BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) Read Online Free
Author: Bianca Sommerland
everything in perspective. Wayne was an honest guy. If he said some Doms did this, then they did. And either way, he'd earned his reward. When Wayne let him go, he stood and did a seductive dance to the stripper music to prove to Chicklet he was good. "You ready to let me off the leash now, Mistress? "
"I'd be an idiot to put you on my leash, kid. But yeah, you can go." Her lips twisted as she studied him. "I like how quick you pop back though. But it might not last. Give me a call if you start feeling shitty again."
"Will do." Luke tugged the sweat clumps hair over his brow like a cowboy tipping his hat and sauntered away. He slapped Demyan's shoulder when he stepped up to his side. "You into sharing? Apparently the redheaded stripper likes it."
"Yeah, I don't mind sharing." Demyan scratched the golden scruff on his jaw. "Hey, you okay? That was—"
"Hey, you wanna be a Dom here?" Luke laughed at Demyan's hesitant nod. The man had been coming to the club for months, but hadn't committed to anything. "Well, you might want to keep this in mind. Apparently a 'good Dom' learns about submission before he learns about control."
"All of a sudden, being vanilla doesn't seem all that bad." Demyan eyed the redhead who stood to the side of the stage, talking to Chicklet, as though wondering if vanilla would be enough for the woman. "I'm cool with fucking her if she wants it, but besides that . . . ."
Luke chuckled and made a 'come hither' gesture with his hand when the redhead glanced over at him. "Why make things complicated? She's hot. She's willing. You need more than that?"
Demyan paused, then shook his head. "Nope. That works for me."
They took the woman, whose name was Roxy, back to their apartment. And enjoyed her all night long. In every way possible.
And Luke almost managed to convince himself he didn't need more. After the third time, driving deep into her cunt while Demyan rammed into her ass, he almost believe it.
Almost.
* * * *
The metallic grind of the skate sharpener sliced through the chattering and giggling about the 'drool-worthy' Dartmouth Cobras. Mission accomplished. Jami Richter clicked off the power to the machine and glanced over her shoulder at the crowd of perky blonds and busty brunettes sitting on the benches in the locker room, gawking. "Sorry about that." Damn, she almost sounded like she meant it! "Just got one more."
Ignoring the irritated muttering, Jami let her dark blue hair fall over her face and focused on getting just the right edge. She'd need it here, and not just at the bottom of her skate blades. All those girls knew she had no business trying-out to be a Dartmouth Cobra Ice Girl—and worse, that she'd been given an unfair advantage by being bumped into the top 100.
"Hey." A petite Asian girl, one of the few girls who hadn't been giving her dirty looks all morning, slipped up to her side and picked up the skate Jami had just finished with. "I like your skates."
Bullshit. Jami tongued her upper lip and stifled the urge to snatch her skate back. Her skates were black vintage with yellow happy face laces. Everyone turned their noses up at them, but they'd been her grandmother's—they made her feel lucky. Like her grandma was still around instead of back in Halifax. And with grandma around, she was less likely to fall on her ass.
Not that she'd admit that to this cutsy little dollface . But she would be polite until the girl gave her a reason not to be. "Thank you."
"You're great on the ice, though. Why aren't you working on the dancing? I haven't seen you with any of the choreographers yet."
Testing the edge on her blade with her thumb, Jami shrugged. "I'll get to it."
"Akira, I wouldn't be getting all friendly with her if I were you." The only redhead in the group set her curling iron on a metal table by the lockers and smiled sweetly. "She's probably the reason you'll be heading back to Hong Kong this summer."
"My parents are from Japan." Akira ducked her head, speaking too
"I'd be an idiot to put you on my leash, kid. But yeah, you can go." Her lips twisted as she studied him. "I like how quick you pop back though. But it might not last. Give me a call if you start feeling shitty again."
"Will do." Luke tugged the sweat clumps hair over his brow like a cowboy tipping his hat and sauntered away. He slapped Demyan's shoulder when he stepped up to his side. "You into sharing? Apparently the redheaded stripper likes it."
"Yeah, I don't mind sharing." Demyan scratched the golden scruff on his jaw. "Hey, you okay? That was—"
"Hey, you wanna be a Dom here?" Luke laughed at Demyan's hesitant nod. The man had been coming to the club for months, but hadn't committed to anything. "Well, you might want to keep this in mind. Apparently a 'good Dom' learns about submission before he learns about control."
"All of a sudden, being vanilla doesn't seem all that bad." Demyan eyed the redhead who stood to the side of the stage, talking to Chicklet, as though wondering if vanilla would be enough for the woman. "I'm cool with fucking her if she wants it, but besides that . . . ."
Luke chuckled and made a 'come hither' gesture with his hand when the redhead glanced over at him. "Why make things complicated? She's hot. She's willing. You need more than that?"
Demyan paused, then shook his head. "Nope. That works for me."
They took the woman, whose name was Roxy, back to their apartment. And enjoyed her all night long. In every way possible.
And Luke almost managed to convince himself he didn't need more. After the third time, driving deep into her cunt while Demyan rammed into her ass, he almost believe it.
Almost.
* * * *
The metallic grind of the skate sharpener sliced through the chattering and giggling about the 'drool-worthy' Dartmouth Cobras. Mission accomplished. Jami Richter clicked off the power to the machine and glanced over her shoulder at the crowd of perky blonds and busty brunettes sitting on the benches in the locker room, gawking. "Sorry about that." Damn, she almost sounded like she meant it! "Just got one more."
Ignoring the irritated muttering, Jami let her dark blue hair fall over her face and focused on getting just the right edge. She'd need it here, and not just at the bottom of her skate blades. All those girls knew she had no business trying-out to be a Dartmouth Cobra Ice Girl—and worse, that she'd been given an unfair advantage by being bumped into the top 100.
"Hey." A petite Asian girl, one of the few girls who hadn't been giving her dirty looks all morning, slipped up to her side and picked up the skate Jami had just finished with. "I like your skates."
Bullshit. Jami tongued her upper lip and stifled the urge to snatch her skate back. Her skates were black vintage with yellow happy face laces. Everyone turned their noses up at them, but they'd been her grandmother's—they made her feel lucky. Like her grandma was still around instead of back in Halifax. And with grandma around, she was less likely to fall on her ass.
Not that she'd admit that to this cutsy little dollface . But she would be polite until the girl gave her a reason not to be. "Thank you."
"You're great on the ice, though. Why aren't you working on the dancing? I haven't seen you with any of the choreographers yet."
Testing the edge on her blade with her thumb, Jami shrugged. "I'll get to it."
"Akira, I wouldn't be getting all friendly with her if I were you." The only redhead in the group set her curling iron on a metal table by the lockers and smiled sweetly. "She's probably the reason you'll be heading back to Hong Kong this summer."
"My parents are from Japan." Akira ducked her head, speaking too
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