Line Brawl: The Dartmouth Cobras #8

by Bianca Sommerland

  “Yes.”

  Smiling, Justina rubbed the girl’s shoulder. “Then you’ve answered your own question. Being prepared is good, but you have to give people a chance. No more or less than they deserve.”

  “That sounds perfect.” Kimber snuggled up to her side with her eyes closed. “Are you giving them a chance too?”

  Not even hesitating, Justina nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good. I like the idea of you sticking around.” Kimber giggled. “You’re one of my people.”

  Kimber fell asleep, but for the longest time, Justina couldn’t. She found herself doing the same thing the teen had done. Wondering if this was too good to be true.

  But then she took her own advice and let herself relax. Tomorrow might be uncertain, but for now, one thing was true.

  She really did belong.

  Chapter 17

  Tying up the series in game four should have put Shawn in a good mood. And it had, until the team headed back to the hotel and White decided he wasn’t interested in going out with the team for celebratory drinks. Or back to Shawn’s room for a different kind of celebration.

  Within seconds of hitting the locker room, White had pulled out his phone and whatever he saw had him calling the new girl. He’d spent the night alone in his room, likely having phone sex or sending her dick pics, because apparently, that was his new thing.

  Shawn wasn’t sure whether he should be disgusted or concerned. What the hell was it with this chick? Did her pussy taste like bacon? Did she have some lust inducing super power?

  Must I ask again? Are you jealous?

  Fuck yes! If White was choosing an erotic phone call over a real life blowjob, Shawn must be losing his touch.

  He’ll always choose a woman over you.

  Gritting his teeth, Shawn walked into Blades & Ice, pleased to see the busy Saturday night crowd. He’d killed some time today shopping for some new leather pants and found a pair with lacing up the sides that made his ass look fucking fantastic. The boots he’d splurged on made the outfit though. Knee high, combat style, and a man could never have enough sexy boots.

  Not having White along to tell him otherwise had sucked though. He might say he hated shopping, but he’d always tagged along, grinning despite the grumbling, letting Shawn bully him into getting new shoes and a few suits.

  You could have invited him. Would have been fun. You, him, and his new girlfriend.

  Right. The three of them could probably have crammed in the dressing room together for a wild, risky, quickie. Shawn didn’t mind sharing, right?

  Fuck that.

  He wouldn’t have any trouble finding someone to play with tonight. And fuck if he would feel the least bit guilty about it. White had been so distracted the last time they spoke, Shawn wasn’t even sure he’d see the man until the game tomorrow. Sam wanted to spend time with him. Sam missed him. Sam was so cute and sweet and White was sure his grandmother would love to meet her.

  Fuck, I hate that bitch.

  Sam. Not White’s grandmother. He would meet the older woman this summer when he went with White for a visit. And since she’d done a great job raising the man, she was probably a lovely lady.

  But Sam…something about her irked Shawn. He wasn’t sure if it was all the stories he’d heard—and he’d heard a few over the past couple days—or just how completely enamored White was with her.

  That her cutting between him and White, leading to him distancing himself and thinking of the man as ‘White’ instead of ‘Ian’ again, pissed him off even more. Of course, he knew he couldn’t lay all the blame for that at her feet, but she deserved at least some.

  You’re acting like a sulky toddler, forced to share his toys. You’re the one who wanted things open. Deal with it.

  Open, yes. But he had a bad feeling a woman like Sam could easily slam that door in his face. He had no doubt White was bisexual, but he was more comfortable with women. He could probably live out his life, perfectly happy, with one.

  A life Shawn had wanted for him.

  Still did.

  But Sam wouldn’t be that woman. She was all the things White wasn’t. A schemer. A liar. Someone who used others to get everything she wanted.

  The last he’d learned from Vanek, who’d been all too willing to tell him exactly what he thought of Carter’s little sister. Apparently, she’d come on to Zovko. After being kicked out of the home of the assistant coach—who was adopting her baby with Perron and his wife, Oriana—for kissing Callahan.

  White didn’t know any of this. And at this point, even if he found out, he probably wouldn’t care. He tended to see the best in everyone. Until they proved him wrong.

  Sometimes, more than once.

  Which meant Sam would have plenty of chances. And the opportunity to do some real damage.

  And there wasn’t much Shawn could do to stop her.

  A chair pulled up beside where he sat at the bar. He glanced over, forcing a smile when he saw Demyan. Unlike Shawn in all his black leather and silk, Demyan was dressed casually in blue jeans and a light blue sleeveless shirt. Still sexy as hell, his golden blond hair tussled in that constant just-been-fucked style he had.

  He’s taken, Easy. Very, very taken.

  Smart of Pearce and Becky to nail the boy down. Unfortunate, because he’d be fun to play with for a few hours. Shawn would forget how damn alone he was, slamming balls deep into that tight ass.

  Find yourself another piece of ass before you do something stupid, man.

  Right. Any ass will do, he was ‘Easy’.

  Which wasn’t as appealing as it used to be.

  Demyan motioned Ford over, his expression very serious. “I think we need to get the man a drink. Or five. I’ve never seen him scowling this much.”

  Ford immediately came over with a bottle of rum.

  For some reason, one look at the bottle stole all the color from Demyan’s face. He sat back. Started to stand.

  Shawn caught his wrist, recognizing a trigger. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he met Ford’s eyes. “How about some tequila?”

  Eyes shadowed with concern, Ford stashed the bottle and grabbed the tequila, pouring three shots and laying out a small plate of lemon slices. “You okay, Scott?”

  “Yeah. I’m good.” Despite his words, Demyan was trembling. “Talk about something. Anything.”

  “Do you want me to get Pearce or Becky?” Ford leaned over the bar, hesitating, then putting his hand over Demyan’s other wrist. “Or your boys?”

  Chuckling, Demyan shook his head and pressed his eyes shut, his whole body trembling like he was chilled to the bone. “No. Pearce is being all helpful with ‘training’. And we couldn’t get a babysitter, so Becky stayed home. We were gonna stay too, but she insisted.”

  “So you’re here to have fun, right?” Ford looked at Shawn as though certain Shawn would come up with a solution.

  Unfortunately, Shawn didn’t know enough about Demyan’s past to be very helpful. He knew how he’d handle a sub hitting a trigger, but…

  But nothing. Demyan might not be a sub, but a trigger was a trigger.

  He moved his hand down to squeeze the other man’s. “Have you spoken to a professional about this? Don’t tell us more than you’re comfortable with, but I need to know that to help you.”

  Demyan’s lips thinned. “Yes. And I don’t need help.”

  “Scott.” Shawn brought his hand up to the other man’s jaw, turning his head until they faced one another. “What did he suggest you do in this situation?”

  Chewing at his bottom lip, Demyan rolled his shoulders. “She…she has these steps. She calls it a panic attack, but it’s not that. Like, I’m not freaking out, I’m just…”

  “What did she tell you to do?”

  “Acknowledge, wait, do something. Repeat. And end.” Demyan shook his head. “We tell the girls something like that in the self-defense courses. There’s some therapy worked in. Damn it, I thought I was better.”

  “What was th
e trigger?” Shawn was pretty sure he knew, but the ‘acknowledge’ meant Demyan had to accept it himself.

  And he did. He swallowed hard. “The rum.”

  “Got it. And I assume the ‘wait’ means giving yourself time before reacting. Which means now would be a good time to do something.” Shawn forced a smile, even though he felt like a chunk of lead sat in the pit of his stomach. Demyan was a strong man. A good one. Whatever had happened to set him off at the mere suggestion of a drink had to be bad. “Do you want to dance?”

  “With you?” Demyan looked down at their clasped hands. His palm was sweaty, and he was still shaking. He took a deep breath when Shawn inclined his head. “Sure. But don’t give me the speech. I don’t need it. I’m taken.”

  If the man could joke, he’d be fine. Shawn chuckled as he drew Demyan away from the bar and led him to the dance floor. “I’m aware.”

  He let go of Demyan’s hand as they joined the crowd, simply moving to the heavy beat of the music. With most of his focus on Demyan, he couldn’t help but notice the man’s dark glare fixed on the play area. He glanced over his shoulder and lost the beat.

  White had come to the club. With the girl. And they were setting up a scene.

  Chicklet, of all people, was showing her how to use a flogger. While Pearce restrained White to a Saint Andrew’s Cross.

  A firm grip on his hips brought his attention back to Demyan. The music had changed to a song many Doms loved for the rhythm. He was pretty sure the song was by Cradle of Filth. Not a bad beat to whip someone to.

  Or to dance.

  But the man he was dancing with was in a bad place. Whatever Demyan felt about Pearce participating in a scene was amplified and he’d skipped over the ‘wait’ part of his therapy. Which was Shawn’s fault.

  The distraction might have helped a bit, but feeling Demyan fucking hard, pressing against him, tested his control. He didn’t play with people in an exclusive relationship. And while Peace might help with training at times, or participate in the odd scene involving head games, he had limits.

  Demyan never played without him and Becky.

  Pulling him closer, Demyan whispered in his ear. “You’re not as scary as everyone says. I’m giving you the perfect opportunity.”

  “Are you?” Shawn brought his hands to Demyan’s hair, forcing him back just enough to speak close to his lips. Taking control and giving Demyan a taste of what he was asking for. “Then maybe you need the speech after all. Do you really want to play, Scott?”

  “Zach is playing. I need him, and he’s…” Demyan went still. Shook his head. “He doesn’t know.”

  “No, He doesn’t.”

  “I need him.”

  The revelation came too late. A hand settled on Shawn’s shoulder, turning him roughly. Pearce’s rage filled face was suddenly too close. Good intentions were irrelevant. Shawn braced himself for pain.

  But it never came.

  “You don’t fucking get to be mad at him, Pearce. While you were having your fun, Easy was here for Demyan.” Ford had somehow gotten there just in time to stop Pearce from throwing the punch. His voice cut over the throb of the music. “And so was I. You wanna hit me too?”

  “What the fuck’s going on Scott?” Pearce pulled away from Ford, looking confused. “We came here to chill for a bit. I’m helping a new Domme train.”

  “Nothing’s wrong! I’m fine!” Demyan spun away from them all and went back to the bar. He downed one of the shots he’d abandoned before. Then another.

  Pearce moved to follow, but Ford blocked him.

  The younger man’s eyes were hard. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but if he’s this messed up over being offered a drink, you have no business fucking leaving him to play with other people.”

  Perfectly still, Pearce met Ford’s angry gaze. “What drink?”

  “Rum.”

  “Fuck.” Pearce shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He looked over at Shawn. “I thought you were making a move. He seemed all right… This was my mistake.”

  ‘All right’? Shawn frowned. He considered Pearce a good Dom. Fine, Demyan wasn’t a sub, but he still belonged to Pearce. Why in the world would the man leave him on his own, at the bar of all places, knowing about that particular trigger? It didn’t seem like him.

  “He needs you, Pearce.” Shawn took a deep breath. He hated getting involved in other’s drama, but he needed an idea of what had gone wrong. “You know that.”

  “I do.” Pearce rubbed a hand over his face. “But she seemed to need me more. She’s having a rough time. She’s not sure her own brother even likes her. She just gave up a child. I thought I was in a position where I could help her explore who she is. To meet her needs and the needs of the man who wants to submit to her.” He gave Shawn a weary smile. “I know he means something to you, but not enough for you to want to change. I’m not saying you should. But I’ve never seen him this happy.”

  The man might as well have taken a dagger and stabbed it right into Shawn’s gut. Yes, Shawn had been there for Demyan. But only because he’d left his own man needing more than he could give. Their positions could be switched so easily if Sam hit a trigger with White. And Shawn could be the one being told he’d left White vulnerable. And alone.

  At least Pearce and Chicklet were helping her learn. They knew White. They’d watch over him.

  Somehow, in trying to retain his freedom, Shawn had given up his right to shelter White. Others had stepped up in his stead.

  He had to find a way to fix that. But for now, Demyan was the one who needed a solid place to land.

  And despite how fucked up things had been so far, he had one.

  “He’d just come to terms with the fact that he should have told you he’d hit a trigger. Why he didn’t is between you, but you should probably remind him that no matter what happens…” Shawn inhaled roughly, wishing he could say this to White. Wishing White could understand how important it was. The girl would never change it. “You’re here for him.”

  Pearce nodded, glancing back at the scene Chicklet had continued smoothly, guiding the girl easily on her own. “I can’t help you with this, Shawn. I wish I could, but I have no idea what either of you want.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure things out.” Shawn forced another smile. He was doing that a lot lately. “I wouldn’t mind playing with your man, but I’d rather do it in a way that doesn’t end with your fist in my face.”

  “He doesn’t play like that.” Pearce looked uncertain. His eyes narrowed as he watched Ford pour Demyan another shot. “At least, I didn’t think he did.”

  Shawn shrugged. “He might be curious. He’s watched both his best friends shared with others. Or at least heard details.”

  “Both involving you.”

  “True.” This time, Shawn’s smile was genuine. He didn’t regret playing with either Vanek or Carter. An experience both he, and they, would remember. And their friendship hadn’t been damaged. “I’m easy.”

  “You don’t say?” Pearce chuckled, then shook his head. “I’ve heard rumors of a party. Will you be there?”

  “Naturally.” The party could be used to his advantage. But he had to find the right place. The right time. “Are you interested?”

  “That depends on what you’re getting out of it. I’m not stupid, Pisch. Your games are fucking twisted.”

  “Yes, but what’s the point of a boring game? I’d love to see your boy play with his friends. And I’m not the only one. But there should be an exchange. You’ve played with others, but your subs have stood back, not getting involved.” This was part of the lifestyle Shawn enjoyed. Reaching for the edge, pushing the limits a little. “Are you willing to let them play?”

  “I might be. But I have to see how Scott’s doing. I’d be with him already if he didn’t seem so comfortable with Ford.”

  A smart move. Demyan did look comfortable. And across the room, Cort, who was working as a Dungeon monitor for the night, had taken notice. He wa
s observing a fire play scene, but his attention was torn. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only DM on staff. Mason stopped by his side, nudging him when he appeared too distracted.

  “I don’t see Ford being available to play with anyone.”

  Pearce followed his gaze and smirked. “Maybe not. But he should have the opportunity, no?”

  Shawn knew he liked Pearce for a reason. Pearce’s first time with Demyan had been at a party. Their relationship had been rocky for some time after, but they seemed to have a solid foundation with their woman. A play party might interest them.

  “I’ve discussed organizing something with Chicklet and Raif. Maybe—”

  “No.” Pearce gave Shawn a sheepish smile. “There’s too much history between me and Raif. Scott wouldn’t be comfortable.”

  “You’re becoming much more interesting, Mr. Pearce.” Shawn took a moment to admire the other man. He was a few years older than Shawn—not obvious from looking at him. He was Shawn’s height, but slightly bigger, with more muscle. He dressed conservatively, even at the club—he was wearing black shirt and pants now, though he’d ditched the tie and jacket before the training scene—but under the clean cut layers were tattoos. A body that moved with the sleek grace of a wolf on the prowl. Demyan was more Shawn’s type, a little unpredictable and blatantly sexual, but he wished he’d paid more attention to Pearce when the man had been single.

  Pearce shook his head, his lips curving slightly. “Don’t look at me like that, man. I haven’t decided whether I’d be willing to play with you at this party you’re planning. We’ll see where your head’s at as well.”

  Brow lifted, Shawn laughed. “Where my head is at? I’m open for anything, Pearce.”

  “I can see that. How’s that working for you, by the way?” Pearce looked back at the scene, where Chicklet was using the flogger on White. Her strikes were playful, light, and she stopped after a few to let Sam try. Pearce nodded as he turned back to Shawn. “Are you good with losing him?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Right.” Pearce shrugged as though unwilling to push the issue. He hesitated when the girl whispered something in White’s ear and White burst out laughing. “One of the strangest set ups I’ve seen in a long time. Chicklet is keeping the training very light. Not her style, but I wouldn’t have agreed to anything too intense. Sam is a hot mess. She might make a good Domme in a few years, but right now? Best to keep her in the kiddie pool.”