Iron Cross: The Dartmouth Cobras #6 Read Free Page B

Tyler’s lip. Bent close to whisper in Tyler’s ear. “She needs to tighten your leash. You are sorely in need of discipline because as you are now…” He stepped back, shaking his head and clucking his tongue. “Let’s just say I’d be ashamed if you were my sub.”
    Grinding his teeth, Tyler glared at Raif. “Fuck you.”
    It didn’t come out as strong as Tyler had meant it, but he got the hell out of the locker room. Didn’t stop until he was in his brand-new black Maserati, a car Chicklet loved because of the way it growled. He’d tried to give it to her, but she’d just smiled and shook her head.
    “I don’t need presents, my boy. And I happen to love my Jeep.” She raked her fingers through his hair. “Besides, I like seeing you behind the wheel, my spoiled little angel.”
    He hated it when she called him that, but he knew better than to complain. Was okay to joke a little when she was in a good mood though, so he lifted his brows and stroked the steering wheel. “I earned this. How am I spoiled?”
    Her red lips curved as she put her hand on his thigh, her nails sharp and long, as they only were on weekends they played, digging into his flesh through his jeans. “Because I let you buy it. You’d drive a rusty piece of shit if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”
    “Yes.” The idea actually had his dick hardening, so close to her hand and those wicked nails. People would think he was crazy if he drove a wreck. They’d pity him. But he wouldn’t care because every time he got behind the wheel he’d know he was showing his devotion. “I’ll get rid of this car and—”
    “Did I not speak clearly? I like seeing you behind the wheel. My beautiful boy deserves the very best.”
    And Chicklet deserved everything he could give her. She didn’t care about the things money could buy. All that mattered to her was that she owned his body, his mind, and his heart.
    He wouldn’t make her ashamed of him. He’d be the best goddamn sub at the club, crawl for her, and kiss the tips of her pointy leather boots if she wanted him to. He’d take the pain she dished out, forget about his limits, and trust her to bring him to the very edge without going too far.
    And …and he’d tell her everything. Except for Raif’s message because after Tyler did everything in his power to be the perfect sub, to anticipate her every command and please her—
    Raif could deliver the message himself. And she’d laugh at him.
     
    * * * *
     
    Well-worn leather, fitting her like a second skin, the metal tip of her boot stilettos clicking sharply on the wood floor, Chicklet made her way across the Blades & Ice BDSM club to relieve Ford Delgado from bartending duties. She laughed and shook her head as Ford distractedly offered her a shot of whiskey. He wasn’t paying any attention to who she was.
    Bad boy. Thankfully she wasn’t a naughty sub or an inexperienced, careless Dom, sneaking a drink before a scene. She tapped his forearm with her long, gleaming, black nails. “I’m playing later tonight, Ford. Go check on your girl.” She smirked when Ford snapped his gaze from where Cort was learning the ropes—or, more accurately, the whip—from Sloan. Sloan was one of her best friends, but the sadist was a bit twisted. The way the muscles in Ford’s jaw ticked, you’d think Sloan was beating on his sweet little sub, Akira, but it was actually Cort getting a taste of the short hunting whip.
    Not my type, but …yummy! Chicklet watched Sloan expertly wielding the whip, laying red stripes across Cort’s bare shoulders and back. Cort rested his forehead against the round beam he was bound to, only lifting it when Sloan stopped to check on him and give a few tips. Such a broad expanse of flesh to mark up above the faded black jeans riding low on Cort’s hips, and he didn’t struggle against the restraints. But he wasn’t enjoying the whipping, wouldn’t let himself sink into the drugging endorphins. He was a good-looking