"Didn't know this was all they would give you?" He slipped his dick out of her cunt and continued fucking her with just his fingers in her asshole. He was tempted to put his cock in there, but she'd been used that way too often to truly enjoy it now. "I'm bigger than they are, I could take you there and make you feel like an anal virgin." He thrust into her pussy until his dick filled her completely. "But, if given a choice, I prefer a nice, wet cunt."
"Don't stop!" She panted. "I like that. I like you taking it all."
He frowned as he drove his fingers and his dick in harder. "You're with two men. Don't they ever—"
"Never. I've asked, but Cedric can't really get off with a woman . . . ." She hissed a curse. "Why are you doing this? I don't want to talk! I want here and now!"
"I won't always give you want you want." He pounded in, feeling her pussy grasping at him as she came. "But like I said, tonight I'm feeling generous."
He hugged her to him as he found his release, cursing himself as she sobbed and curled into a little ball before he'd even drawn out. He'd given her pleasure, but, at the same time, he'd made her acknowledge things she wasn't ready to face.
Sometime during the night, she shifted in sleep and snuggled up to him, a shuddery breath escaping her as she burrowed her face between his neck and his shoulder. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, sharing her pillow, amazed at how good it felt just to hold her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd looked forward to seeing a woman in the morning light.
His lips twitched into a smile as he inhaled the honeydew scent of her hair. When's the last time a man served you breakfast in bed, sweetheart?
Chapter Four
Silver fingered the lapel of her light grey suit jacket and flipped through the pages of the tome she'd been reading for—she glanced at the clock over the door in daddy's office and groaned—just an hour? Incredible. How in the world was she supposed to learn anything about the game if all the stupid facts bored her to tears? She'd gotten here early, despite her crazy night, all motivated to take on the role as the new owner, but no matter how hard she tried, she just didn't get it. It was a game. Big strong men got suited up in bulky equipment and bashed each other around while trying to get the puck in the net. Sometimes the guy standing there stopped it. Sometimes he didn't.
And she was paying millions for these guys to mess around on the ice? Seriously?
She sipped at her coffee and made a face at the cold mouthful. Pressing a button on her phone, she waited for Anne to answer, tapping her fingers on the desk at the silence. Hell, am I paying anyone to actually work around here?
Pushing away from the desk, she stood and strode to the door. Throwing it open, she shouted. "Anne!"
"Yes, Miss Delgado?" Anne scurried out of the bathroom across from the reception area, still doing up her skirt. "I'm sorry. I can't seem to go for more than five minutes without having to pee . . . oh . . . you didn't need to know that."
Well, don't I feel like a bitch. Silver plastered a smile on her lips and held her hand up. "It's okay. Being pregnant must suck. I just wanted a fresh coffee."
"I'll get it now," Anne said.
Silver shook her head. "No. Take it easy. Just tell me where to go—"
The elevator dinged and Silver smiled as Asher stepped out with two coffees in hand and a small paper bag. His expression told her he planned to do some sucking up.
Perfect.
"Never mind!" She held the door to Daddy's—no, her—office and then joined Asher inside. "This is a nice surprise."
"Silver . . . ." Asher placed the tray on the desk, his blue eyes wide as he turned to her. "I'm sorry. I was an asshole last night. You didn't give me a chance to apologize when you came home to get ready for work—I couldn't leave things weird between us. I never should have left you at the club."
The club. She closed her eyes and saw it all. The spanking, escaping from Dean in a haze and sitting with Landon who'd taken care of her when she was ready to fall apart. Then leaving him for some hot sex—some really hot sex—with the man that had beaten her ass. What the hell had she been thinking? Dean Richter, of all people? A fucking Dom! She'd almost lost herself to him . . . almost, but not quite. Her brain had made an appearance before dawn. She'd left him a nice note to wake up to.
Yeah, I'm sure he loved that.
Too bad. She seemed to recall telling him she wasn't into guys that wanted to 'keep her'. And he'd said he understood.
Making her way around her desk, she let out a shallow laugh. The rich aroma of coffee had her feeling very forgiving. "I made it clear I wanted to stay, Asher."
"So you're not mad?"
The coffee burned her bottom lip so she pressed her finger to it. Sitting reminded her of worse pain and she frowned, leaning forward to take some pressure off her butt. "I didn't say that."
"Damn. How bad did he hurt you?" Asher came to her side, took her coffee, and set it aside before pulling her to her feet. "Let me see."
"Here? You've got to be kidding!" She brushed his hands away and straightened her wide legged grey trousers. "I'm fine. My butt's just colorful. No big deal."
Asher cocked his head. "You've got the professional thing going for you. But I've got to ask." He grinned as he opened the front of her jacket. "What happened to your shirt?"
Well fuck. Silver had hoped no one would notice. The jacket buttoned up high enough to completely cover her bra. Her face heated up. "You starched it. I tried it on, but it felt weird and I don't have any other shirts that go with this suit."
"You're so cute." He did up the buttons, then cupped her cheek in his hand. "So, how's your first day so far?"
"Horrible." She plunked into her chair and clenched her jaw when her butt throbbed in protest. "I'm going to go crazy if I don't do something. I know I need to learn more about the game, but there's got to be more to this job than signing checks."
"Depends." Asher picked up one of the magazines she'd left on the corner of the desk. "Cosmo?"
"For my free time."
"They have a hockey feature." He flipped through the pages and whistles. "There's a sniper from Florida who made the sexiest bachelors top twenty. He looks familiar . . . ."
A sniper . . . Daddy had left a message on her phone last night, and among a lot of incoherent grumbling had mentioned the team needed a sniper. Googling the word told her a bit—basically it was a 'great goal scorer'. All right, Daddy hadn't specifically said he wanted her to get the 'sniper', but why else would he have called?
Your job is to run the team while he can't. So do it!
Silver sighed and took in the full page image of the heartthrob as Asher held out the magazine. Oh, yeah, she'd buy season tickets to watch him play. Too bad the Cobras didn't have more men like that. Fine, they had Max, but he was taken. Dominik was a little too intimidating for her tastes and Sloan . . . well he was just an asshole. A few guys on the roster were worth a second look, but this guy . . .
"That's it!" Asher smacked the sports rag from the pile onto the desk in front of her. "He's a free agent. And he's made waves making it clear that he's looking for the best offer. You've got space on your cap for him, and another high-profile player."
She bit her bottom lip. He'd lost her. "The cap?"
"There's a limit on how much you can spend on players. From what I know about hockey, a sniper is always a good investment." Asher ran his finger down the center of the picture, pausing over the soaked white boxer concealed crotch of the man in question. "Want me to make the call?"
"I don't even know how this works." She wrinkled her nose at the big dusty book that hadn't helped her at all. Where was the book that would tell her whether the hot guy was any good? "Shouldn't we look at his stats first?"
"Sure." Asher flipped open the sports magazine and pointed at a long list of names and numbers. "Pretty impressive if you ask me."
"You're a lawyer, what do you know about player stats?"
Asher rolled his eyes. "It's not complicated.
"
Right. It might as well have been Chinese. But she'd asked Asher to come work with her because she trusted his advice. Mostly. He'd never screwed her over when she was signing his paycheck anyway. "Do we just make an offer?"
"Sure." Taking out his phone, Asher glanced at her as he dialed. "I'll find out who his agent is. If this is what you want . . . ."
The whole paying insane amounts for players had escaped her, but suddenly it kinda made sense. It was just like casting parts for a movie. Big names brought extra exposure. And this man was obviously a big name.
"Go for it." She squared her shoulders and took another gulp of coffee. Daddy had chosen her to take over for a reason. Maybe this was it. Much as she loved Oriana, she couldn't very well make unbiased decision with three of her men on the roster.
And Sloan was one of those three men. The only reason she'd woken before dawn was because she'd dreamed of him using the whip on her sister. But in the dream it was much worse than at Oriana's wedding. So much blood—Sloan asking if Oriana wanted more. And through lips bitten clean through, Oriana had whispered 'Yes'.
Oriana's not stupid. She won't let Sloan go that far.
Did it need to go that far? Dominik and Max obviously wouldn't stop him.
But maybe I can.
Speaking of which . . . . "When you're done with that, find Sloan Callahan's contract. I want to know how long we're stuck with him."
"Got it."
While Asher made himself familiar with all her daddy's files, Silver leaned back in her chair and finished her coffee. Maybe this won't be so hard after all. People want entertainment. Hot guys who can score. I can give them that. And this is a family business. For once, it's me looking out for them.
Fifteen minutes later, a contract was drawn out and placed before her for her signature.
She signed at the bottom line with flourish, enjoying the feeling of power.
Damn, I love my job.
* * * *
"Sir?"
Dean glanced over at Guy Bolleau, the assistant general manager, and shook his head. "I've asked you not to call me that, Bolleau."
"Sorry, Mr. Richter." Bolleau quickly stepped aside to let Dean pass. The approaching season left Dean with little time for pencil pushing, so the ever practical man had temporarily taken over Dean's office.
He was probably the only person Dean would let infringe on his territory. Even after spending the whole morning hard at work, Bolleau managed to keep the place looking undisturbed. The man was like a very efficient ghost, invisible except for how smoothly he kept things running.
After shedding his suit jacket and hanging it in the small closet beside his desk, Dean settled into his large, leather chair and gestured for Bolleau to take the seat across from him. "What is it, Bolleau?"
Bolleau approached the chair, fiddling with the pen in his breast pocket as he eyed the papers on the desk. "I'm not quite sure how to tell you—"
"Spit it out, man!" Dean pressed his lips together and immediately regretted snapping at the man. Bolleau didn't do nervous. Whatever he had to say must be bad. "I apologize. Training camp has revealed several . . . weaknesses in the team I had not foreseen. Including my brother's tendency to coddle rookies—which we have in excess. I may have to replace him if he doesn't smarten up."
"I see." Bolleau sat and fidgeted with his tie. "Well, I'm afraid the coaching staff is the least of our problems. The Dartmouth Cobras made an . . . inadvisable acquisition this morning."
Leaning back, ankle on his thigh, Dean folded his hands over his raised knee. "Excuse me?"
"Scott Demyan." Bolleau held his hand out towards the papers on the desk. "His contract was faxed earlier this morning. He should arrive sometime tomorrow."
Icy calm flowed through Dean as he picked up the contract and looked it over. A cursory glance at the signature gave him the sensation of chewing tinfoil. He took his time going over the small print. All in order. Already approved by the commissioner.
The bastard was likely on the green somewhere, laughing his ass off at the joke the Cobras had become. If the contract had been obscene, he would have been forced to refuse it, but a one year deal at 2.5 million for a player of Demyan's caliber didn't warrant his concern. That an ignorant, twenty-two year old girl had signed the contract made no difference. She had the legal right to sign anything she wanted.
Revenge? He tapped his fingers on the contract and discarded the idea. Silver had snuck out early, leaving a short note assuring him she'd 'had fun', promising to return of his shirt as soon as she had it dry-cleaned. Impersonal and straightforward. What had passed between them was nothing but a one-night-stand.
Not his first, but . . . damn. No woman had ever made him feel so thoroughly used.
Mentally putting the thought on ice, Dean focused on the problem at hand. Anthony Delgado had meddled in team affairs more than most owners, but even he rarely went against his advisors. Emotion based decisions could usually be put off until he was in the right mind to see reason.
Why the hell had Dean thought Silver would be as easy to handle? He should have anticipated her unpredictable, self-indulgent attitude. Had he really been stupid enough to believe she'd demurely sit in her father's office and wait for Dean to make decisions for her?
Actually, he'd expected to have to hunt her down and coax her into accepting the barest minimum of her responsibilities. She didn't really care about the team. For years she'd been oblivious to it.
Anthony had thrust his Judas child into the deep end to fend for herself. She couldn't be more unprepared for the task at hand. But she hadn't run away—from her father anyway. Not that it mattered. He had to concentrate on her motives.
She's doing this for 'Daddy'. She wants to prove herself.
Too fucking bad. He refused to let her run his team into the ground with idiotic moves like this.
He lifted the contract and handed it to Bolleau, needing it out of his sight. "File this. And contact Demyan's agent. I expect him at training camp by Wednesday morning. Fax him the schedule."
"Yes, Mr. Richter." Relief smoothed the deepest wrinkles from Bolleau's face. "I will be in my office if you need me."
"That's fine." Dean's jaw ticked and he clenched his fist to maintain his controlled demeanor. For just a few moments longer. "You may go."
As soon as Bolleau closed the door behind him, Dean shot to his feet and swept all the contents from his desk, barely stifling a roar between his teeth. His muscles jumped under his flesh and his pulse beat at his skull. He pressed his hands to his desk and hauled air into his burning lungs.
Get a grip, Richter. He nodded as though the words had been spoken out loud by another—perhaps his mother who'd had the makings of a Domme, who'd run her polyamorous household the way a general would run an army barrack. Even her 'alpha' lovers had bowed to her efficient rule of the household. When she'd said 'Come here' the children marched into her presence.
Assured of his control, he left his office and headed to Delgado's. He threw the door open without knocking and glanced dismissively at Asher, Silver's lover and apparent co-conspirator. "Get out."
"Hey, you." Silver took one look at his face and frowned. "All right, is this how it's gonna be? Fine. But just so you know, Asher is the president, so he outranks you. And this is my office."
"The president? I assume you didn't know I already hold that position along with that of the general manager of this team?" Dean arched a brow at her confused expression and shook his head. "You really need to hide behind him?"
"Hide?" She let out a sharp laugh. "From who? You? Do you think I'm afraid of you?"
You should be. He almost voiced the words, but decided against it. This was business. "We're not at the club, Silver. I was hoping we could be professional about this."
"But . . . after last night." A flush spread over her cheeks. "So you won't touch me?"
"No. I won't touch you." His nostrils flared. Egotistical little bitch. Did she seriously believe he'd
come here as a jilted lover? "Last night is irrelevant."
She blinked and gave her head a tiny shake. "Irrelevant? Then why are you—"
"I'm going to get us some lunch, Silver." Asher patted her shoulder and moved away from the desk. "Good luck."
Silver glared at Asher's back as he walked out, then jumped when Dean slammed his hands on her desk.
"Please explain something, because I'd really like to understand." He watched her lips move soundlessly, continuing when she nodded. "What possessed you to make a 2.5 million deal without consulting me? When we spoke on the phone months ago, you admitted that you knew nothing about hockey. Have you suddenly become an expert?"
"Scott is a good player." She sat back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. "He'll be an asset to the team."
"According to who? Do you have any clue what the team needs? Are you aware of the fact that we just brought up three rookies that can play his position?" He groaned at her blank stare. "Do you even know what position he plays?"
She jutted her chin up. "He's a sniper."
Dean snorted. "And what does that mean?"
"He can get the puck in the net." Her fingers dug into her arms. "You don't have to be a genius to know that's a good thing."
"Maybe not, but we have half a dozen players who can do that as well, if not better, than he can. We are in desperate need of defensemen." He stepped back and lowered wearily into the seat in front of the desk. "You've screwed up the available cap, Silver. I've spent months reviewing prospects and now I'll have to trash all my plans and start over."
"If it's just about the money, I have an easy solution." She leaned forward and flipped open a file on her desk. "Sloan Callahan is making 5 million a year. Get rid of him."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Get rid of him? Are you serious?"
"Why not?" She slid the folder toward him. "Think about it. Me and Asher went over his stats. He's still worth something, but he's not half as good as he used to be."
"He's recovering from an injury. He hasn't been back long enough to know whether his performance will improve."
Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) Page 6
