Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) (24 page)

Some random asshole had started calling them, and Richards, nasty fucking names. Richards shared the photo and called the guy out. The guy told Richards he’d pound his ass.

The idiot probably hadn’t considered how fucking sexually his words could be interpreted. So Shawn had commented to clarify:

If you’re threatening the kid, you’re gonna have to go through me and the entire team, asshole. If you’re hitting on him? Get in line. If you’re really horny, and half as hot as your picture—wait, no way you’re fucking Jon Snow???

Anyway, PM me and we can hook up. I’ll give you a pounding you’ll never forget.

Shawn’s fans loved the comment. So did Richards’s. It had over 300 likes.

But Shawn had been waiting for someone from management to come give him shit. “I’ll get Richards to delete the post. One sec.” He called over his shoulder. “Richards, delete that post! I got us in trouble!”

“Richards is in here? With you?”

Well, I’m fucking flattered.
Shawn smirked. “Yep, he was sent in here so we could babysit. Wasn’t he taken away so we wouldn’t corrupt him? It might be a good idea to decide what your priorities are.”

The veins in the GM’s temple looked about ready to burst. “My priorities are simple. You can’t be advertising your sexual activities on your public profile. Or his. I expect you to be a professional.”

“On the ice and in the locker room? Absolutely. But I won’t have the team dictating my personal life.” Shawn straightened. “If I decide I want to fuck Richards, or White, or anyone else, it’s not a goddamn PR issue.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. He shot Sahara an apologetic look, but he didn’t back down. “That may be true, but you’re going too far, Shawn.”

“Are we friends now, Dean?” Shawn gritted his teeth. “I don’t recall anything in my contract limiting my sexual activities.”

“Perhaps not, but the contract does dictate your conduct in public. If you have an issue with that, we will set up a meeting with your agent to discuss it further.”

“Fine.” Shawn was done with this conversation. And with this whole fucked-up day. “Is that all?”

Movement at his side, with a far too familiar scent, had him bracing himself for whatever White was about to say. Should be interesting. “Fuck, Pisch, what are you doing? Your contract is up this year. Do you want to be traded?” He put his hand on Pischlar’s shoulder. “It’s simple. You can’t fuck the whole team.”

Really?
Shawn laughed. He hadn’t even considered his contract. Maybe a trade would be a good thing. “You don’t get to make that decision.” Shawn shoved White’s hand off his shoulder. “Besides, Silver almost pulled it off, so it can be done.”

* * * *

Shit!
Sahara sidled into the hall, trying to get out of the way and slamming into Dominik just as Dean rammed his hand into the center of Pischlar’s chest. Pischlar’s back hit the wall and Sahara winced.

“Should we get Landon?” Sahara whispered as Dean said something to Pischlar only he could hear. She’d never seen Dean lose his cool, and Landon was probably the only one who wouldn’t risk his career getting in his face.

Dominik shook his head and gently pulled her aside. “Not unless you want Landon to kill Pisch. You don’t need to see this. Go back to my room.”

Dismissed. Again. She backed up as the raised voices inside the room echoed into the hall even after the door slammed shut. It opened again and White stormed off toward the elevators, not even sparing her a glance. Richards came out seconds later, closing the door softly.

Leaving Pischlar with Dean. And Dominik, who could only do so much to keep his boss from beating the crap out of a player who’d clearly lost his sense of self-preservation. Maybe bringing Landon into the chaos
was
a bad idea, but there had to be someone who could take control of the situation. She paced a little farther down the hall, then back, her phone in her hand as she considered her options.

She could do exactly what Dominik had suggested, but she hated feeling useless. Pischlar was her friend and he was hurting and this was probably her fault. She’d tried to help him get closer to White, but clearly something had happened to ruin whatever progress he’d made. The way he was acting, she had a feeling he
wanted
Dean to trade him.

Which Dean would realize when he calmed down. Granted, he’d still be furious, but he wouldn’t let Pischlar use him as a way to sabotage his own career.

There was only one person she could think of who would get through to Dean. And the timing was horrible, but when was the timing ever good for all hell to break loose? This
was
the playoffs. The most important thing was the team remaining a team.

“Sahara? Is everything okay?” Silver asked the second she answered the call.

Sahara chose her words carefully. “No one is hurt. Well, besides Pischlar. And I think I’m partially to blame.”

She gave Silver the abbreviated version of the situation. Smiled at Silver’s calm request. Then went back to Pischlar’s room and rapped on the door hard enough to be heard over the shouting.

Dominik opened the door and frowned at her.

“Please excuse me, Sir.” She slipped by him and held her phone out to Dean, who had taken his suit jacket off and looked ready to beat the shit out of Pischlar. Or continue doing so, if the blood on Pischlar’s mouth was anything to go by.

Dean straightened. “Not now, Sahara.”

“Will you get on the fucking phone, Dean!” Silver’s voice could be heard, loud and clear. “If you don’t talk to me, Sahara
is
getting Landon. And if you risk our starting goalie for your macho—”

Dean took the phone and moved to the hall, calming visibly.

That felt damn good. But Sahara wasn’t done. She walked over to Pischlar, facing him as he dropped into the chair she’d abandoned earlier. Crouching in front of him, she met his eyes. “Please don’t do this. I’m not sure what happened, but the team needs you.”

Pischlar groaned and nodded, rubbing his hands over his face. “Damn it, I really fucked up. I’m easy. I’m not supposed to care about anything.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” She gave his forearm a little shove so he’d look at her again. “You love him. Is it Richards? Did him being here get to you?”

“Naw. The kid’s all right. And he’s going through his own shit.” Pischlar swiped the blood off his lips with his thumb then scrubbed it on his pants. “White wasn’t in his seat when the plane started jerking around. Neither was I.”

“So he got scared. That’s okay. He’ll get over it.”

“Oh, he’s over it. He made that perfectly fucking clear.” Pischlar shrugged. “I should have let it go a long time ago. Just glad the games are over. Trying to figure out what the fuck he wanted was exhausting. Now I know.”

“I don’t think you do. Whatever happened might seem like it ruined what you guys had, but that doesn’t mean—”

“He fucked me. He’s a pretty good lay. But most definitely straight.” Pischlar smirked, looking a bit more like himself. Confident and completely carefree. Which wasn’t as reassuring as it should be. “We might have fucked a few more times if you were still with us, but I’m happy that you’ve finally got someone worth your time.”

Her throat tightened as she finally absorbed the entirety of her role in destroying Pischlar and White’s friendship. Having a woman involved had made fooling around acceptable in White’s head. He really had no idea how Pischlar felt about him. He probably wouldn’t connect Pischlar blowing up at Dean to his rejection. He’d probably be confused by how things would change.

But they would. Because, as “easy” as Pischlar was, he had a big heart that he usually protected with a bomb shelter’s worth of walls. He’d opened the heavy steel door for White. And been blown to pieces.

She couldn’t fix this. But she still needed to do
something
. She took his hand in both of hers. “Do me one last favor. I know I have no right to ask you for anything, but it’s important.”

Pischlar’s brow furrowed. He nodded.

“Apologize to Dean and don’t screw up your standing with the team. You belong here.”

He pulled his hand free and patted her cheek. “How about you let me clean up my own mess? If you were my sub, we’d have a chat about your meddling.”

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.” Dominik’s shadow fell over her, a canyon depth to his voice and a sharpness to his eyes that made her feel like a little mouse trembling as a hawk spiraled above. “The GM needs to speak to our friend, pet. And you and I will have that chat.”

She stood, ready to tell him off for being so high-handed when she was only—

“Oomph! Hey!” The room tilted as he swooped her up and slung her over his shoulder. “Dominik! You can’t—”

“You’ve been around the lifestyle long enough to know what asking me to be your Dom meant. To put it simply, I can.” He gave her ass a hard smack, tightening his grip on her waist as she squealed and tried to wiggle free. “And I will.”

The first smack hadn’t hurt much, but the second stung enough to steal her breath. She stopped fighting as the burn spread and her thighs clenched. She was embarrassed, especially when she caught both Pischlar and Dean watching her with mirrored expressions of amusement, but she enjoyed Dominik taking charge.

Part of her whined that she shouldn’t let him get away with this. That she was an independent woman and he was acting like a caveman.

A more honest part of her mind admitted she didn’t mind it in the least.

The struggling had been kind of cute, but Dominik was pleased when Sahara went still even as her heart pounded against his shoulder. He left the room, trusting that Dean and Pischlar were both mature enough to hash out their issues without any more bloodshed, and headed to his own room at the other end of the hall.

Life had thrown so many roadblocks in front of him and Sahara it would be easy to come to the conclusion that fate just didn’t want them together. Strangely enough, it was Pischlar’s comment, “If you were my sub…” that had pushed Dominik to stop trying to dodge the roadblocks and simply set a new course.

Sahara shared his need to care for others. Not a flaw in itself, only, as he observed her putting her own needs aside to help her friends again and again, he couldn’t help but wonder if half the roadblocks weren’t put there by her. And him.

Not intentionally, of course. But they hadn’t made their budding relationship a priority. Life wasn’t easy, and sometimes happiness was hard earned. A good Dom puts his sub’s well-being above everything else.

He needed to put Sahara first if she was going to be his. And it was about time that he claimed her.

“I hope you don’t have plans for the night. I have no intention of letting you leave this room.” He gently lowered her to her feet so he could take out his key card. “We likely have a few things to discuss, but unless the limits you had at the club have changed, I don’t see the need for much conversation.”

As he opened the door, she stood by his side, looking up at him as though she’d lost the ability to speak.

“Perhaps I should clarify. We will not discuss Pisch and White. Our exes are not relevant tonight—unless I hit a trigger with you, in which case, it may be unavoidable.” He ran his thumb down her cheek when she dropped her gaze. “Let me take care of you, Sahara. There’s nothing more important to me right now.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. She looked up at him, so vulnerable he wished he could just hold her close and erase everything that had ever hurt her. “The…chat? Are you going to punish me?”

“Do you need to be punished?” If they had been together longer, he wouldn’t hesitate. But they were still getting to know one another in many ways. A punishment might do more harm than good at this point.

She wrinkled her nose and took a step into the room, sliding over so he could close the door. “I don’t know. You told me to come here, but I called Silver. It was the right thing to do, but I completely ignored your request.”

“If you considered it a request, you were free to do whatever you thought necessary.”

“True.”

“But it wasn’t.” He gave her an understanding smile when she bit her lip. Most of her submissive experience came from Pischlar, who, while a good Dom, didn’t have many rules for his subs to follow. She had a natural aversion to disappointing those she respected, which would be useful.

They were starting on a good foundation of mutual respect and affection. The chemistry was there, even though they’d both ignored it so often it was a tiny spark in the kindling, which could either flare into a full blaze or die.

Stroking the flame while he brought them to the next level would be quite satisfying. Sahara was a passionate woman. And he’d denied himself a taste of her for long enough.

“Strip and wait for me by the bed. I haven’t gotten a chance to shower since the flight and I need it.” He didn’t wait to see if she’d follow his orders before pulling off his shirt and heading to his luggage for a change of clothes. He refused to lay a finger on her until he was clean, but more importantly, he was interested to see
how
she’d respond to his vague instructions. A sub’s interpretation of her Master’s instructions disclosed much about her needs. And he had yet to learn all of Sahara’s.

He followed her movements from the corner of his eye, noting that she went to stand by the bed before she began to work on the buttons of her white blouse. The way her brows drew together told him she was thinking very hard about something.

There was no way he’d miss seeing her body fully exposed before he left the room, but he had to find out where her head was at.

“Stop.” He strode up to her and tipped her chin up with a finger. “What was that thought?”

She blinked as though she’d forgotten he was still there. Then she licked her bottom lip, bringing his attention to the lush, glistening swell. “I was trying to decide if I should kneel. I don’t want to assume anything. I need to do this right.”

Good girl.
He wouldn’t voice his approval yet, but her honesty was refreshing. And her choice of words made things very clear. She needed directions that left no room for failure.

“Don’t kneel just yet, pet. Stand at the end of the bed, hands clasped behind your back. When I return, I want nothing obstructing this beautiful body that now belongs solely to me.” He loved the shade of pink high on her cheeks, showing just a bit of shyness. “Keep going, Sahara.”

She took a deep, bracing inhale and removed her shirt. The skirt went next. Both were left on the floor. He preferred his subs to take care of their things, but he wouldn’t interrupt the reveal for a lecture.

She held his gaze as she reached back to undo her bra. For a dancer, her movements were stiff. She was feeling exposed and likely a little off-balance. He didn’t need a performance though. Having her strip like this was meant to remove more than the material that concealed her from him. She would be naked in every way possible. He watched her carefully to make sure he wasn’t pushing her too far, too fast, but the stubborn set to her jaw pleased him.

He smiled when she bent down to peel off her panties before straightening and squaring her shoulders. He circled her, stopping behind her to observe the way she entwined her fingers at the small of her back. Despite her spine and shoulders being held stiffly, her hands were relaxed.

“Very pretty. Are you cold, pet?” He ran his hands down her arms, feeling the goose bumps that had risen all over her flesh. Her tiny pink nipples were hard and she was trembling. He wouldn’t leave her for even the brief time it would take him to shower if she were truly uncomfortable.

She shook her head. “Can I be honest, Sir?”

“Always.”

“I’m nervous. I want to make sure I do everything right because, the way you look at me, it’s like you believe I can. Like I’m perfect.” She lowered her arms to her sides, opening her hands in a beautifully subconscious show of submission. “I’m not, but I’ll try my best.”

Pressing his lips to her shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her in a strong embrace as he whispered in her ear, “It will be easier if you don’t try. I’m not asking you to guess, sunshine. When you submit to me, all I need is for you to let me take control. So long as you’re with me, so long as you hold nothing back, you’re doing it right.”

Her eyes filled with warmth as she gazed at him over her shoulder. He couldn’t resist stealing one last kiss before he released her. It was times like this that made him wonder why he had waited so long to claim her as his own.

But, more importantly, made him grateful that he finally had.

* * * *

The sound of the shower cutting off pulled Sahara from her daydreaming and she nibbled on her bottom lip in anticipation, watching the bathroom door. When Dominik had first left her here, she’d wondered if she’d go nuts waiting and fail to follow his simple orders. She had really, really wanted to join him in the shower. Lose herself in his kiss and soak in every drop of pleasure he could give her.

Just imagining how amazing being with him would be had made the time pass so quickly, she’d succeeded in doing what he’d asked of her without any effort at all. The challenge would be staying put when he came through that door. She was so aroused she might just jump him.

Very bad submissive behavior. There will be no jumping of the Dom.
A giggle escaped her as she pictured the look on his face if she actually threw herself at him. He’d probably be amused at first, but then he’d punish her. Which might be hot too, but she’d earned enough punishments for one day.

She’d pleased him simply standing here, ready to surrender control. His approval meant more than the brief satisfaction she’d get out of touching him as quickly as she wanted to.

The door opened, and one look at him tested her resolve to remain where he’d left her. He’d brought clothes into the bathroom, but he must have changed his mind about getting fully dressed because he was wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Droplets of water still glistened on his skin, trailing down the smooth brown flesh over bulging muscles that swelled as he stood just a few feet away from her.

His eyes burned with hunger, and her breath caught as he closed the distance between them. He lifted her in his arms, his mouth slanting over hers as he brought her to the bed. He lowered her, never breaking the kiss, his hands in her hair as he held her still so he could explore her mouth with torturously slow dips of his tongue.

Heart slamming into the cage of her ribs, Sahara clung to his broad shoulders, moaning as he tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth. He gentled his kiss, looking into her eyes in a way that made her heart skip a few beats. In that moment, she had no doubt that he’d chosen her and had no regrets. Despite how often they’d pushed away from one another, the pull between them had always drawn them back. Now that they’d stopped resisting, it was like the connection had snapped into place.

She wasn’t sure why, but the pool of overwhelming lust and happiness gathering within made her dizzy and brought tears to her eyes. She pressed her eyes shut tight, digging her fingers into the muscles of his arms, struggling for composure. If she didn’t regain control, she’d say something stupid. Something that, no matter how amazing being with him felt, was too soon to say.

“Sahara, look at me.” His hand curved under her jaw. When she looked at him, she saw concern in his eyes. “Don’t consider your words. Tell me exactly what’s on your mind.”

The tears spilled and she tried to turn away to hide them, but he wouldn’t let her. So she gasped in enough air to speak. “Can I have this? I want it so bad. I need for it to be real, but life can be so horrible and I’m afraid if I let my guard down, everything good will be taken away.”

He dipped down to kiss her tenderly, in a way that made her feel precious and cared for. “I can only promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. Nothing is more important to me than giving you a reason to smile. A reason to hope the good things can last.”

More tears, but she wasn’t ashamed of them anymore. If anyone could understand them, it would be Dominik. “You’re that reason already. Is that weird?”

“No. It means I’m off to a better start than I was on our date.” He grinned when she rolled her eyes, then latched on to her wrists, pulling them off his shoulders and drawing them up to the bottom of the headboard. “My first mistake was refusing to give you more than a kiss, even if you begged. I won’t deny myself any longer.”

“Do I still need to beg?” She would. Actually, it was starting to seem like a very good idea.

He shook his head. “All you need to do is tell me if you have any hard limits. And take whatever I choose to give you.”

Hard limits? She wasn’t sure her brain was working well enough to think of a single one. But she knew Dominik too well to give him that answer. They’d slowed the rush of lust enough for some negotiation. And she wouldn’t put the same restrictions on him that she’d put on Doms at the club.

“Pain scares me; I’m never sure if it will trigger…” Her words locked in her throat and she tipped her head back, trying to push away the flash of memories trying to play out in her mind. Screaming. Fists. The throbbing agony in her face when she was stupid enough to piss off Grant. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I—”

“Shh, it’s all right, sunny girl. Keep your eyes open. Stay with me.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I don’t enjoy much pain play. But when I smacked your ass, did it bother you?”

She frowned, thinking back on exactly how she’d felt in that moment. “I was embarrassed, but that was because Pischlar and Dean were watching.”

“Very good. So we will keep punishments mild, and you will tell me if you have flashbacks or the slightest twinge of fear.” He smiled in a way that gave her all the warmth of his approval. “And bondage?”

“I like bondage.” Her cheeks heated. She hadn’t even hesitated.

He chuckled. “Noted. Stay put, I have just the thing for you.”

She hadn’t let go of the headboard, but she lifted her head just enough to watch him go to his sports bag. Her brow furrowed—he didn’t keep his toys in there, did he? Not that she’d complain, but she knew, probably better than most, how nasty hockey players’ sports bags could smell. She’d once told her mother, “I love the way daddy smells when he comes home from a game.” Her mother had laughed, taken out her father’s sports bag, and handed her a pair of his gloves.

Yeah, nothing compared to the stink. That was exactly why players got so riled up being face washed on the ice. There was nothing quite so rancid, no matter how clean the guy was.

When Dominik returned with a roll of hockey tape, she let out a sigh of relief. He arched a brow at her and she grinned.