BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) (25 page)

Max let his hands fall to his sides and moved towards her. "Sugar—"

"Don't you
dare,
Max. Both you and Dominik have been trying to keep the peace at home, but you must think I'm fucking blind." Oriana's cheeks reddened and Sloan had to fight not to grin. He knew very well Oriana avoided confrontations at all costs, that she loved the way Dominik ran the household with an easy structure she could follow that kept her in a submissive mindset whenever they were all home, but he missed seeing her all fired up. Speaking her mind without a care about repercussions. Max leaned a little more towards Dominik's style—except when he was in the mood to keep things relaxed—but Sloan preferred blurring the limits, keeping things fresh. It was more fun when Oriana didn't know what to expect from him.

When he could challenge her and she'd challenge him back.

Some of the tension left him as he braced on hand on her desk leaned over her. She wasn't being submissive, so Max wouldn't try to speak for her. Somehow, even with Max there, he sensed it was really just the two of them.

"You're not blind, sweetheart. We all know that." His lips curved slightly. He fingered the thick wood ruler on her desk, new because he’d broken the last one on her ass. "But what exactly is it that you think you see?"

Easing back into her chair, lips parted, Oriana stared at the ruler. Then she snapped her lips shut and scowled up at him. "What I see is you being a moody asshole. You have no idea how much I want to slap you when you tell me to talk to you. Tell you how I
feel.
Why should I talk to you when you can't talk to me?"

"You're right.” Sloan straightened, giving her space he hoped she didn’t really want. Or maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d given her too much. He couldn’t lay
all
the blame on the other men. “I haven't been honest and it's not fair for me to expect you to open up when I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"I'm not your husband. I'm not your Master. Maybe you haven't noticed, but they make most of the decisions for you."

"Nobody makes my decisions for me."

He arched a brow. "Really?"

She licked her lips and swallowed audibly. "What do you want, Sloan?"

You're going to wish you didn't ask that, love.
"I want more of you. All to myself."

Her hands shook as she thrummed her fingers on the desk. She glanced over at Max. "Do you have a problem with that?"

“No.” Max pressed his lips together and his brow furrowed. "But . . . damn it, woman, you don't know how to say no to him. He's better at aftercare than he used to be, but still, sometimes it takes me and Dominik days to get you leveled when you drop. I'm not sure if I'm—"

Oriana's eyes flashed and Sloan grinned as she stood and pushed her chair into the wall. "You're not sure if you're what?"

Wincing, Max slowly lifted his head. "He's made you bleed. You have scars from the whip."

Sloan clenched his fists by his sides. There was only one lasting scar. The one he’d given Oriana on her wedding night, the one that was supposed to mean as much as her ring and collar. All the others had faded to nothing with time. He was careful with her and Max fucking knew it.

Before he could speak, Oriana held her hand up and moved closer to Max. “I treasure every single mark he leaves on me.” She tipped his chin up with a cuff of her fist. "I love you. But I love him too. We all share something different. I thought you were okay with that."

"I am."

"Don't you trust him?"

"Yes."

Sloan blinked. He'd expected Max to hesitate. Dominik would have.

Max rubbed his gold
scruffed
jaw with his knuckles and gave Sloan a cocky half-smile. "That's right, I trust you. And
ya
know, I reckon I've been a bit overbearing with you two. I'll back off."

They’d been through a lot together, him and Max, but their friendship had
kinda
gotten lost in sharing a woman they both loved. Sloan trusted Max. He’d have his back, no matter what. He shouldn’t have doubted Max would do the same. But it felt pretty damn good to be reminded.

Not that we need declarations or anything.
Sloan grinned at Max. "About fucking time."

“You
ain’t
right in the head, pal. Speak up next time,” Max said.

“Will do.” Sloan chuckled at Oriana's dirty look. "Were you expecting us to hug or something?"

Hands on her hips, Oriana nodded.

"Keep dreaming, sweet—ugh!" Sloan rolled his eyes as Max crushed him in a bear hug. "Get off me you beefy bastard."

Oriana smiled and petted Max's bicep when he released Sloan. "He has bulked up nicely in the last few months, hasn't he?"

"Yeah, but he's slow as shit lugging his fat ass around on the ice. I think he needs to spend more time at the gym."

"Your whip would be good incentive."

"Oh
hell
no." Max held his hands up in surrender and backed towards the door. "I'll leave the whips and chains to the two of you. But I reserve the right to kiss every mark better when he's done with you,
darlin
'."

"
Mmm
, I can't wait." Oriana followed him and planted a lingering kiss on his lips before shoving him out. "But I have to get them first."

A bark of laughter filtered through the door as Oriana pushed it shut. She was giggling as she turned, but the sound cut off with a gasp as Sloan closed the distance between them in three long strides. He trapped her with the press of his body and a bruising kiss.

"I hope you don't like this suit." He growled as he tore her jacket open, scattering buttons. He didn't stop tearing at her clothes until he had her huge breasts bared, golden in the bright office light. Her brown nipples were already hard and he dipped down to suck one into his mouth. He watched Oriana's face as he set his teeth into the tiny nub hard enough to make her gasp.

She
thunked
her head against the door and moaned. "Oh fuck, you are going to hurt me, aren't you?"

"Yes, my love." He attacked the other breast with lips and teeth and tongue until the only noise she made was a long, throaty whimper. Then he undid her skirt and dragged it down to her feet. The way she trembled as he straightened to undo his belt had his blood pumping in a hot, steady flow, straight into his swelling cock. He folded the length of leather in half and gestured toward the desk with it. "You know the position."

"I do, but . . . ." She licked her lips and glanced down at his hand. "We're talking about that after."

"Sure we will, pet." He caught her by the back of the neck and put her where he wanted her. Hands on the desk, ass sticking out. Nice, naturally tanned flesh and sweet, sweet curves. A blank canvas because it had been way too long. He tightened his grip on the belt with his good hand, hauled back . . .

And proceeded to make her forget all about the one he’d ruined.

Chapter Eleven

Sunshine blazed through the huge windows, filling the office-turned-audition room with enough light to blind Jami every time she turned. But she didn't need to see the judges or the other dancers. All she needed was the music and Luke's face in the back of her mind, grinning as he watched her nail every move.

Good job, boo.

Her hair stuck to the sweat on her forehead and temples as she took the finishing pose. Her gasping breaths matched those of the nine other girls in the room. The judges were smiling. Sahara, the veteran Islander Ice Girl, gave her a thumbs-up from behind the cameraman. The gesture could have been for any—or all—of the dancers, but Jami knew Sahara was rooting for her.

"Excellent!" An older woman with fuzzy grey hair, who the girls affectionately called Miss
Birdy
, stood behind the long table where all the judges sat. She clapped enthusiastically, looking pointedly at the other judges until they joined her applause, then slapped the folder with her notes shut. "This is going to be a difficult decision, but I must say you are all so talented you will have brilliant futures whether it's with the team or elsewhere. Please don't ask me or the other judges if you've been picked yet—the final fifty will be posted outside the changing room tomorrow morning at 8am. There will also be a list of ten alternates in the event that anyone must bow out before the next cut. There will be tryouts next year, so if you didn't make it this time, you'll have another chance. It's been a pleasure meeting each and every one of you."

After accepting a towel from an assistant by the refreshment stand, Jami joined Sahara in the hall, laughing when the other woman pulled her into a firm hug.

"What's that for?"

"Ugh, I'm sorry. Just feeling a little sappy." Sahara ducked her head as they stepped onto the elevator. "You remind me of myself a few years ago. My grandfather is a legendary hockey player, so everyone thought I’d had an easy time getting on the team, but that couldn't be any further from the truth. I worked my ass off to get where I am, and after seeing you on the ice . . . if they don't take you, they're stupid. You might not be the best dancer in the world, but you did the routine well. If the Cobras are smart, they'll do skating shows with you up front and center and leave the dancing to the others."

Ah . . . okay.
Apparently her dancing hadn't been all that spectacular. But it didn't matter. She'd done it and hadn't looked like a fool. Whether or not she made it, she was pretty damn proud of herself.

She chatted with Sahara on the way to the locker room, asking questions about Sahara's younger brother who'd be drafted this summer, and her grandfather who moaned constantly on how the game had changed. Part of her wanted to go find Luke so she could tell him how well she'd done, but . . . the way he'd left her place in the middle of the night, approaching him in any way would make her feel pathetic. Way too desperate for approval which she didn’t need from
him.
And, well, she missed Sebastian. She needed to see him, to know that he was okay with what she'd done with Luke.

Granted, he'd given them permission, but that didn't mean anything. He could be regretting it now.

The locker room was crammed full of girls, half of those who'd auditioned before them had waited to see how they'd done. Sahara took out a pen and wrote her phone number on Jami's palm before taking off and Jami paused by the end of the lockers to carefully type the numbers into her cell, smiling as she remembered how Sebastian had helped her slow down to get them right.

She finally squeezed up to her locker. Amy was there, giggling with two of her cronies as she held up a picture for them to see.

“She’s such a slut.” Amy elbowed the girl beside her. “It's disgusting.”

Says the girl who was sitting in his lap?
Jami couldn’t see the picture, but she didn’t need to. Amy was probably just jealous because—from what Jami had heard—the photos of her with Sebastian weren’t even being used.

Rolling her eyes, Jami unlocked her locker, nudging the girls aside so she could open it. "I’d say I’m sorry you wasted your time with the photo shoot, Amy, but I’m not. Apparently they were
really
bad."

Hundreds of photos spilled from Jami’s locker and covered the floor at her feet. Among them were unpackaged tampons. Jami tripped backwards and almost fell over the bench behind her. Hauled acidic air into her lungs as she stared down at the mess. At the photos of her bent over, breasts bared, while Luke fucked her on her balcony. Close ups of her face, slick with sweat, lips parted as she came. In red ink, on every photo, were the words 'stuff it up' and ‘no more whore’.

Her insides clenched around the curled mess of her stomach. Red flashed across her eyes.

"You sick fucking bitch." Jami pushed off the bench and lunged at Amy. Her fist connected with Amy's chin and cut off the bitch's laughter. Several girls dragged her back and one ran screaming into the hall for help.

The redhead dabbed at her bottom lip, bloody where she'd bitten it. "You're crazy! I'm pressing charges!"

"You broke into my locker and—" Jami gulped back the rising burn of bile. "Why would you do that?"

"It wasn't me, but whoever it was has quite the sense of humor." Amy sneered as she picked up one of the marked up photos. "'Stuff it up'. A little crude—good idea though. Maybe if you cork it, you won't be tempted to fuck the whole team."

Whispering, all around. The girls holding her loosened their grip. Everyone was staring. At the pictures. At Jami. Repeating those words.
No more whore. Stuff it up.

"What's going on in here?" The room went quiet as Miss
Birdy
made her way through the swiftly parting crowd. She covered her mouth with her hand as she stared at the pictures on the floor. Her face took on a milky cast. "Oh! What is this?"

"Just a stupid prank." Jami knelt and picked up handfuls of the pictures and tampons. She gave a girl who brought a trashcan close a weak smile and almost burst into tears as a few others began helping her.

"She blamed me!" Amy pointed at her chin. "Look what she did to my face!"

Miss
Birdy
squinted at Amy and frowned. "
Did
you do this, Amy?"

"No!"

"She was holding one of the pictures when we came into the locker room," A tiny brunette said from beside Jami.

Several girls murmured their agreement.

"The picture was taped to the outside of her locker! Don't try to pin this on me—my friends were with me the whole time!" Amy looked frantically to her minions. "Tell her."

"It's true," one said.

As if they wouldn't fucking lie for you.
Jami dumped the rest of the photos and grabbed her knapsack from her locker. "I don't care. I just want to go, okay?"

"Of course, my dear." Miss
Birdy
waved for the crowd to clear a path, then followed Jami to the door. "But perhaps it would be best if you don't come back tomorrow. I'll have someone call you."

Jami kept moving until she reached the garage. The ache in her chest made it impossible to breath. She wanted to scream.