BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) (3 page)

Which she did. She saw Chicklet handle Tyler like this.

But Tyler
was
a sub.

Gritting his teeth, Luke glared at Chicklet. "Let. Me. Go."

Chicklet clucked her tongue. "You worry too much about what others see when they look at you. Use the
safeword
or shut up and let me take care of you."

He continued to glare at her, but didn't say a word.

"That's my boy." She looked over his shoulder. "Master Wayne, please take care of his hand. I'm going to fetch a few things from behind the bar."

As she walked away, Wayne came to his side and unwound the towel from his hand. He took out a flat gauze and covered the slowly oozing cut with it, then wrapped a bandage around Luke's hand. After taping it in place, he rose and folded his arms over his chest.

"What's eating at you, boy?" He took hold of Luke's chin when he tried to look away. Somehow he looked less ugly and more . . . powerful, standing over him. "You know, most good
Doms
submit at one point just to see what it's like. I've done it."

Luke's brow shot up and he lifted his chest off the bar as much as he could to face the man. "
You?
"

"Yes. Me." Wayne grinned. "Wasn't my thing, but I gave it a shot. Won't hurt you to do the same."

Snorting, Luke looked over to where Chicklet was approaching with her whole toy bag. "With Chicklet? I'd be disappointed if it
didn't
hurt."

Chicklet smiled. "That's the most honest thing you've said tonight. Don't worry, boy, I'll hurt you."

Luke's eyes went wide. He shook his head. "That isn't what I meant."

"That's exactly what you meant. You're not fooling anyone, Carter." She knelt, unzipped her toy bag, and pulled out a blindfold. "What you felt when you cut your hand is nothing compared to what you'll feel when I'm done with you. You
wanna
negotiate, you better do it now, because after I put this on you I don't want to hear another word."

"Negotiate?" Luke let out a nervous laugh. "Come near me with a strap-on,
Mistress,
and you better never take these restraints off."

 
"So noted. I planned to keep this scene non-sexual anyway."

He swallowed and went still as she put the blindfold on him. Non-sexual. Which could only mean one thing as far as he knew.

Darkness stole the last of his resistance. He couldn't see anyone staring, so it was like they weren't there. "You
are
going to hurt me."

He heard Chicklet, and possibly Wayne, moving around him. Someone rolled his shirt up to his shoulders. Someone else undid his belt and slid his jeans and boxers down enough to bare his ass.

"I will, but only after Wayne does." Chicklet—it must have been Chicklet, because the lips were soft and her voice sounded close—kissed his cheek. "Count for me."

The
Snap!
came with a hot lick of fire across his ass. He clenched his butt and sucked in air as the sensation travelled down to his balls.
Holy shit!

He groaned and whispered. "One."

Four more, harder, without pause, and he was panting against the urge to come. Forcing himself to count helped him hold back, but when smooth hands caressed his burning flesh he shuddered as the tip of his dick moistened with pre-cum.

"You're doing good, boy. Very good." Chicklet's approval made him feel bigger somehow. Stronger. Like he wasn't completely pathetic for letting her do this to him. "I'm going to play with you for a bit, put you in a good place. And you will not come."

"This won't make me come." He almost added 'bitch' because being told what to do irked him, but he knew what kinds of toys she had in that bag. And he liked his nuts just as they were, thank you very much.

Clicking heels. A long body, both soft and hard in all the right places, pressed against his back. "You're so close, pet. I can tell. But if you're good, I'll let you go with your buddy, Demyan, and fuck one of those strippers. The redhead on stage now is an old favorite of Sloan's. She'll take good care of you both."

Luke groaned. And nodded. That sounded like a good reward. Not that he needed her permission to fuck anyone, but somehow, getting it, made it seem more . . . appealing.

Chicklet moved away from him. He heard a familiar
Whoosh
and braced himself. A sharp biting pain spread over his ass, snapping at the end. He grunted as the pain flared out and his eyes watered as she hit him again and again. His balls ached with the need to come, but he focussed on the heat, absorbing it, allowing it to consume him.

A woman’s screams pierced his skull. The kind of screams he got off on drawing from a woman using the exact same tools Chicklet was using on him. His muscles became rock hard, to the point that the tension hurt more than the bite of the flogger. The steady strokes eased off. His brain snapped back into place and everything that had brought him here came to him at once. He couldn't be a good boyfriend. He was a lousy Dom. Maybe all he was good for was getting beaten on. He was so fucking weak.

The blindfold was torn away and he blinked as the dim lights of the club blinded him.

"Carter, look at me." Chicklet held his face between his hands. "You stiffened up. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" He laughed and clenched his wounded hand over the bandage until he could feel the moisture of fresh blood. But it didn't hurt. Nothing hurt and goddamn it he wanted it to. "I'm weak. You wouldn't have me here like this if I wasn't. I'm disgusted with myself, okay?"

"Damn." Chicklet shook her head. "I've never had a sub drop
during
a scene."

"This isn't a fucking drop! I need more! It felt good. Too good. And it shouldn't."

"It shouldn't? Is that what you're going to tell your next sub? That she shouldn't enjoy what you're doing to her?"

Luke blinked. "My next sub? But I thought you'd decided I was—"

"Take him down, Wayne." Chicklet massaged her temples with her fingers. "Honestly, I can't figure out what you are, Carter. You don’t have the confidence to be a good Dom. You enjoy receiving pain, but you can't submit completely. And since you don't know what you want, you obviously can't tell me. I'm not a fucking mind reader. I just hope this helped you a little."

"It helped." His legs felt rubbery as Wayne freed him and helped him stand. But nausea almost floored him. He was such a loser. At least Tyler knew what he wanted. He embraced it. No one could call him pathetic for kneeling to Chicklet because it seemed so natural. And the
Doms
on the team all wielded their power with unwavering confidence. Chicklet was right, Luke didn't have that. Not as a Dom, not even as a fucking man.

His eyes burned and he wrenched away from Wayne.

"Can I go now?"

"Not yet." Chicklet nodded to Wayne and the man latched an arm around Luke's neck and wrestled him across the room to a sofa. He held Luke until he stopped struggling. Chicklet brought him a bottle of water from the bar. And a piece of chocolate. "We'll let you go when you're stable again."

"Chocolate?" Luke let out a rough laugh and took the water bottle. He gulped it all down and eyed the chocolate. "You
gotta
treat me like a chick now too?"

"You think only chicks like chocolate?" Chicklet asked.

"I know they love it when they're on their rag. Are
Domme's
like that too?"

"Just eat the fucking chocolate, Carter." Chicklet shoved the brown chunk at him and glared at him until he ate it. "This didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. You're too stubborn. If you need a Dom, man or woman, I hope they're up to the challenge. You're a pain in the ass."

"Thank you." Luke grinned, actually feeling a bit better—not that he'd admit it. He was the good
kinda
sore, like after a hard workout. And that put everything in perspective. Wayne was an honest guy. If he said some
Doms
did this, then they did. And either way, he'd earned his reward. When Wayne let him go, he stood and did a seductive dance to the stripper music to prove to Chicklet he was good. "You ready to let me off the leash now,
Mistress?
"

"I'd be an idiot to put you on my leash, kid. But yeah, you can go." Her lips twisted as she studied him. "I like how quick you pop back though. But it might not last. Give me a call if you start feeling shitty again."

"Will do." Luke tugged the sweat clumps hair over his brow like a cowboy tipping his hat and sauntered away. He slapped Demyan's shoulder when he stepped up to his side. "You into sharing? Apparently the redheaded stripper likes it."

"Yeah, I don't mind sharing." Demyan scratched the golden scruff on his jaw. "Hey, you okay? That was—"

"Hey, you
wanna
be a Dom here?" Luke laughed at Demyan's hesitant nod. The man had been coming to the club for months, but hadn't committed to anything. "Well, you might want to keep this in mind. Apparently a 'good Dom' learns about submission before he learns about control."

"All of a sudden, being vanilla doesn't seem all that bad." Demyan eyed the redhead who stood to the side of the stage, talking to Chicklet, as though wondering if vanilla would be enough for the woman. "I'm cool with fucking her if she wants it, but besides that . . . ."

Luke chuckled and made a 'come hither' gesture with his hand when the redhead glanced over at him. "Why make things complicated? She's hot. She's willing. You need more than that?"

Demyan paused, then shook his head. "Nope. That works for me."

They took the woman, whose name was Roxy, back to their apartment. And enjoyed her all night long. In every way possible.

And Luke almost managed to convince himself
he
didn't need more. After the third time, driving deep into her cunt while Demyan rammed into her ass, he almost believe it.

Almost.

* * * *

The metallic grind of the skate sharpener sliced through the chattering and giggling about the 'drool-worthy' Dartmouth Cobras. Mission accomplished. Jami Richter clicked off the power to the machine and glanced over her shoulder at the crowd of perky blonds and busty brunettes sitting on the benches in the locker room, gawking. "Sorry about that." Damn, she almost sounded like she meant it! "Just got one more."

Ignoring the irritated muttering, Jami let her dark blue hair fall over her face and focused on getting just the right edge. She'd need it here, and not just at the bottom of her skate blades. All those girls knew she had no business trying-out to be a Dartmouth Cobra Ice Girl—and worse, that she'd been given an unfair advantage by being bumped into the top 100.

"Hey." A petite Asian girl, one of the few girls who hadn't been giving her dirty looks all morning, slipped up to her side and picked up the skate Jami had just finished with. "I like your skates."

Bullshit.
Jami tongued her upper lip and stifled the urge to snatch her skate back. Her skates were black vintage with yellow happy face laces. Everyone turned their noses up at them, but they'd been her grandmother's—they made her feel lucky. Like her grandma was still around instead of back in Halifax. And with grandma around, she was less likely to fall on her ass.

Not that she'd admit that to this
cutsy
little
dollface
. But she
would
be polite until the girl gave her a reason not to be. "Thank you."

"You're great on the ice, though. Why aren't you working on the dancing? I haven't seen you with any of the choreographers yet."

Testing the edge on her blade with her thumb, Jami shrugged. "I'll get to it."

"Akira, I wouldn't be getting all friendly with her if I were you." The only redhead in the group set her curling iron on a metal table by the lockers and smiled sweetly. "She's probably the reason you'll be heading back to Hong Kong this summer."

"My parents are from Japan." Akira ducked her head, speaking too low for anyone but Jami to catch a word. "And I was born in Calgary."

"What did you say?" Red stood and smirked at the snickering twits around her. "Speak up, girl! They need to hear you out on the ice when you're cheering the team!"

Their uniforms—black and gold mid-drift halters with the Cobra logo, and black short skirts—might make them all look pretty much the same to some, but they couldn't be more different. Obviously not one of those bitches called Red on her shit.

But I'm not one of them.
Jami pressed her thumb down on the blade until it cut her thumb. The sharp bite of pain sent a cool, calming rush through her veins. She jutted her chin towards Red, then winked at Akira. "This is what happens when inbreeding becomes obvious."

Akira covered her mouth with her hands. Her porcelain features lost the little color they had.

Red's face looked like every blood vessel in her cheeks had exploded. "She said that?"

"No. I did." Jami set down her skate. "Want to make something of it?"

Please say yes.

"As if." Red snorted. "Your daddy and his fuck friend run the team. I'm not stupid."

Brow arched, Jami looked her over. "So you just wear the mask to impress people?"

Tugging at her arm, Akira muttered under her breath. "Please don't fight with her. She's the most popular girl in the group and the judges already love her. Everyone knows why you're here, but no one can argue that you have skills. If you can dance, you're a sure bet."