back to her. They’d talked enough for her to know he was second-guessing his desires more than hers. And as much as she wanted him to use his new skills on her, she wouldn’t push him past his limits if he really wasn’t comfortable. “I’m not the only one who can stop this, you know.”

“I don’t want to stop.” Sloan inhaled roughly, then glanced over at Max. Max shrugged one shoulder, then reached out to brush his fingers over the faint scars on Sloan’s right forearm. There were four long lines, the first a bit thicker than the others, months old, while the thinnest one had been made a few weeks back.

Max had two thin scars on the same spot on his arm. That he’d been willing to let his best friend cut him—especially when any serious injury could take him out of the game, which was unacceptable during the playoffs—showed there was no limit to his trust. Not that he’d needed to let Sloan cut him to prove anything, but he wasn’t standing back and simply watching anymore. This was a scene that could potentially bring them all closer. She wanted the sensation, and the marks to remember it by.

“There might not be a scar at all, Oriana.” Sloan grinned as he picked up one of his long, razor-sharp knives. “But I’ll try to leave something for us all to admire for days to come.”

Without being asked, Max secured her ankles, both with the cuffs permanently fixed to the end of the bed—which they’d discussed ahead of time so she wouldn’t make any sudden movements—and his own hands as she’d asked so she’d feel him close. Sloan had a good idea of how she moved with different sensations, so it was unlikely that he’d cut her without meaning to even if she jerked with a prick of the blade. Either way, he seemed to have prepared for any possible outcome.

He started with the wax on her breasts, prying off little pieces, letting the sharp tip of the knife shallowly pierce her flesh. A sting on the side of her breast. Liquid heat. The skin freed from the wax felt cool in contrast.

Another tiny sting, more heat, she closed her eyes to soak in the sensation. Whips and canes could leave bruises, even break the flesh, but it wasn’t the same as the delicate kiss of the knife. She was aware of the pain, only, not the way she would be with a paper cut or a burn. The perception was entirely different because Sloan hurting her was so closely linked to pleasure.

When her breasts were free of the wax, she opened her eyes and watched Sloan set down the knife. He pulled off his gloves and put on a pair of fresh ones. Then he used a cotton pad with clear liquid to clean her upper thigh.

“You’ve impressed me, pretty girl.” The tone of the evil kidnapper had returned, but Sloan was softening it with the endearment. The game was a careful balance, one that worked because they’d all been together long enough that not much was needed beyond basic negotiations before a scene. He was still playing the bad guy, but enough of his real self came through for her to feel safe. “I’ve never found a bitch I wanted to keep, but you’re fun to play with. Will you cry if I cut you?”

“No, I’ll be quiet.” She’d read some amazing books where captives fell in love with their captors. She was already in love with Sloan, but to play her part, she could toy with the idea of doing anything to survive and beginning to…feel something more for the man who might spare her if she pleased him. “I want you to keep me. I won’t fight you, I promise.”

“Hmm.” Sloan pressed his hand to her thigh before picking up a scalpel, the only tool he’d laid out that he hadn’t used yet. “Are you sure about that?”

All the trust in the world couldn’t dim how frightening the scalpel looked in his practiced hold. She reasoned that this wasn’t his first time wielding the exquisitely sharp tool. The blade was taped to control how deep it could cut, and the result would be more like the shallow cuts he’d made on Max’s arms than the deeper ones he’d made on his own. She braced for the pain as he touched the knife to her thigh, his stroke as light as it would be if he were painting with a brush. She could feel the blood well up. Then the cool dampness of an alcohol swab gliding over the cut.

Pain, acute and intense; almost like the alcohol had been lit on her flesh and flames seeped under her skin. She tossed her head, fighting to bite back a moan. Her core clenched and her eyes teared, not with pain, but with pure ecstasy. The blade returned, followed by the alcohol, and she lost herself to the fiery bliss. Most wouldn’t understand why she’d want this, but she’d given up caring about any who would judge. She was exposed to her men, taking all they could give her, knowing they, at least, accepted her needs.

Max had tightened his grip on her ankles. Sloan gently covered the cuts on her thigh with a sterile gauze bandage and compressed the hot spill. The scalpel hit the tray with a clang. He pulled off the gloves with his teeth, keeping one hand on the bandage as he rose over her and undid his jeans. He drove into her in one smooth thrust, making her back arch as the sensation of being filled mixed with the painful pressure on her thigh. Her lips parted and her gasps came with every slap of his flesh against hers.

Pleasure was violent, but Sloan had clearly lost the flow of their game as he leaned back, gentling his motions as he looked down at their joining. He licked his lips as he watched his dick slide into her. The slow motion was torture, but the expression on his face made the delayed gratification more than worth it. He caught her gaze and smiled, his eyes filled with love.

Then he glanced over at Max, who’d been quiet for too long. His tone thick with lust, Sloan closed his eyes and pulled free of her, dipping back in over and over. “Look at our woman, Max. So warm and wet. Do you want her?”

Shifting to the top of the bed, Max trailed his fingers down Oriana’s cheek. He bent down to lay a soft kiss on her lips. “Yes, but don’t stop what you’re doing. I’ll take her mouth while you take her body. Seeing her taking you in like that is fucking hot.”