Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) Read Free Page A

. . . carnations? Dean
Richter rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, then undid
the top button of his black dress shirt. Blades & Ice, the
notorious hard core BDSM club— his hard core BDSM club—looked
like it had been attacked by Martha-fucking-Stewart. White ribbons,
flame colored bouquets, and a woven wood arch. Tim had opened the
place at 5am so Max Perron, the groom, and, more importantly, the
Dartmouth Cobra's best assist man, could set things up for his
wedding. Max had been perfectly willing to rent a hall, but Tim had
insisted the club was the perfect place for the ceremony.
    Thanks, Tim. Dean leaned over the bar
across from the insanity and glared at his half-brother, who'd
dragged the entire staff into decorating. I'm going to make your
wife twist your ball sack with rubber elastics, bro.
    A whimper drew his gaze to the doorway of a
playroom just off the bar area.
    Sloan Callahan, the Cobra's captain, forced
Oriana Delgado, bride-to-be, to her knees. "You're spoiling the
surprise. Max won't be happy."
    "Please don't tell him."
    "Give me one reason I shouldn't."
    Oriana licker her bottom lip and her tone
turned husky. "You're hurting me, Sloan."
    Letting out a strangled laugh, Callahan
released her. "Tease. We'll have our fun after the ceremony, not
before."
    "So we can't do anything? " Oriana
undid the top button of Callahan's leathers. "At all?"
    "Not unless you want to be upgraded from the
flogger to the whip, love." Callahan smoothed his hand over
Oriana's loose, shimmering bronze hair. "Dominik decided that was a
fitting penalty."
    "Oh no!" Oriana giggled and pulled the zipper
down with her teeth. Her tongue darted out over the head of his
cock. "To tell you the truth, I think he said that because he knows
I'm ready."
    Callahan's bare chest and stomach muscle
tensed as he wound her hair around his fist. "Are you?"
    Rather than answer, Oriana slicked Callahan's
dick with her lips and tongue, taking him so deep Dean couldn't
help but stare.
    Damn. Out of Delgado's daughters, she's
the last one I would have thought could . . . He tore his gaze
from the pair and tapped the bar for another beer. No matter how
often Oriana came to the club with her men, he still couldn't quite
fit the image of the 'sexually retarded' woman—as her ex-boyfriend
and his ex-coach, Paul Stanton, had called her—and the beautifully
submissive woman he'd come to know, in his head. Paul Stanton was
the retard.
    Then again, she wasn't submissive enough for
his tastes. As long as she didn't break the club rules, it didn't
really matter, but sometimes he found himself scratching his head
when he saw what Dominik Mason, the Cobra's best blueliner and the
man who'd collar her after Perron married her, put up with. Mason
was a damn good Master—how could he let Perron and Callahan be so
lax with discipline? The diminutive sub liked to top from the
bottom, and even though she was usually reprimanded, Dean knew with
Dominik alone she'd have been broken of the habit.
    That's what you get for sharing a
woman. He inclined his head to the scrawny bartender, who wore
nothing but a leather cup and straps, and took his beer. Leaning
one elbow on the bar, he surveyed the room with mounting disgust.
The whole thing stank of a spoiled sub getting her own way. Only,
Oriana wasn't spoiled and her Doms had tormented her
excessively to get her to spill the details of her dream wedding.
Which had been fun to watch. But the results had him on sugar
overload.
    "Bad time?" A young man in a stylish, yet
understated black suit—likely tailored to fit over those massive
shoulders and long frame—took a seat across from him and gestured
to the bartender for some of what Dean was having. His crew cut and
the hard edge that stole some youth from his face gave him the
appearance of a soldier on leave. A faint French accent and an easy
smile lightened his stalk demeanor. "I have to admit, this isn't
what I expected."
    It took Dean less than a second to