BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) (10 page)

"I don't need you to—"

"Do as I say, Luke, or I'll make you."

Laughing, because the guy was just fucking funny, Luke moved towards where the team's luggage was being unpacked into the horde of exhausted players. "You can't make me do—"

Ramos' hand latched around the nape of his neck. Rough fingers dug into his skin and his breath lodged in his throat. A strange buzzing rushed through his veins and he had to lock his knees so his legs wouldn't give out.

He laughed again, this time almost hysterically. "That bitch broke me!"

"Stop." Ramos gave him a rough shake which immediately shut him up. His next words came out in a growl. "Get
ahold
of yourself. You're causing a scene."

The command in Ramos' tone brought on the same sensation of Chicklet's flogger biting into his flesh. Mind numbing white hot rush of pain and pleasure shooting from his brain to his balls. The world spun around and around as though his brain was a wind turbine on the roof of a barn in a storm. He wanted to sit on the ground to make it stop, but Ramos held him up.
  

Shoes scuffed the pavement. Luke squinted towards the sound, expecting to see Bower. Instead, Demyan stepped up to Ramos' side and grabbed his wrist.

"We got a problem here?"

Shaken to the core by his weird reaction, Luke quickly shook his head, needing to get away from both men so he could screw his head on straight. Ramos had released him. Which made it a bit easier to think.

"Everything's cool, Demyan. We're cool." He swallowed and glanced over at Ramos. "Right?"

"Yes." Ramos arched a brow and looked pointedly towards the hotel. "We will speak in private."

At that moment, Luke couldn't think of a damn thing he wanted to say to the man.
Ever
. But since the guys were starting to stare at him, he simply nodded. And bolted for the door.

* * * *

Sebastian waited by the window in his hotel room, staring out at the city skyline. Lack of sleep weighed on his body. He wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the bed for a nap to refresh himself before the game.

But not yet.

His lips curled as someone pounded at the door. "Come in."

The door hit the wall. The rookie who had confronted him, Luke Carter, stormed in and pointed at his suitcase, which sat on the floor by the TV stand. "What the fuck, man? Why’d you take my shit?"

Without turning away from the window, Sebastian replied calmly. "Close the door, Luke."

Luke reached for the door. Then stopped and fisted his hands at his sides. "I
ain't
staying."

Sebastian glanced at Luke over his shoulder. "Didn’t you have something to discuss with me?"

The young man gaped at him, blinked, and nodded as though suddenly recalling what he'd wanted to say. He raked his fingers through his already mussed up, dirty blond hair. "I did. Stay away from Silver. She's Bower's woman and she's having his kid. You missed your chance. Deal with it."

"Your loyalty is admirable, Luke—"

Swaying a little, Luke made a grab for his bags. "Hey, the guys call me Carter."

"I know that." Sebastian sighed as Luke tripped over his bags and knocked his forehead into the open door. "Leave the bags, Luke. I will bring them to you later. You need to sleep this off."

Luke kicked the bags and glared at him as he tipped off balance. "Hey, stop trying to fucking Dom me, man. I'm not a fucking sub."

Crossing the room in three long strides, Sebastian towed Luke away from the door by his wrist, kicked it shut, then shoved him towards the bed. His words came in a low growl as he loomed over him. "Don't move."

Utterly still, pupil dilated, Luke rested half on the bed. Then sprang up with a snarl. "Like hell!"

Sebastian caught the fist aimed at his face and deftly flipped Luke over, twisting his arm behind his back to hold him still. He shifted so his hardening cock didn't press against Luke's ass and inhaled deeply to regain control of himself. For a moment, he'd almost forgotten the man was his teammate. Which made him off limits. All he saw was the submission Luke fought so hard to bury. The dominant in Ramos roared for him to latch onto it, drag it out.

Reason took over. They had a game in a few hours. Luke had to be fit to play.

But damn it, if he had to 'Dom him' to see that he was . . .

Then that was exactly what he would do.

"Listen to me, rookie." His lips brushed Luke's ear and he felt the smaller man shiver. "This game will decide whether we play the Sabres or the Devils. And we need to be the ones to take out the Sabres, don't we?"

Luke panted into the gold floral patterned comforter and nodded.

"I am . . . very happy that you agree." His accent thickened as his skin heated up. He had to focus not to lose the English words that sometimes slipped from his vocabulary in times of anger. Or passion. He would allow himself to feel neither. "Return to your room. Sleep. I will see you on the ice."

Luke growled something into the mattress.

"Excuse me?"

"Get. Off. Me."

It took every ounce of strength Sebastian had to loosen his grip on Luke's wrist. To push away from him. To put distance between them. He rubbed his face with one hand and pointed to the door with the other. "You may go."

With a hard laugh, Luke stood. And crossed the space between them to give Sebastian a hard shove. "May I? You seriously think I'm going to let you get away with that shit? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I am tired and running out of patience. You approached me with violence. I merely restrained you until you regained control of yourself."

"Oh." Shaking his head, Luke tripped backwards. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I
kinda
flipped out a bit. Sorry about that. But you've got to stay away from Silver. That's all I wanted to say."

"And you've said it. But I have no interest in Silver. We are friends, nothing more."

"Really?" Luke's brow furrowed. "Bower was shooting daggers at you. Wonder why."

Sebastian had an idea, but he wasn't about to discuss it with Luke. More than anything, he wanted Luke out of his sight. The man stirred his blood and tempted him. He hadn't had a good fight in a while—not the kind of fight that ended in mutual pleasure. And he had a feeling he could have that with Luke. If only the man wasn't struggling with the very idea of being submissive. If only he wasn't a teammate.

A bottle clinked and Sebastian's brow shot up as Luke knelt in front of his liquor cabinet.

"You don't mind if I help myself, do you?"

"I wouldn't suggest it."

With a snort, Luke uncapped a bottle, then drained it.

Rage clouded Sebastian's vision. His hand was suddenly fisted in Luke's shirt. A wild punch caught him in the throat. He swung back and connected with Luke's jaw. Luke grunted and slumped over his arm.

"Stupid boy." Sebastian hefted Luke up and went to drop him on the bed. Sitting beside him, he watched carefully to make sure he hadn't done any real damage. Other than a thin trail over blood on the young man's bottom lip, he was well enough. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the night table and dabbed at the tiny cut. Took a moment to remove the cheap clip-on tie Luke wore and undo the top few buttons of his shirt.

Light, golden hair trailed in a line down Luke's chest. Sebastian fingered the remaining buttons, tempted to undo them all. Instead he worked the blanket out from under Luke, covering him completely. And went to take his nap in the hard chair in front of the desk. There was plenty of space on the king-sized bed for him, but he couldn't lie down next to Luke. He didn't dare.

He didn't trust his control to stretch that far. He'd tested it too much already and he couldn't afford for it to fail him now.

* * * *

Well into the third period of play, Luke let out a shout as Bower gloved a top shelf shot and hopped over the boards at Coach's nod. His ice time had been limited—Coach wasn't stupid, he and the whole team knew Luke had gotten drunk—but he hadn't gotten scratched. Thanks to Demyan and Bower, who'd spoken up for him a couple of hours before the game. During the first two periods, he'd made every second count, getting in on two assists and blocking a shot after a rebound. His game was top notch even after a few drinks.

And it'll be even better during the playoffs. I
ain't
touching that shit again until we get this done.

Waking up in Ramos' bed had sobered him up pretty quick. He couldn't remember a damn thing besides wanting to talk to the man about Silver. But after both Ramos, and Bower, confirmed that Silver wasn't an issue, he’d dropped it and gotten ready to play. Out here, on the ice, everything made sense. The mess of his life beyond the rink didn't matter. All that mattered was moving fast and getting the puck in the net.

Crisp air rushed around him as he cut across the rink, scooping up a pass on the blue line. He snapped the puck to Demyan and skidded around a big body coming at him for a late hit. Got behind the defense and took a shot as the puck hit his stick.

Red lights flashed. Someone slammed into him. Demyan. He practically knocked Luke over as he shouted and bodily handed him over to Zack Pearce, a gritty forward who'd earned himself a spot on the second line over the past few months. Pearce
thunked
helmets, then let Bower punch and hug him.

"You did it, kid." Bower laughed at Luke's blank stare. "Hell, didn't you hear me say there was like seven seconds left? We would have had to win this in overtime, but you took it home!"

"Fuck yeah!" Luke grinned as the rest of the team crowded around him, thumping him and squeezing his shoulders. In a daze, he took his place in the hall just past the benches and then did a brief skate around the ice as they announced him as the first star. Back in the locker room, he got a few more shoulder punches, some hair ruffles, and a few 'Way to
go!'s

A hard slap on his shoulder after he peeled off his shirt finally cleared his head from the victory buzz. He glanced over to see ripped abs and a slack dick. Snapped his gaze up to meet Ramos' deep brown eyes and broad smile of approval.

"Well done, niño."

Luke nodded and chewed on his inner lip as the big man disappeared into the shower room. For some reason, even though every man on the team had given him props, it felt like more coming from Ramos. He vaguely recalled somehow pissing Ramos off. Of course, he'd pissed everyone off by drinking before such an important game, but he liked knowing he and Ramos were cool.

Removing the rest of his gear, he grabbed a towel and headed for the showers. Demyan snapped a towel at him as he passed and caught the back of his thighs. Fire spread over the bruises still healing from the canes strokes Wayne and Chicklet had left on him.

His legs shook as he forced out a laugh. "I'm
gonna
get you for that, you fucker!"

Jabbing his shoulder into Demyan's gut, he drove him into the wall. Demyan hooked an arm around his neck and gave him two fake punches in the side.

"Hey!" Sloan Callahan, the team's captain, grabbed them both by the arms and jerked them apart. "Will you two stop screwing around? I don't need either of you getting hurt before the playoffs even start. If you're that hot for each other, take it back to the hotel."

"What do you say, pretty boy?" Demyan bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. "
Wanna
rim my ass?"

"Sure, right after you suck my cock, pussy lips." Luke almost fell over laughing as Callahan pushed them away with a disgusted grunt. "Sorry, Captain. You want in on this? What do you suggest? K-Y or Vaseline?"

Callahan rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Carter. I imagine anal with a guy is pretty much the same as anal with a woman. If you know they're clean and aren't using a lubed up condom, a bit of spit works just fine. Can be painful, but some people prefer it that way." He looked pointedly at Luke's thigh. "From those marks, I imagine you like it rough."

"Shit, man, that's just—" Okay, joking around was one thing, but Callahan didn't seriously think he was gay, did he? "Wayne told me good
Doms
gotta
take if they're
gonna
dish out. I'm not into guys, hear me?"

"Was Chicklet with you?" Callahan sounded a bit worried.

Awful sweet of him.
"Yeah, she was the one who . . . well, you know I want to be a good Dom."

Nodding gravely, Callahan turned a shower on and stepped under the spray. "I get that, kid. And Wayne's right. Hell, I've had pretty much everything I do to Oriana done to me."

"You've been whipped?"

"Yeah, you haven't noticed?" Callahan turned to let them all—Luke, Ramos, and Demyan—see his back. The other two men were hardly breathing as they took in the faint scars on Callahan's flesh. Nothing compared to the one on his face, but bad enough. "I found out pretty quick that I'm not a masochist, but I was too fucking proud to
safeword
out. The
Domme
who whipped me got really into it. Mason is the one who stopped her."

"Holy shit." Demyan's eyes narrowed as he inched closer to Sloan. "I
kinda
freaked when I saw Carter getting beaten on, but neither Wayne or Chicklet did anything like this. I think I would have lost it."

"If you want to be a Dom, you
never
lose it at a club. Or when you're with a sub who's trusting you to take care of her." Callahan moved so his back was to the black tiled wall and squirted some shampoo in his hand from one of the many bottles on the floor beside him. He frowned at Carter. "Be careful with Wayne. He's a hard core sadist. Worse than me."

Luke rolled his shoulders and nodded. "Yeah, well I don't scene with men, so there's nothing to worry about."

"You
did
scene with a man, kid. Maybe it wasn't sexual—"

"You're damn right it wasn't sexual!"

"All right, relax. I'm just saying." Callahan's brow furrowed. "Richter owns the club, and he trusts Wayne, so I hate saying anything bad about him, but . . . he likes his boys nice and young. Not sick young—just . . . inexperienced. He and his boy aren't exclusive. He might see you as fresh meat."