“I don’t.”
Lying awake, hours later, Max stared at the ceiling, what he’d walked in on playing over and over again in his head. He didn’t doubt Sloan’s commitment to their relationship, but one thing had become very clear.
Shit happened. Things out of their control. He’d seen some of the consequences while Oriana was in the hospital last month, but the three of them had been united as the world tried to pull them apart.
The challenges they faced would either make them stronger. Or it would destroy them.
He believed what they had was worth fighting for. He really did.
His words had told Sloan otherwise.
“If Oriana had seen you, you’d be fucking gone.”
Spoken out of anger, but what if Sloan considered them as a crack in their once solid foundation? What if he questioned his place in their family?
Curving onto his side, he rested his arm over Oriana and his hand on Sloan’s shoulder, careful not to disturb them. And he was finally able to sleep as he held on to the one thing no one could ever touch.
He’d never let either of them go.
Chapter 5
Whatever was cooking smelled awesome. Ian’s mouth watered as he stepped into Pisch’s apartment, practically tasting the peppercorn steak with bourbon sauce the man was making for supper. Arms loaded up with all the stuff Pisch had put on the grocery list, he backed into the door to shut it, toeing off his ratty sneakers so he wouldn’t scuff up the floors.
They had the perfect arrangement. Pisch cooked, and Ian cleaned and ran and got whatever was missing for the meal. This time it had been all the healthy crap Ian was supposed to be eating. He thought he did pretty good with his diet, eating plenty of protein, but when he’d started getting tired all the time, the team doc put him on vitamin supplements and told Ian he needed ten servings of fruits and veggies a day.
Which was kinda nuts if you asked him. But Pisch agreed with the Doc.
So Ian was stuck eating rabbit food.
“Did you remember the almond milk?”
Ian rolled his eyes. “If you wrote it down, I got it.”
“Good. Get in here and pour yourself a glass.” Pisch sounded like he was trying not to laugh. The asshole knew Ian hated that nasty excuse for milk, but a smart man didn’t mess with the person feeding him steak.
He lugged all the bags into the kitchen, looking from the table, all set for the two of them, to the counter where Pisch was cutting bread. The prep stuff he’d used to make the meal covered every available surface.
“Ah…where do you want all this?” Ian liked the routine they usually had. He’d get the groceries before Pisch started supper. Then he’d put everything away and hang out in the kitchen while Pisch cooked.
“Damn, I didn’t plan this out very well, did I?” Pisch came over, grabbing a couple of the bags. “Sorry, buddy. With the playoffs, and you not being around as often, I didn’t realize I’d run out of so much. Thanks for going, by the way.”
Shrugging, Ian watched Pisch put the place settings on one side of the table, then set down the bags beside the ones he left there. “No problem. Thanks for having me over. Again.”
Thanking each other for what had once been an everyday thing felt weird. He was spending most of his time here again, but more like a guest than like he belonged. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but he hated it.
“Don’t get all uncomfortable, Bruiser.” Pisch started putting away the groceries. He motioned Ian away when he tried to lend a hand. “I’ve got this. Here, help yourself.”
The almond milk. Damn, the man was determined to make him suffer.
Fetching a couple glasses from the cupboard, Ian filled both. And left them on the counter. “You think we’re looking good for the game tomorrow?”
“Practice wasn’t bad.” Pischlar’s lips thinned. “Except Vanek showing up late and Perron being there physically, but his head somewhere else. The rest of the guys seem solid enough.”
“Vanek was late?” Ian hadn’t noticed. The trainer had been drilling him on faceoffs, determined to get his average up. He couldn’t rely on throwing down the gloves every game to prove his worth anymore, so he had to improve in other areas. He’d been moved onto special teams this year and was good on the penalty kill. He had one of the highest hits per game on the team.
But if he could bring up his assists and win more faceoffs, Dean Richter, the team’s General Manager, would have a reason to extend his contract.
“Don’t worry about Vanek.” Pisch served up the plates and took a seat at the table. He waited until Ian was halfway across the kitchen before looking pointedly over at the counter. He continued as Ian grabbed the glasses of nastiness. “You’re focused on the ice. More than you’ve been in a long time. The coaches noticed.”
“You think so?” Ian smiled, taking a gulp of the chalky drink and managing not to gag. That accomplished, he settled in to enjoy the meal. He groaned as he chewed a nice big bite of juicy steak. “God, Pisch. Will you marry me?”
Pisch knocked over the glass he’d been reaching for. “For fuck’s sakes, White. Don’t even joke about that.”
The man has completely lost his sense of humor. Ian smirked as he licked the bourbon sauce off his lips. “Why not? The idea of marriage scare you that much?”
“Yes.” Pisch righted his glass and used a few napkins to clean the spill. “You’d make a horrible husband.”
“Gee thanks, pal.”
“You know it’s true.” Pisch brought a piece of steak to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, all serious again. “Besides, even if you were gay, and ready to settle down, you’re not a sub. And I need a sub.”
Ian frowned and set down his fork. They hadn’t talked much about why they’d friend-zoned one another, but he’d wondered if Pisch not wanting to be ‘kept’ was the only issue.
The lifestyle Pisch lived being a problem hadn’t even occurred to him.
“You offered to train me.”
“Yes. As a Dom.”
“You sure I’m a Dom?” Once, Ian would have laughed at the idea of being anything else. He would have told anyone that asked that he was a tough guy, so of course he was a Dom. But he’d seen strong men kneel at the club. And he didn’t think any less of them.
He wasn’t sure where he fit in the dynamics, but he wanted to find out.
Especially if it meant one obstacle would be out of their way.
Using the last napkin on the table to wipe his lips, Pischlar studied him curiously. “You’d consider exploring the scene as a sub?”
“Maybe…I mean, Doms experience both, right? So I’d figure it out.”
“Not all Doms do, but it does have certain advantages.” Pisch inhaled slowly. “I’ve never seen any submissive behavior from you. The only people you answer to are the coaches and trainers.”
Ian picked up his glass, giving Pisch a pointed look as he took a few long gulps. Gah, so very, very horrible. He used the back of his hand to dry his lips. “And you.”
Well played, White. Shawn drained his glass, considering all White had said. Every day it was getting harder to convince himself they couldn’t have a strong, lasting relationship. Which fucking terrified him.
He had plenty of reasons to avoid getting serious with White. Reasons that proved weak as the man doubled his efforts to show off how damn perfectly he could fit into Shawn’s life. The dirtiest trick was making whatever was between them about more than sex.
Sex Shawn could handle. Even sex with White. Yeah, he’d probably have his little slip ups where his heart thought it had a say in what he did with his body, but he had absolutely no problem with him and White becoming fuck friends.
He understood White not wanting to risk their friendship. He didn’t either, but they could easily have both.
Not sure he’s good with that, Pischlar.
White was just confused. Hell, he had to be if he was talking about being a sub.
What if he is a sub? Or can be f
or you?
Yeah…very tempting. But when White figured out that nope, he wasn’t even the least bit kinky, they’d be right back where they’d started. Or worse, left with nothing.
White’s lips quirked as he continued to stare at Shawn. “Nothing to say?”
He’s way too cocky for a sub. This will never work.
Shawn lifted his brow, finishing off his meal and taking his plate to the sink without bothering to answer. White wanted a taste of what it was like to be a sub? Very well.
It wouldn’t play out the way White expected, but Shawn was game. “Clean up and join me in the living room. Then we’ll talk.”
Kicking back in the living room, his bare feet up on the coffee table, Shawn mentally laid out his strategy. Emotional investment aside, he did want White. He wasn’t a fan of not getting who he wanted when he wanted them. Thankfully, he rarely set his sights on men or women in a relationship, but having a whole community of sexually open individuals to play with meant even some of them were available for one hot, wild night of passion.
He enjoyed his freedom, so that would be the first thing he made clear to White.
The ‘you can’t keep me’ chat wasn’t enough?
No. Not for White. One of the many things he loved about the man was that he was as straightforward as a person could be. He said exactly what was on his mind. Reacted to the words spoken, not what he thought someone was trying to say. If something was open to interpretation, or needed more digging, White usually didn’t get it.
Which made some people think the man was stupid, but he really wasn’t. He just didn’t understand why people didn’t say what they meant. Both a virtue and a flaw. Most people weren’t that honest with one another. Or themselves.
He flicked on the TV, finding a comic book movie out of habit, leaving it as familiar background noise as he rested his eyes and waited for White to finish in the kitchen.
The sofa bounced as White plunked down beside him. “Done. Let’s talk.”
“Did you finish all your milk, or did you pour it out?”
White made a rough sound of irritation. “Yes, I drank my nut juice, Daddy. And now I’m having a couple beers to wash the taste out of my mouth. I brought you one if you want it.”
Shaking with laughter, Shawn bent over, covering his face with one hand. “Damn it, White, how am I supposed to be serious when you say shit like that?”
“Are we being serious?”
Lowering his hand, Shawn studied White’s face as the other man stared down at his unopened beer. “Do you want to be?”
Forehead creasing, White uncapped his beer. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Shawn nodded, not at all surprised. Other people might have pretended to understand, or assumed what suited them, but not White. He’d make Shawn be perfectly clear.
Which Shawn had every intention of being. “Are you looking for some kind of commitment from me, Bruiser? You want to come out to the team, your family, and the whole world?”
The question had White paling a little more with every word. He downed his beer in a few quick gulps. “Is there an option B?”
Should I be relieved or disappointed? Strangely enough, he was neither. White hadn’t told him to go fuck himself. Or that he was straight and didn’t need to come out at all. Ever.
Asking for an ‘Option B’ was close, but not a complete rejection.
“I’ll train you. In public, it’s no different than how most Doms at the club teach their same sex trainees. I’ll show you what’s expected of a submissive. Of a Dom. You’ll learn the protocols, how certain tools feel when used on your flesh.” He paused, enjoying the way White shivered at the last. This was going to be fun. “In private, we decide together what we want to do. We touch, we taste, and we fuck. And it’s no one’s business what happens behind closed doors.”
Crimson spread slowly up White’s neck and over his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Ah…that makes sense. But you asked about commitment?”
“I did. And I’m glad you brought that up. You’ve heard the speech, White. I don’t like feeling tied down, and I won’t do that to you either.” This part was a little harder. He didn’t want restrictions, but he hated seeing White with anyone else. He couldn’t have it both ways. If he wanted his freedom, his last shield against all the many things that could go wrong, he had to give White the same. “This will be…have you ever heard of an open relationship?”
White’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, I’m not a complete moron, Pisch.”
“From this point on, you will stop assuming I’m explaining myself because I think you’re stupid.” Shawn let his tone drop, with a rough edge that submissives tended to pay attention to. A deep, primal satisfaction filled him when White tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded. Whether or not White was a sub, he did have a very basic need to please.
Inhaling noisily, White rolled his beer bottle between his hands. “Sorry, I just…so you want to be able to fuck whoever you want. And I can’t get jealous.”
“Will you be?”
“I don’t know.” White took another swig of beer. “Is that okay? I’ll get over it. I won’t hit anyone you’re fucking. Especially not if it’s a chick. I don’t hit chicks.”
I know. Shawn forced himself to smile, keeping his expression relaxed. “If you are upset, feel free to discuss it with me. I promise to do the same, but honestly, I don’t see why it should be a problem. You might meet the perfect girl and decide you don’t want to play with me anymore. And I’ll still be your best friend. The point to all this is not losing what we have.”
“That sounds good.” White got up and headed to the kitchen. “You want another beer?”
Shawn chuckled as he grabbed his beer from the table. “I haven’t started this one. But I will warn you, White. If you have more than three, I won’t touch you tonight.”
Silence. Then a steady banging. Likely White knocking his forehead against the fridge.
Smirking, he took a sip of beer. Still nice and crisp. Refreshing. He let White continue for a few second before speaking up. “It might be a bad idea to give yourself a concussion during the playoffs.”
“You’re killing me, man. A concussion is the least of our problems.” White ambled over to stand in front of the couch, facing Shawn. “Is that it? We did all the negotiating thing and now…”
“No. We haven’t even started negotiating, Bruiser. We were just leading up to that.” Shawn noticed White had a beer in each hand. Since he’d only finished one so far, he was following the rules. Good boy. “I know you like blow jobs. Are you against giving them?”
A little evil, but he’d intentionally waited until White was drinking again before asking. He shifted sideways as White spit out half the beer he’d practically inhaled.
“I… Uh… you…” White pressed his lips together, then jerked on the sleeve of his black T-shirt to wipe his mouth. “I’ve never… I could…” He groaned. “You’ve done it to me. I’m sure I suck, but I can try.”
“Sucking would be a good start, babe.” Shawn used the endearment to test White’s reaction. He grinned when White made a face. “I apologize. Would you prefer I call you something else?”
“Yes. Anything else. Babe is a pig.” White blushed. “But I guess I shouldn’t tell you what to call me?”
“Unless it’s a hard limit, whatever you say will be taken into consideration. And likely used during punishment if I find it effective.” Shawn’s phone buzzed on the coffee table and he reached over to grab it, not looking right away because he was enjoying the conversation. “So I can look forward to blowjobs. That’s definitely a plus.”
White looked awfully cute, blushing while still trying to look all tough. “Do you want one now?”
Fuck yes! Shawn’s dick throbbed as his blood pulsed strong and steady downward, but he shook his head. Toying with White might be fun, but as a Dom, Shawn knew better than to rush into anything a sub was clearly uncertain of.
“No. And don’t expect me to say that often, but let’s ease into you getting on your knees for me.” Shawn kept his eyes on White, pretty sure he couldn’t get any more red, but noting that he didn’t react to the mention of being on his knees. “Are you a virgin?”
White blinked. “You know I’m not.”
“No, I don’t. I can assume, but I’d prefer not to. Has a man, or woman, ever fucked you? And to be clear, I mean anal.” He was perfectly aware that he was pushing White to the limits, but if he was going to consider him a sub, he had to. He could deal with White never wanting to bottom, but to be honest, it would be disappointing. The man had a nice, round ass. To feel it, even once, Shawn would give almost anything. Both his heart and soul were fair game.
“Oh.” White slumped onto the sofa, still holding his beer as he lowered his head to his forearms. “Then yes. I’m a virgin.”
“Thank you for being honest. I know that wasn’t easy.” Shawn put his hand on White’s shoulder. This was enough for now. White hadn’t bolted. Or lashed out. They were making progress and he wouldn’t ruin it by pushing any further. “I just gotta see who texted me. Then we can discuss what comes first.”
White’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. Then he nodded. “Okay.”
Shawn squeezed White’s shoulder. Tapped into the message on his phone, eager to put whatever it was aside so he could continue his night uninterrupted.
His plans changed the second he read the message. He had to read it twice. Make sure he wasn’t seeing things.
“Fuck!” He checked himself before slamming his phone on the table. Breaking the thing would be stupid. And smashing it on the table wouldn’t be as satisfying as throwing it across the room. But now that he’d had time to consider, neither seemed wise. “I have to go. Stay here.”
“Is that an order?” White caught his wrist before he could move out of reach. Then released him quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Line Brawl: The Dartmouth Cobras #8 Page 6
